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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Ay, ay! that she is false, that she is married to another, I'll go bail." "Nay, burgomaster, nay! not for all the world!" cried Sybrandt; "Gerard would not believe it, or but half, and then he would come back to see. No; say that she is dead." "Dead! what, at her age, will he credit that?" "Sooner than the other. Why she was nearly dead: so it is not to say a downright lie, after all." "Humph!
She also made a resolution never to blame his conduct till she should hear from his own lips his reason. Not long after her return from Tergou a fresh disaster befell. Catherine, I must premise, had secret interviews with the black sheep, the very day after they were expelled; and Cornelis followed her to Tergou, and lived there on secret contributions, but Sybrandt chose to remain in Rotterdam.
"'Tis excellently well writ," said the reader, examining every letter. "Ay!" said Hans bombastically, "and small wonder: 'tis writ by a famous hand; by Margaret, sister of Jan Van Eyck. Blessed and honoured be his memory! She is an old friend of mine, is Margaret Van Eyck." Miscellaneous Hans then diverged into forty topics. Sybrandt stole out of the company, and went in search of Cornelis.
"Well, then, know that thy brother Sybrandt lies in my charge with a broken back, fruit of thy curse." "Mea culpa! mea culpa!" "He is very penitent; be yourself and forgive him this night." "I have forgiven him long ago." "Think you he can believe that from any mouth but yours? Come! he is but about two butts' length hence." "So near? Why, where?" "At Gouda manse. I took him there yestreen.
He was always in the right, and nothing too good for him. Cornelis and Sybrandt became more and more jealous of him, and longed for the day he should go to his benefice; they would get rid of the favourite, and his reverence's purse would be open to them. With these views he co-operated. The wound love had given him throbbed duller and duller.
Well, father," continued Jorian, "I thought not much on't at the time, except for the bargain itself, that kept me awake mostly all night. Think on't! Next morning at peep of day who should I see but my masters Cornelis and Sybrandt come out of their house each with a black eye.
But I up and told him nay; 'twas neither demoiselle nor dame that penned yon lie, but Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, and those foul knaves, Cornelis and Sybrandt; these changed the true letter for one of their own; I told him as how I saw the whole villainy done through a chink; and now, if I have not been and told you!" "Oh, cruel! cruel! But he lives. The fear of fears is gone. Thank God!"
She repeated every word of it by memory, following the lines with her finger, to cheat herself and bearers into the notion that she could read the words, or nearly. Then, suddenly lifting her head, she cast another keen look on Cornelis and Sybrandt: their eyes fell. On this the storm that had long been brewing burst on their heads.
"Cornelis and Sybrandt are two ill curs that have shown me their teeth and their heart a long while; but they could do no more. My father it is that gave the burgomaster authority, or he durst not have laid a finger on me, that am a free burgher of this town. So be it, then. I was his son. I am his prisoner. He has played his part. I shall play mine.
She lived in pain, but smiled through it, with her marble face and violet eyes and long silky lashes; and fretful or repining word never came from her lips. The unwilling ones were Sybrandt, the youngest, a ne'er-do-weel, too much in love with play to work; and Cornelis, the eldest, who had made calculations, and stuck to the hearth, waiting for dead men's shoes.
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