passing. One day she made
him dine with her, and somewhat to his surprise asked him what had
dashed his spirits. He told her. She gave him her reading of the matter.
"Those sly traders," she would be bound, "had writers in their pay,
for whose work they received a noble price, and paid a sorry one. So no
wonder they blow cold on you. Methinks you write too well. How know I
that? say you. Marry--marry, because you lock not your door, like the
churl Pietro, and women will be curious. Ay, ay, you write too well for
them."

Gerard asked an explanation.

"Why," said she, "your good work might put out the eyes of that they are
selling."

Gerard sighed. "Alas! dame, you read folk on the ill side, and you so
kind and frank yourself."

"My dear little heart, these Romans are a subtle race. Me? I am a
Siennese, thanks to the Virgin."

"My mistake was leaving Augsburg," said Gerard.

"Augsburg?" said she haughtily: "is that a place to even to Rome? I
never heard of it, for my part."

She then assured him that he should make his fortune in spite of the
booksellers. "Seeing thee a stranger, they lie to thee without sense or
discretion. Why, all the world knows that our great folk are bitten with
the writing spider this many years, and pour out their money like water,
and turn good land and houses into writ sheepskins, to keep in a chest
or a cupboard. God help them, and send them safe through this fury, as
He hath through a heap of others; and in sooth hath been somewhat less
cutting and stabbing among rival factions, and vindictive eating of
their opposites' livers, minced and fried, since Scribbling came in.
Why, I can tell you two. There is his eminence Cardinal Bassarion, and
his holiness the Pope himself. There be a pair could keep a score such
as thee a writing night and day. But I'll speak to Teresa; she hears the
gossip of the court."

The next day she told him she had seen Teresa, and had heard of five
more signors who were bitten with the writing spider. Gerard took down
their names, and bought parchment, and busied himself for some days in
preparing specimens. He left one, with his name and address, at each of
these signors' doors, and hopefully awaited the result.

There was none.

Day after day passed and left him heartsick.

And strange to say this was just the time when Margaret was fighting so
hard against odds to feed her male dependents at Rotterdam, and arrested
for curing without a licence instead