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Presently a Tergovian came in with a word from Catherine that Ghysbrecht Van Swieten had seen Gerard later than any one else. On this Margaret determined to go and see the house and goods that had been left her, and take Reicht Heynes home to Rotterdam. And as may be supposed, her steps took her first to Ghysbrecht's house. She found him in his garden, seated in a chair with wheels.
In her the Gossip was indestructible. "Well, mother," said Margaret listlessly, "and here I am." A shuffling of feet was heard at the door, and a colourless, feeble old man was assisted into the room. It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten. At sight of him Catherine shrieked, and threw her apron over her head, and Margaret shuddered violently, and turned her head swiftly away, not to see him.
"It will be for his good in the end," replied the young one. "What avails Famine wedding Thirst?" said Cornelis. "And the grief you are preparing for him so coolly?" Ghysbrecht spoke sarcastically, but tasted his own vengeance all the time. "Oh, a lie is not like a blow with a curtal axe. It hacks no flesh, and breaks no bones."
Ghysbrecht did not recognise Gerard in the Dominican friar, and promised in his sickness to make full restitution to Margaret Brandt for the withholding of her property from her. As soon as he was quite sure Margaret had her own, and was a rich woman, Friar Clement disappeared. The hermit of Gouda had recently died, and Clement found his cell amidst the rocks, and appropriated it.
No matter; such looks forewarn the wise. To be sure, he knows." "Knows what, Gerard?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "Kate, I'll go." Ghysbrecht Van Swieten was an artful man. He opened on the novice with something quite wide of the mark he was really aiming at. "The town records," said he, "are crabbedly written, and the ink rusty with age." He offered Gerard the honour of transcribing them fair.
Gerard inquired what he was to be paid. Ghysbrecht offered a sum that would have just purchased the pens, ink, and parchment. "But, burgomaster, my labour? Here is a year's work." "Your labour? Call you marking parchment labour? Little sweat goes to that, I trow." "'Tis labour, and skilled labour to boot; and that is better paid in all crafts than rude labour, sweat or no sweat.
"Master, the young man went from you to Sevenbergen." Ghysbrecht groaned. "To the house of Peter the Magician." "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.
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.
Ghysbrecht then drew his inkhorn towards him, and laid the specimen of Margaret Van Eyck's writing before him, and made some inquiries as to the size and shape of the letter, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred; Jorian Ketel burst hastily into the room, and looked vexed at not finding him alone. "Thou seest I have matter on hand, good fellow." "Ay; but this is grave.
"'Yet will He certainly forgive it, quoth he; 'for He is ten times more forgiving than I am, and I forgive thee. I stared at him; and then he said softly, but quavering like, 'Ghysbrecht, look at me closer. I am Gerard, the son of Eli. And I looked, and looked, and at last, lo! it was Gerard. Verily I had fallen at his feet with shame and contrition, but he would not suffer me.
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