o longer the simple happy family this tale opened with. Little Kate
knew the share Cornelis and Sybrandt had in banishing Gerard, and
though, for fear of making more mischief still, she never told her
mother, yet there were times she shuddered at the bare sight of them,
and blushed at their hypocritical regrets. Catherine, with a woman's
vigilance, noticed this, and with a woman's subtlety said nothing, but
quietly pondered it, and went on watching for more. The black sheep
themselves, in their efforts to partake in the general gloom and sorrow,
succeeded so far as to impose upon their father and Giles: but the
demure satisfaction that lay at their bottom could not escape these
feminine eyes--

"That, noting all, seem nought to note."

Thus mistrust and suspicion sat at the table, poor substitutes for
Gerard's intelligent face, that had brightened the whole circle,
unobserved till it was gone. As for the old hosier his pride had been
wounded by his son's disobedience, and so he bore stiffly up, and did
his best never to mention Gerard's name; but underneath his Spartan
cloak, Nature might be seen tugging at his heart-strings. One anxiety he
never affected to conceal. "If I but knew where the boy is, and that his
life and health are in no danger, small would be my care," would he say;
and then a deep sigh would follow. I cannot help thinking that if Gerard
had opened the door just then, and walked in, there would have been many
tears and embraces for him, and few reproaches, or none.

One thing took the old couple quite by surprise--publicity. Ere Gerard
had been gone a week, his adventures were in every mouth; and to make
matters worse, the popular sympathy declared itself warmly on the side
of the lovers, and against Gerard's cruel parents, and that old busybody
the burgomaster, who must put his nose into a business that nowise
concerned him.

"Mother," said Kate, "it is all over the town that Margaret is down with
a fever--a burning fever; her father fears her sadly."

"Margaret? what Margaret?" inquired Catherine, with a treacherous
assumption of calmness and indifference.

"Oh, mother! whom should I mean? Why, Gerard's Margaret."

"Gerard's Margaret," screamed Catherine; "how dare you say such a word
to me? And I rede you never mention that hussy's name in this house,
that she has laid bare. She is the ruin of my poor boy, the flower of
all my flock. She is the cause that he is not a holy priest in the midst