CHAPTER XLIV
A CHANGE came over Margaret Brandt. She went about her household dutieslike one in a dream. If Peter did but speak a little quickly to her, shestarted and fixed two terrified eyes on him. She went less often to herfriend Margaret Van Eyck, and was ill at her ease when there. Instead ofmeeting her warm old friend's caresses, she used to receive them passiveand trembling, and sometimes almost shrink from them. But the mostextraordinary thing was, she never would go outside her own house indaylight. When she went to Tergou it was after dusk, and she returnedbefore daybreak. She would not even go to matins. At last Peter,unobservant as he was, noticed it, and asked her the reason.
"The folk all look at me so."
* * * * *
One day, Margaret Van Eyck asked her what was the matter. A scared lookand a flood of tears were all the reply: the old lady expostulatedgently. "What, sweetheart, afraid to confide your sorrows to me?"
"I have no sorrows, madam, but of my own making. I am kinder treatedthan I deserve; especially in this house."
"Then why not come oftener, my dear?"
"I come oftener than I deserve:" and she sighed deeply.
"There, Reicht is bawling for you," said Margaret Van Eyck; "gochild!--what on earth can it be?"
Turning possibilities over in her mind, she thought Margaret must bemortified at the contempt with which she was treated by Gerard's family."I will take them to task for it, at least such of them as are women;"and, the very next day, she put on her hood and cloak, and, followed byReicht, went to the hosier's house. Catherine received her with muchrespect, and thanked her with tears for her kindness to Gerard. Butwhen, encouraged by this, her visitor diverged to Margaret Brandt,Catherine's eyes dried, and her lips turned to half the size, and shelooked as only obstinate, ignorant women can look. When they put on thiscast of features, you might as well attempt to soften or convince abrick wall. Margaret Van Eyck tried, but all in vain. So then, notbeing herself used to be thwarted, she got provoked, and at last wentout hastily with an abrupt and mutilated curtsy, which Catherinereturned with an air rather of defiance than obeisance. Outside the doorMargaret Van Eyck found Reicht conversing with a pale girl on crutches.Margaret Van Eyck was pushing by them with heightened colour, and ascornful toss intended for the whole family, when suddenly a littledelicate hand glided timidly into hers, and looking round she saw twodove-like eyes, with the water in them, that sought hers gratefully, andat the same time, imploringly. The old lady read this wonderful look,complex as it was, and down went her choler. She stooped and kissedKate's brow. "I see," said she. "Mind, then, I leave it to you."Returned home, she said,--"I have been to a house to-day, where I haveseen a very common thing and a very uncommon thing: I have seen astupid, obstinate woman, and I have seen an angel in the flesh, with aface--if I had it here I'd take down my brushes once more, and try andpaint it."
Little Kate did not belie the good opinion so hastily formed of her. Shewaited a better opportunity, and told her mother what she had learnedfrom Reicht Heynes, that Margaret had shed her very blood for Gerard inthe wood.
"See, mother, how she loves him."
"Who would not love him?"
"Oh, mother, think of it! Poor thing."
"Ay, wench. She has her own trouble, no doubt, as well as we ours. Ican't abide the sight of blood, let alone my own."
This was a point gained; but when Kate tried to follow it up she wasstopped short.
About a month after this a soldier of the Dalgetty tribe, returning fromservice in Burgundy, brought a letter one evening to the hosier's house.He was away on business: but the rest of the family sat at supper. Thesoldier laid the letter on the table by Catherine, and, refusing allguerdon for bringing it, went off to Sevenbergen.
The letter was unfolded and spread out: and curiously enough, though notone of them could read, they could all tell it was Gerard's handwriting.
"And your father must be away," cried Catherine. "Are ye not ashamed ofyourselves? not one that can read your brother's letter?"
But although the words were to them what hieroglyphics are to us, therewas something in the letter they could read. There is an art can speakwithout words: unfettered by the penman's limits, it can steal throughthe eye into the heart and brain, alike of the learned and unlearned:and it can cross a frontier or a sea, yet lose nothing. It is at themercy of no translator: for it writes an universal language.
When, therefore, they saw this,
which Gerard had drawn with his pencil between the two short paragraphs,of which his letter consisted, they read it, and it went straight totheir hearts.
Gerard was bidding them farewell.
As they gazed on that simple sketch, in every turn and line of whichthey recognized his manner, Gerard seemed present, and bidding themfarewell.
The women wept over it till they could see it no longer.
Giles said, "Poor Gerard!" in a lower voice than seemed to belong tohim.
Even Cornelis and Sybrandt felt a momentary remorse, and sat silent andgloomy.
* * * * *
But how to get the words read to them. They were loth to show theirignorance and their emotion to a stranger.
"The Dame Van Eyck?" said Kate, timidly.
"And so I will, Kate. She has a good heart. She loves Gerard, too. Shewill be glad to hear of him. I was short with her when she came here:but I will make my submission, and then she will tell me what my poorchild says to me."
She was soon at Margaret Van Eyck's house. Reicht took her into a room,and said, "Bide a minute; she is at her orisons."
There was a young woman in the room seated pensively by the stove; butshe rose and courteously made way for the visitor.
"Thank you, young lady; the winter nights are cold, and your stove is atreat." Catherine then, while warming her hands, inspected her companionfurtively from head to foot, both inclusive. The young person wore anordinary wimple, but her gown was trimmed with fur, which was, in thosedays, almost a sign of superior rank or wealth. But what most struckCatherine was the candour and modesty of the face. She felt sure ofsympathy from so good a countenance, and began to gossip.
"Now, what think you brings me here, young lady? It is a letter: aletter from my poor boy that is far away in some savage part or other.And I take shame to say that none of us can read it. I wonder whetheryou can read?"
"Yes."
"Can ye, now? It is much to your credit, my dear. I dare say she won'tbe long; but every minute is an hour to a poor longing mother."
"I will read it to you."
"Bless you, my dear; bless you!"
In her unfeigned eagerness she never noticed the suppressed eagerness,with which the hand was slowly put out to take the letter. She did notsee the tremor with which the fingers closed on it.
* * * * *
"Come then, read it to me, prithee. I am wearying for it."
"The first words are, 'To my honoured parents.'"
"Ay! and he always did honour us, poor soul."
"'God and the saints have you in his holy keeping, and bless you bynight and by day. Your one harsh deed is forgotten; your years of loveremembered.'"
Catherine laid her hand on her bosom, and sank back in her chair withone long sob.
"Then comes this, madam. It doth speak for itself; 'a long farewell.'"
"Ay, go on: bless you, girl; you give me sorry comfort. Still 'tiscomfort."
"'To my brothers Cornelis and Sybrandt:--Be content; you will see me nomore!'"
"What does that mean? Ah."
"'To my sister Kate. Little angel of my father's house. Be kind to_her_--' Ah!"
"That is Margaret Brandt, my dear,--his sweetheart, poor soul. I've notbeen kind to her, my dear. Forgive me, Gerard!"
"'--for poor Gerard's sake: since grief to her is death--to--me----'Ah!" And nature, resenting the poor girl's struggle for unnaturalcomposure, suddenly gave way, and she sank from he
r chair and layinsensible, with the letter in her hand, and her head on Catherine'sknees.
The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages Page 45
