he time. They had scarcely
resolved this, when Dierich Brower stood suddenly in the doorway, and
gave them a wink.

They went out to him. "Come to the burgomaster with all speed," said he,

They found Ghysbrecht seated at a table, pale and agitated. Before him
lay Margaret Van Eyck's handwriting. "I have written what you desired,"
said he. "Now for the superscription. What were the words? did ye see?"

"We cannot read," said Cornelis.

"Then is all this labour lost," cried Ghysbrecht angrily. "Dolts!"

"Nay, but," said Sybrandt, "I heard the words read, and I have not lost
them. They were, 'To Gerard Eliassoen, these by the hand of the trusty
Hans Memling, with all speed.'"

"'Tis well. Now, how was the letter folded? how big was it?"

"Longer than that one, and not so long as this."

"'Tis well. Where is he?"

"At the hostelry."

"Come, then, take you this groat, and treat him. Then ask to see the
letter, and put this in place of it. Come to me with the other letter."

The brothers assented, took the letter, and went to the hostelry.

They had not been gone a minute, when Dierich Brower issued from the
Stadthouse, and followed them. He had his orders not to let them out
of his sight till the true letter was in his master's hands. He watched
outside the hostelry.

He had not long to wait. They came out almost immediately, with downcast
looks. Dierich made up to them.

"Too late!" they cried; "too late! He is gone."

"Gone? How long?"

"Scarce five minutes. Cursed chance!"

"You must go back to the burgomaster at once," said Dierich Brower.

"To what end?"

"No matter; come!" and he hurried them to the Stadthouse.

Ghysbrecht Van Swieten was not the man to accept a defeat.

"Well," said he, on hearing the ill news, "suppose he is gone. Is he
mounted?"

"No."

"Then what hinders you to come up with him?"

"But what avails coming up with him! There are no hostelries on the road
he is gone."

"Fools!" said Ghysbrecht, "is there no way of emptying a man's pockets
but liquor and sleight of hand?"

A meaning look, that passed between Ghysbrecht and Dierich, aided the
brothers' comprehension. They changed colour, and lost all zeal for the
business.

"No! no! we don't hate our brother. We won't get ourselves hanged to
spite him," said Sybrandt; "that would be a fool's trick."

"Hanged!" cried Ghysbrecht. "Am I not the burgomaster? How can ye be
hanged? I see how 'tis ye fear to tackle one man