d Jorian, made suspicious by the other's suspicion.
"'Tis a trick to rob me of my hundred crowns. Oh! I know you,
burgomaster." And Jorian was ready to whimper.

A mellow voice fell on them both like oil upon the waves.

"No, good man, it is not false, nor yet is it quite true: there was
another parchment."

"There, there, there! Where is it?"

"But," continued Margaret calmly, "it was not a town record (so you have
gained your hundred crowns, good man): it was but a private deed between
the burgomaster here and my grandfather Flor--"

"Hush, hush!"

"--is Brandt."

"Where is it, girl? that is all we want to know."

"Have patience, and I shall tell you. Gerard read the title of it, and
he said, 'This is as much yours as the burgomaster's,' and he put it
apart, to read it with me at his leisure."

"It is in the house, then?" said the burgomaster, recovering his
calmness.

"No, sir," said Margaret gravely, "it is not." Then, in a voice
that faltered suddenly, "You hunted--my poor Gerard--so hard--and so
close-that you gave him--no time-to think of aught--but his life--and
his grief. The parchment was in his bosom, and he hath ta'en it with
him."

"Whither, whither?"

"Ask me no more, sir. What right is yours to question me thus? It was
for your sake, good man, I put force upon my heart, and came out here,
and bore to speak at all to this hard old man. For, when I think of the
misery he has brought on him and me, the sight of him is more than I can
bear;" and she gave an involuntary shudder, and went slowly in, with her
hand to her head, crying bitterly.

Remorse for the past, and dread of the future--the slow, but, as he now
felt, the inevitable future--avarice, and fear, all tugged in one short
moment at Ghysbrecht's tough heart. He hung his head, and his arms fell
listless by his sides. A coarse chuckle made him start round, and there
stood Martin Wittenhaagen leaning on his bow, and sneering from ear
to ear. At sight of the man and his grinning face, Ghysbrecht's worst
passions awoke.

"Ho! attach him, seize him, traitor and thief!" cried he. "Dog, thou
shalt pay for all."

Martin, without a word, calmly thrust the duke's pardon under
Ghysbrecht's nose. He looked, and had not a word to say. Martin followed
up his advantage.

"The duke and I are soldiers. He won't let you greasy burghers trample
on an old comrade. He bade me carry you a message too."

"The duke send a message to me?"

"Ay! I to