what in modern days is called a draw. It was a guess, put
boldly forth as fact, to elicit by the young man's answer whether he had
been there lately or not.

The result of the artifice surprised the crafty one. Gerard started up
in a strange state of nervous excitement.

"Burgomaster," said he, with trembling voice, "I have not been at
Sevenbergen these three years, and I know not the name of those you saw
me with, nor where they dwelt; but, as my time is precious, though
you value it not, give you good day." And he darted out, with his eyes
sparkling.

Ghysbrecht started up in huge ire; but he sank into his chair again.

"He fears me not. He knows something, if not all."

Then he called hastily to his trusty servant, and almost dragged him to
a window.

"See you yon man?" he cried. "Haste! follow him! But let him not see
you. He is young, but old in craft. Keep him in sight all day. Let me
know whither he goes, and what he does."

It was night when the servant returned.

"Well? well?" cried Van Swieten eagerly.

"Master, the young man went from you to Sevenbergen."

Ghysbrecht groaned.

"To the house of Peter the Magician."

CHAPTER VI

"Look into your own heart and write!" said Herr Cant; and earth's
cuckoos echoed the cry. Look into the Rhine where it is deepest, and the
Thames where it is thickest, and paint the bottom. Lower a bucket into
a well of self-deception, and what comes up must be immortal truth,
mustn't it? Now, in the first place, no son of Adam ever reads his own
heart at all, except by the habit acquired, and the light gained, from
some years perusal of other hearts; and even then, with his acquired
sagacity and reflected light, he can but spell and decipher his own
heart, not read it fluently. Half way to Sevenbergen Gerard looked into
his own heart, and asked it why he was going to Sevenbergen. His heart
replied without a moment's hesitation, "We are going out of curiosity
to know why she jilted us, and to show her it has not broken our hearts,
and that we are quite content with our honours and our benefice in
prospectu, and don't want her nor ally of her fickle sex."

He soon found out Peter Brandt's cottage; and there sat a girl in the
doorway, plying her needle, and a stalwart figure leaned on a long bow
and talked to her. Gerard felt an unaccountable pang at the sight of
him. However, the man turned out to be past fifty years of age, an old
soldier, whom Gerard remembered t