pregnancy, and the sight of her child when born. What sort of a tale was
this to stop slanderous tongues? "I have got my marriage lines, but I
cannot show them you." What woman would believe her? or even pretend to
believe her? And as she was in reality one of the most modest girls in
Holland, it was women's good opinion she wanted, not men's.

Even barefaced slander attacks her sex at a great advantage; but here
was slander with a face of truth. "The strong-minded woman" had not yet
been invented; and Margaret, though by nature and by having been early
made mistress of a family, she was resolute in some respects, was weak
as water in others, and weakest of all in this. Like all the elite
of her sex, she was a poor little leaf, trembling at each gust of the
world's opinion, true or false. Much misery may be contained in few
words. I doubt if pages of description from any man's pen could make
any human creature, except virtuous women (and these need no such aid),
realize the anguish of a virtuous woman foreseeing herself paraded as a
frail one. Had she been frail at heart, she might have brazened it out.
But she had not that advantage. She was really pure as snow, and saw the
pitch coming nearer her and nearer. The poor girl sat listless hours at
a time, and moaned with inner anguish. And often, when her father was
talking to her, and she giving mechanical replies, suddenly her cheek
would burn like fire, and the old man would wonder what he had said to
discompose her. Nothing. His words were less than air to her. It was the
ever-present dread sent the colour of shame into her burning cheek, no
matter what she seemed to be talking and thinking about. But both shame
and fear rose to a climax when she came back that night from Margaret
Van Eyck's. Her condition was discovered, and by persons of her own
sex. The old artist, secluded like herself, might not betray her;
but Catherine, a gossip in the centre of a family, and a thick
neighbourhood? One spark of hope remained. Catherine had spoken kindly,
even lovingly. The situation admitted no half course. Gerard's mother
thus roused must either be her best friend or worst enemy. She waited
then in racking anxiety to hear more. No word came. She gave up hope.
Catherine was not going to be her friend. Then she would expose her,
since she had no strong and kindly feeling to balance the natural love
of babbling.

Then it was the wish to fly from this neighbourhood began to grow