"At your service, Councillor Golden. At the wharf there is good news. The 'Great Christopher' has come to anchor,—Captain Batavius de Vries. So a good-morrow, sir;" and Joris lifted his beaver, and proceeded on his way to Murray's Wharf.



Bram was already on board. His hands were clasped across the big right shoulder of Batavius, who stood at the mainmast, giving orders about his cargo. He was a large man, with the indisputable air of a sailor from strange seas, familiar with the idea of solitude, and used to absolute authority. He loved Bram after his own fashion, but his vocabulary of affectionate words was not a large one. Bram, however, understood him; he had been quite satisfied with his short and undemonstrative greeting,—

"Thee, Bram? Good! How goes it?"

The advent of Joris added a little to the enthusiasm of the meeting. Joris thoroughly liked Batavius, and their hands slipped into each other's with a mighty grasp almost spontaneously. After some necessary delay, the three men left the ship together. There was quite a crowd on the wharf. Some were attracted by curiosity; others, by the hope of a good job on the cargo; others, again, not averse to a little private bargaining for any curious or valuable goods the captain of the "Great Christopher" had for sale. Cohen was among the latter; but he had too much intelligence to interfere with a family party, especially as he heard Joris say to the crowd with a polite authority, "Make way, friends, make way. When a man is off a three-years' cruise, for a trifle he should not be stopped."

Joanna had had a message from her lover, and she was watching for his arrival. There was no secrecy in her love-affairs, and it was amid the joy and smiles of the whole household that she met her affianced husband. They were one of those loving, sensible couples, for whom it is natural to predict a placid and happy life; and the first words of Batavius seemed to assure it.

"My affairs have gone well, Joanna, as they generally do; and now I shall build the house, and we shall be married."

Joanna laughed. "I shall just say a word or two, also, about that, Batavius."

"Come, come, the word or two was said so long ago. Have you got the pretty Chinese kas I sent from the ship? and the Javanese cabaya, and the sweetmeats, and the golden pins?"

"All of them I have got. Much money, Batavius, they must have cost."

"Well, well, then! There is enough left. A man does not go to the African coast for nothing. Katrijntje, mijn meisje, what's the matter now, that you never come once?"

Katherine was standing at the open window, apparently watching the honey-bees among the locust blooms, but really perceiving something far beyond them,—a boat on the river at the end of the garden. She could not have told how she knew that it was there; but she saw it, saw it through the intervening space, barred and shaded by many trees. She felt the slow drift of the resting oars, and the fascination of an eager, handsome face lifted to the lilac-bushes which hedged the bank. So the question of Batavius touched very lightly her physical consciousness. A far sweeter, a far more peremptory voice called her; but she answered,—

"There is nothing the matter, Batavius. I am well, I am happy. And now I will go into the garden to make me a fine nosegay."

"Three times this week, into the garden you have gone to get a nosegay; and then all about it you forget. It will be better to listen to Batavius, I think. He will tell us of the strange countries where he has been, and of the strange men and women."

"For you, Joanna, that will be pleasant; but"—

"For you also. To listen to Batavius is to learn something."

"Well, that is the truth. But to me all this talk is not very interesting. I will go into the garden;" and she walked slowly out of the door, and stopped or stooped at every flower-bed, while Joanna watched her.

"The child is now a woman. It will be a lover next, Joanna."

"There is a lover already; but to anything he says, Katrijntje listens not. It is at her father's knee she sits, not at the lover's."

"It will be Rem Verplanck? And what will come of it?"

"No, it is Neil Semple. To-night you will see. He comes in and talks of the Assembly and the governor, and of many things of great moment. But it is Katherine for all that. A girl has not been in love four years for nothing. I can see, too, that my father looks sad, and my mother says neither yes nor no in the matter."

"The Semples are good business managers. They are also rich, and they approve of good morals and the true religion. Be content, Joanna. Many roads lead to happiness beside the road we take. Now, let us talk of our own affairs."

It was at this moment that Katherine turned to observe if she were watched. No: Batavius and Joanna had gone away from the window, and for a little while she would not be missed. She ran rapidly to the end of the garden, and, parting the lilac-bushes, stood flushed and panting on the river-bank. There was a stir of oars below her. It was precisely as she had known it would be. Captain Hyde's pretty craft shot into sight, and a few strokes put it at the landing-stair. In a moment he was at her side. He took her in his arms; and, in spite of the small hands covering her blushing face, he kissed her with passionate affection.



"My darling, my charmer," he said, "how you have tortured me! By my soul, I have been almost distracted. Pray, now let me see thy lovely face." He lifted it in his hands and kissed it again,—kissed the rosy cheeks, and white dropped eyelids, and red smiling mouth; vowed with every kiss that she was the most adorable of women, and protested, "on his honour as a soldier," that he would make her his wife, or die a bachelor for her sake.

And who can blame a young girl if she listens and believes, when listening and believing mean to her perfect happiness? Not women who have ever stood, trembling with love and joy, close to the dear one's heart. If they be gray-haired, and on the very shoal of life, they must remember still those moments of delight,—the little lane, the fire-lit room, the drifting boat, that is linked with them. If they be young and lovely, and have but to say, "It was yesterday," or, "It was last week," still better they will understand the temptation that was too great for Katherine to overcome.

And, as yet, nothing definite had been said to her about Neil Semple, and the arrangement made for her future. Joris had intended every day to tell her, and every day his heart had failed him. He felt as if the entire acceptance of the position would be giving his little daughter away. As long as she was not formally betrothed, she was all his own; and Neil could not use that objectionable word "my" in regard to her. Lysbet was still more averse to a decisive step. She had had "dreams" and "presentiments" of unusual honour for Katherine, which she kept with a superstitious reverence in her memory; and the girl's great beauty and winning manners had fed this latent expectancy. But to see her the wife of Neil Semple did not seem to be any realization of her ambitious hopes. She had known Neil all his life; and she could not help feeling, that, if Katherine's fortune lay with him, her loving dreams were all illusions and doomed to disappointment.

Besides, with a natural contradiction, she was a little angry at Neil's behaviour. He had been coming to their house constantly for a month at least; every opportunity of speaking to Katherine on his own behalf had been given him, and he had not spoken. He was too indifferent, or he was too confident; and either feeling she resented. But she judged Neil wrongly. He was an exceedingly cautious young man; and he felt what the mother could not perceive,—a certain atmosphere about the charming girl which was a continual repression to him. In the end, he determined to win her, win her entirely, heart and hand; therefore he did not wish to embarrass his subsequent wooing by having to surmount at the outset the barrier of a premature "no." And, as yet, his jealousy of Captain Hyde was superficial and intermitting; it had not entered his mind that an English officer could possibly be an actual rival to him. They were all of them notoriously light of love, and the Colonial beauties treated their homage with as light a belief; only it angered and pained him that Katherine should suffer herself to be made the pastime of Hyde's idle hours.

On the night of De Vries' return, there was a great gathering at Van Heemskirk's house. No formal invitations were given, but all the friends of the family understood that it would be so. Joris kept on his coat and ruffles and fine cravat, Batavius wore his blue broadcloth and gilt buttons, and Lysbet and her daughters were in their kirk dresses of silk and camblet. It was an exquisite summer evening, and the windows looking into the garden were all open; so also was the door; and long before sunset the stoop was full of neighbourly men, smoking with Joris and Batavius, and discussing Colonial and commercial affairs.

In the living-room and the best parlour their wives were gathered,—women with finely rounded forms, very handsomely clothed, and all busily employed in the discussion of subjects of the greatest interest to them. For Joanna's marriage was now to be freely talked over,—the house Batavius was going to build described, the linen and clothing she had prepared examined, and the numerous and rich presents her lover had brought her wondered over, and commented upon.

Conspicuous in the happy chattering company, Lysbet Van Heemskirk bustled about, in the very whitest and stiffest of lace caps; making a suggestion, giving an opinion, scolding a careless servant, putting out upon the sideboard Hollands, Geneva, and other strong waters, and ordering in from the kitchen hot chocolate and cakes of all kinds for the women of the company. Very soon after sundown, Elder Semple and madam his wife arrived; and the elder, as usual, made a decided stir among the group which he joined.

"No, no, Councillor," he said, in answer to the invitation of Joris to come outside. "No, no, I'll not risk my health, maybe my vera life, oot on the stoop after sunset. 'Warm,' do you say? Vera warm, and all the waur for being warm. My medical man thinks I hae a tendency to fever, and there's four-fourths o' fever in every inch o' river mist that a man breathes these warm nights."

"Well, then, neighbours, we'll go inside," said Joris. "Clean pipes, and a snowball, or a glass of Holland, will not, I think, be amiss."

The movement was made among some jokes and laughter; and they gathered near the hearthstone, where, in front of the unlit hickory logs, stood a tall blue jar filled with feathery branches of fennel and asparagus. But, as the jar of Virginia was passed round, Lysbet looked at Dinorah, and Dinorah went to the door and called, "Baltus;" and in a minute or two a little black boy entered with some hot coals on a brass chafing-dish, and the fire was as solemnly and silently passed round as if it were some occult religious ceremony.

The conversation interrupted by Semples entrance was not resumed.



It had been one dealing out unsparing and scornful disapproval of Governor Clinton's financial methods, and Clinton was known to be a personal friend of Semple's. But the elder would perhaps hardly have appreciated the consideration, if he had divined it; for he dearly loved an argument, and had no objections to fight for his own side single-handed. In fact, it was so natural for him to be "in opposition," that he could not bear to join the general congratulation to De Vries on his fortunate voyage.

"You were lang awa', Captain," was his opening speech. "It would tak' a deal o' gude fortune to mak' it worth your while to knock around the high seas for three years or mair."

"Well, look now, Elder, I didn't come home with empty hands. I have always been apt to get into the place where gold and good bargains were going."

"Hum-m-m! You sailed for Rotterdam, I think?"

"That is true; from Rotterdam I went to Batavia, and then to the coast of Africa. The African cargo took me to the West Indies. From Kingston it was easy to St. Thomas and Surinam for cotton, and then to Curacoa for dyeing-woods and spices. The 'Great Christopher' took luck with her. Every cargo was a good cargo."

"I'll no be certain o' that, Captain. I would hae some scruples mysel' anent buying and selling men and women o' any colour. We hae no quotations from the other world, and it may be the Almighty holds his black men at as high a figure as his white men. I'm just speculating, you ken. I hae a son—my third son, Alexander Semple, o' Boston—wha has made money on the Africans. I hae told him, likewise, that trading in wheat and trading in humanity may hae ethical differences; but every one settles his ain bill, and I'll hae enough to do to secure mysel'."

Batavius was puzzled; and at the words "ethical differences," his big brown hand was "in the hair" at once. He scratched his head and looked doubtfully at Semple, whose face was peculiarly placid and thoughtful and kindly.

"Men must work, Elder, and these blacks won't work unless they are forced to. I, who am a baptized Christian, have to do my duty in this life; and, as for pagans, they must be made to do it. I am myself a great lover of morality, and that is what I think. Also, you may read in the Scriptures, that St. Paul says that if a man will not work, neither shall he eat."

"St. Paul dootless kent a' about the question o' forced labour, seeing that he lived when baith white and black men were sold for a price. However, siller in the hand answers a' questions and the dominie made a vera true observe one Sabbath, when he said that the Almighty so ordered things in this warld that orthodoxy and good living led to wealth and prosperity."

"That is the truth," answered Justice Van Gaasbeeck; "Holland is Holland because she has the true faith. You may see that in France there is anarchy and bloodshed and great poverty; that is because they are Roman Catholics."

It was at this moment that Katherine came and stood behind her father's chair. She let her hand fall down over his shoulder, and he raised his own to clasp it. "What is it, then, mijn Katrijntje kleintje?"

"It is to dance. Mother says 'yes' if thou art willing."

"Then I say 'yes,' also."

For a moment she laid her cheek against his; and the happy tears came into his eyes, and he stroked her face, and half-reluctantly let Batavius lead her away. For, at the first mention of a dance, Batavius had risen and put down his pipe; and in a few minutes he was triumphantly guiding Joanna in a kind of mazy waltzing movement, full of spirit and grace.

At that day there were but few families of any wealth who did not own one black man who could play well upon the violin. Joris possessed two; and they were both on hand, putting their own gay spirits into the fiddle and the bow. And oh, how happy were the beating feet and the beating hearts that went to the stirring strains! It was joy and love and youth in melodious motion. The old looked on with gleaming, sympathetic eyes; the young forgot that they were mortal.

Then there was a short pause; and the ladies sipped chocolate, and the gentlemen sipped something a little stronger, and a merry ripple of conversation and of hearty laughter ran with the clink of glass and china, and the scraping of the fiddle-bows.

"Miss Katern Van Heemskirk and Mr. Neil Semple will now hab de honour of 'bliging de company wid de French minuet."

At this announcement, made by the first negro violin, there was a sudden silence; and Neil rose, and with a low bow offered the tips of his fingers to the beautiful girl, who rose blushing to take them. The elder deliberately turned his chair around, in order to watch the movement comfortably; and there was an inexpressible smile of satisfaction on his face as his eyes followed the young people. Neil's dark, stately beauty was well set off by his black velvet suit and powdered hair and gold buckles. And no lovelier contrast could have faced him than Katherine Van Heemskirk; so delicately fresh, so radiantly fair, she looked in her light-blue robe and white lace stomacher, with a pink rose at her breast. There were shining amber beads around her white throat, and a large amber comb fastened her pale brown hair. A gilded Indian fan was in her hand, and she used it with all the pretty airs she had so aptly copied from Mrs. Gordon.

Neil had a natural majesty in his carriage; Katherine supplemented it with a natural grace, and with certain courtly movements which made the little Dutch girls, who had never seen Mrs. Gordon practising them, admire and wonder. As she was in the very act of making Neil a profound courtesy, the door opened, and Mrs. Gordon and Captain Hyde entered. The latter took in the exquisite picture in a moment; and there was a fire of jealousy in his heart when he saw Neil lead his partner to her seat, and with the deepest respect kiss her pretty fingers ere he resigned them.

But he was compelled to control himself, as he was ceremoniously introduced to Councillor and Madam Van Heemskirk by his aunt, who, with a charming effusiveness, declared "she was very uneasy to intrude so far; but, in faith, Councillor," she pleaded, "I am but a woman, and I find the news of a wedding beyond my nature to resist."

There was something so frank and persuasive about the elegant stranger, that Joris could not refuse the courtesy she asked for herself and her nephew. And, having yielded, he yielded with entire truth and confidence. He gave his hand to his visitors, and made them heartily welcome to join in his household rejoicing. True, Mrs. Gordon's persuasive words were ably seconded by causes which she had probably calculated. The elder and Madam Semple were present, and it would have been impossible for Joris to treat their friends rudely. Bram was also another conciliating element, for Captain Hyde was on pleasant speaking terms with him; and, as yet, even Neil's relations were at least those of presumed friendship. Also, the Van Gaasbeeks and others present were well inclined to make the acquaintance of a woman so agreeable, and an officer so exceptionally handsome and genteel. Besides which, Joris was himself in a happy and genial mood; he had opened his house and his heart to his friends; and he did not feel at that hour as if he could doubt any human being, or close his door against even the stranger and the alien who wished to rejoice with him.

Elder Semple was greatly pleased at his friend's complaisance. He gave Joris full credit for his victory over his national prejudices, and he did his very best to make the concession a pleasant event. In this effort, he was greatly assisted by Mrs. Gordon; she set herself to charm Van Heemskirk, as she had set herself to charm Madam Van Heemskirk on her previous visit; and she succeeded so well, that, when "Sir Roger de Coverley" was called, Joris rose, offered her his hand, and, to the delight of every one present, led the dance with her.

It was a little triumph for the elder; and he sat smiling, and twirling his fingers, and thoroughly enjoying the event. Indeed, he was so interested in listening to the clever way in which "the bonnie woman flattered Van Heemskirk," that he was quite oblivious of the gathering wrath in his son's face, and the watchful gloom in Bram's eyes, as the two men stood together, jealously observant of Captain Hyde's attentions to Katherine. Without any words spoken on the subject, there was an understood compact between them to guard the girl from any private conversation with him; and yet two men with hearts full of suspicion and jealousy were not a match for one man with a heart full of love. In a moment, in the interchange of their hands in a dance, Katherine clasped tightly a little note, and unobserved hid it behind the rose at her breast.

But nothing is a wonder in love, or else it would have been amazing that Joanna did not notice the rose absent from her sister's dress after Captain Hyde's departure; nor yet that Katherine, ere she went to rest that night, kissed fervently a tiny bit of paper which she hid within the silver clasps of her Kirk Bible. The loving girl thought it no wrong to put it there; she even hoped that some kind of blessing or sanction might come through such sacred keeping; and she went to sleep whispering to herself,—"Happy I am. Me he loves; me he loves; me only he loves; me forever he loves!"



V.

"All pleasure must be bought at the price of pain. The true pay the price before they enjoy it; the false, after they enjoy it."

"My dear Dick, I am exceedingly concerned to find you in such a taking,—a soldier who has known some of the finest women of the day, moping about a Dutch school-girl! Pshaw! Don't be a fool! I had a much better opinion of you."

"'Tis a kind of folly that runs in the family, aunt. I have heard that you preferred Colonel Gordon to a duke."

"Now, sir, you are ill-natured. Dukes are not uncommon: a man of sense and sensibility is a treasure. Make me grateful that I secured one."

"Lend me your wit, then, for the same consummation. I assure you that I consider Katherine Van Heemskirk a treasure past belief. Confess, now, that she was the loveliest of creatures last night."

"She has truly a fine complexion, and she dances with all the elegance imaginable. I know, too, that she sings to perfection, and has most agreeable and obliging manners."

"And a heart which abounds in every tender feeling."

"Oh, indeed, sir! I was not aware that you knew her so well."

"I know that I love her beyond everything, and that I am likely so to love her all my life."

"Upon my word, Dick, love may live an age—if you don't marry it."

"Let me make you understand that I wish to marry it."

"Oh, indeed, sir! Then the church door stands open. Go in. I suppose the lady will oblige you so far."

"Pray, my dear aunt, talk sensibly. Give me your advice; you know already that I value it. What is the first step to be taken?"

"Go and talk with her father. I assure you, no real progress can be made without it. The girl you think worth asking for; but it is very necessary for you to know what fortune goes with her beauty."

"If her father refuse to give her to me"—

"That is not to be thought of. I have seen that some of the best of these Dutch families are very willing to be friendly with us. You come of a noble race. You wear your sword with honour. You are not far from the heritage of a great title and estate. If you ask for her fortune, you offer far above its equivalent, sir."

"I have heard Mr. Neil Semple say that Van Heemskirk is a great stickler for trade, and that he hates every man who wears a sword."

"You have heard more than you need listen to. I talked to the man an hour last night. He is as honest as a looking-glass, and I read him all through with the greatest ease. I am sure that he has a heart very tender, and devoid of anger or prejudice of any kind."

"That is to be seen. I have discovered already that men who can be very gentle can also be very rough. But this suspense is intolerable, and not to be borne. I will go and end it. Pray, what is the hour?"

"It is about three o'clock; a very suitable hour, I think."

"Then give me your good wishes."

"I shall be impatient to hear the result."

"In an hour or two."

"Oh, sir, I am not so foolish as to expect you in an hour or two! When you have spoken with the father, you will doubtless go home with him and drink a dish of tea with your divinity. I can imagine your unreasonable felicity, Dick,—seas of milk, and ships of amber, and all sails set for the desired haven! I know it all, so I hope you will spare me every detail,—except, indeed, such as relate to pounds, shillings, and pence."

It was a very hot afternoon; and Van Heemskirk's store, though open to the river-breezes, was not by any means a cool or pleasant place. Bram was just within the doors, marking "Boston" on a number of flour-barrels, which were being rapidly transferred to a vessel lying at the wharf. He was absorbed and hurried in the matter, and received the visitor with rather a cool courtesy; but whether the coolness was of intention or preoccupation, Captain Hyde did not perceive it. He asked for Councillor Van Heemskirk, and was taken to his office, a small room, intensely warm and sunny at that hour of the day.

"Your servant, Captain."

"Yours, most sincerely, Councillor. It is a hot day."

"That is so. We come near to midsummer. Is there anything I can oblige you in, sir?"

Joris asked the question because the manner of the young man struck him as uneasy and constrained; and he thought, "Perhaps he has come to borrow money." It was notorious that his Majesty's officers gambled, and were often in very great need of it; and, although Joris had not any intention of risking his gold, he thought it as well to bring out the question, and have the refusal understood before unnecessary politeness made it more difficult. He was not, therefore, astonished when Captain Hyde answered,—

"Sir, you can indeed oblige me, and that in a matter of the greatest moment."

"If money it be, Captain, at once I may tell you, that I borrow not, and I lend not."

"Sir, it is not money—in particular."

"So?"

"It is your daughter Katherine."

Then Joris stood up, and looked steadily at the suitor. His large, amiable face had become in a moment hard and stern; and the light in his eyes was like the cold, sharp light that falls from drawn steel.

"My daughter is not for you to name. Sir, it is a wrong to her, if you speak her name."

"By my honour, it is not! Though I come of as good family as any in England, and may not unreasonably hope to inherit its earldom, I do assure you, sir, I sue as humbly for your daughter's hand as if she were a princess."

"Your family! Talk not of it. King nor kaiser do I count better men than my own fore-goers. Like to like, that is what I say. Your wife seek, Captain, among your own women."

"I protest that I love your daughter. I wish above all things to make her my wife."

"Many things men desire, that they come not near to. My daughter is to another man promised."

"Look you, Councillor, that would be monstrous. Your daughter loves me."

Joris turned white to the lips. "It is not the truth," he answered in a slow, husky voice.

"By the sun in heaven, it is the truth! Ask her."

"Then a great scoundrel are you, unfit with honest men to talk. Ho! Yes, your sword pull from its scabbard. Strike. To the heart strike me. Less wicked would be the deed than the thing you have done."

"In faith, sir, 'tis no crime to win a woman's love."

"No crime it would be to take the guilders from my purse, if my consent was to it. But into my house to come, and while warm was yet my welcome, with my bread and wine in your lips, to take my gold, a shame and a crime would be. My daughter than gold is far more precious."

There was something very impressive in the angry sorrow of Joris. It partook of his own magnitude. Standing in front of him, it was impossible for Captain Hyde not to be sensible of the difference between his own slight, nervous frame, and the fair, strong massiveness of Van Heemskirk; and, in a dim way, he comprehended that this physical difference was only the outward and visible sign of a mental and moral one quite as positive and unchangeable.

Yet he persevered in his solicitation. With a slight impatience of manner he said, "Do but hear me, sir. I have done nothing contrary to the custom of people in my condition, and I assure you that with all my soul I love your daughter."

"Love! So talk you. You see a girl beautiful, sweet, and innocent. Your heart, greedy and covetous, wants her as it has wanted, doubtless, many others. For yourself only you seek her. And what is it you ask then! That she should give up for you her father, mother, home, her own faith, her own people, her own country,—the poor little one!—for a cold, cheerless land among strangers, alone in the sorrows and pains that to all women come. Love! In God's name, what know you of love?"

"No man can love her better."

"What say you? How, then, do I love her? I who carried her—mijn witte lammetje—in these arms before yet she could say to me, 'Fader'!" His wrath had been steadily growing, in spite of the mist in his eyes and the tenderness in his voice; and suddenly striking the desk a ponderous blow with his closed hand, he said with an unmistakable passion, "My daughter you shall not have. God in heaven to himself take her ere such sorrow come to her and me!"



"Sir, you are very uncivil; but I am thankful to know so much of your mind. And, to be plain with you, I am determined to marry your daughter if I can compass the matter in any way. It is now, then, open war between us; and so, sir, your servant."

"Stay. To me listen. Not one guilder will I give to my daughter, if"—

"To the devil with your guilders! Dirty money made in dirty traffic"—

"You lie!"

"Sir, you take an infamous advantage. You know, that, being Katherine's father, I will not challenge you."

"Christus!!" roared Joris, "challenge me one hundred times. A fool I would be to answer you. Life my God gave to me. Well, then, only my God shall from me take it. See you these arms and hands? In them you will be as the child of one year. Ere beyond my reason you move me, go!" and he strode to the door and flung it open with a passion that made every one in the store straighten themselves, and look curiously toward the two men.

White with rage, and with his hand upon his sword-hilt, Captain Hyde stamped his way through the crowded store to the dusty street. Then it struck him that he had not asked the name of the man to whom Katharine was promised. He swore at himself for the omission. Whether he knew him or not, he was determined to fight him. In the meantime, the most practical revenge was to try and see Katherine before her father had the opportunity to give her any orders regarding him. Just then he met Neil Semple, and he stopped and asked him the time.

"It will be the half hour after four, Captain. I am going home; shall I have your company, sir?"

"I have not much leisure to-night. Make a thousand regrets to Madam Semple and my aunt for me."

Neil's calm, complacent gravity was unendurable. He turned from him abruptly, and, muttering passionate exclamations, went to the river-bank for a boat. Often he had seen Katherine between five and six o'clock at the foot of the Van Heemskirk garden; for it was then possible for her to slip away while madam was busy about her house, and Joanna and Batavius talking over their own affairs. And this evening he felt that the very intensity of his desire must surely bring her to their trysting-place behind the lilac hedge.

Whether he was right or wrong, he did not consider; for he was not one of those potent men who have themselves in their own power. Nor had it ever entered his mind that "love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice," or that the only love worthy of the name refuses to blend with anything that is low or vindictive or clandestine. And, even if he had not loved Katherine, he would now have been determined to marry her. Never before in all his life had he found an object so engrossing. Pride and revenge were added to love, as motives; but who will say that love was purer or stronger or sweeter for them?

In the meantime Joris was suffering as only such deep natures can suffer. There are domestic fatalities which the wisest and tenderest of parents seem impotent to contend with. Joris had certainly been alarmed by Semple's warning; but in forbidding his daughter to visit Mrs. Gordon, and in permitting the suit of Neil Semple, he thought he had assured her safety. Through all the past weeks, he had seen no shadow on her face. The fear had died out, and the hope had been slowly growing; so that Captain Hyde's proposal, and his positive assertion that Katherine loved him, had fallen upon the father's heart with the force of a blow, and the terror of a shock. And the sting of the sorrow was this,—that his child had deceived him. Certainly she had not spoken false words, but truth can be outraged by silence quite as cruelly as by speech.

After Hyde's departure, he shut the door of his office, walked to the window, and stood there some minutes, clasping and unclasping his large hands, like a man full of grief and perplexity. Ere long he remembered his friend Semple. This trouble concerned him also, for Captain Hyde was in a manner his guest; and, if he were informed of the marriage arranged between Katherine and Neil Semple, he would doubtless feel himself bound in honour to retire. Elder Semple had opened his house to Colonel Gordon, his wife and nephew. For months they had lived in comfort under his roof, and been made heartily welcome to the best of all he possessed. Joris put himself in Hyde's place; and he was certain, that, under the same circumstances, he would feel it disgraceful to interfere with the love-affairs of his host's son.

He found Semple with his hat in his hand, giving his last orders before leaving business for the day; but when Joris said, "There is trouble, and your advice I want," he returned with him to the back of the store, where, through half-opened shutters, the sunshine and the river-breeze stole into an atmosphere laden with the aromas of tea and coffee and West Indian produce.

In a few short, strong sentences, Joris put the case before Semple. The latter stroked his right knee thoughtfully, and listened. But his first words were not very comforting: "I must say, that it is maistly your own fault, Joris. You hae given Neil but a half welcome, and you should hae made a' things plain and positive to Katherine. Such skimble-skamble, yea and nay kind o' ways willna do wi' women. Why didna you say to her, out and out, 'I hae promised you to Neil Semple, my lassie. He'll mak' you the best o' husbands; you'll marry him at the New Year, and you'll get gold and plenishing and a' things suitable'?"

"So young she is yet, Elder."

"She has been o'er auld for you, Joris. Young! My certie! When girls are auld enough for a lover, they are a match for any gray head. I'm a thankfu' man that I wasna put in charge o' any o' them. You and your household will hae to keep your e'en weel open, or there will be a wedding to which nane o' us will get an invite. But there is little good in mair words. Hame is the place we are baith needed in. I shall hae to speak my mind to Neil, and likewise to Colonel Gordon; and you canna put off your duty to your daughter an hour longer. Dear me! To think, Joris, o' a man being able to sit wi' the councillors o' the nation, and yet no match for a lassie o' seventeen!"

There are men who can talk their troubles away: Joris was not one of them. He was silent when in sorrow or perplexity; silent, and ever looking around for something to do in the matter. As they walked homewards, the elder talked, and Joris pondered, not what was said, but the thoughts and purposes that were slowly forming in his own mind. He was later than usual, and the tea and the cakes had passed their prime condition; but, when Lysbet saw the trouble in his eyes, she thought them not worth mentioning. Joanna and Batavius were discussing their new house then building on the East River bank, and they had forgotten all else. But Katherine fretted about her father's delay, and it was at her Joris first looked. The veil had now been taken from his eyes; and he noticed her pretty dress, her restless glances at the clock, her ill-concealed impatience at the slow movement of the evening meal.

When it was over, Joanna and Batavius went out to walk, and Madame Van Heemskirk rose to put away her silver and china. "So warm as it is!" said Katherine. "Into the garden I am going, mother."

"Well, then, there are currants to pull. The dish take with you."

Joris rose then, and laying his hand on Katherine's shoulder said, "There is something to talk about. Sit down, Lysbet; the door shut close, and listen to me."

It was impossible to mistake the stern purpose on her husband's face, and Lysbet silently obeyed the order.

"Katherine, Katrijntje, mijn kind, this afternoon there comes to the store the young man, Captain Hyde. To thy father he said many ill words. To him thou shalt never speak again. Thy promise give to me."

She sat silent, with dropped eyes, and cheeks as red as the pomegranate flower at her breast.

"Mijn kind, speak to me."

"O wee, O wee!"

"Mijn kind, speak to me."

Weeping bitterly, she rose and went to her mother, and laid her head upon Lysbet's shoulder.

"Look now, Joris. One must know the 'why' and the 'wherefore.' What mean you? Whish, mijn kindje!"

"This I mean, Lysbet. No more meetings with the Englishman will I have. No love secrets will I bear. Danger is with them; yes, and sin too."

"Joris, if he has spoken to you, then where is the secret?"

"Too late he spoke. When worked was his own selfish way, to tell me of his triumph he comes. It is a shameful wrong. Forgive it? No, I will not,—never!"

No one answered him; only Katherine's low weeping broke the silence, and for a few moments Joris paced the room sorrowful and amazed. Then he looked at Lysbet, and she rose and gave her place to him. He put his arms around his darling, and kissed her fondly.



"Mijn kindje, listen to me thy father. It is for thy happy life here, it is for thy eternal life, I speak to thee. This man for whom thou art now weeping is not good for thee. He is not of thy faith, he is a Lutheran; not of thy people, he is an Englishman; not of thy station, he talks of his nobility; a gambler also, a man of fashion, of loose talk, of principles still more loose. If with the hawk a singing-bird might mate happily, then this English soldier thou might safely marry. Mijn beste kindje, do I love thee?"

"My father!"

"Do I love thee?"

"Yes, yes."

"Dost thou, then, love me?"

She put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek against his, and kissed him many times.

"Wilt thou go away and leave me, and leave thy mother, in our old age? My heart thou would break. My gray hairs to the grave would go in sorrow. Katrijntje, my dear, dear child, what for me, and for thy mother, wilt thou do?"

"Thy wish—if I can."

Then he told her of the provision made for her future. He reminded her of Neil's long affection, and of her satisfaction with it until Hyde had wooed her from her love and her duty. And, remembering the elder's reproach on his want of explicitness, he added, "To-morrow, about thy own house, I will take the first step. Near my house it shall be; and when I walk in my garden, in thy garden I will see thee, and only a little fence shall be between us. And at the feast of St. Nicholas thou shalt be married; for then thy sisters will be here, thy sisters Anna and Cornelia. And money, plenty of money, I will give thee; and all that is proper thy mother and thee shall buy. But no more, no more at all, shalt thou see or speak to that bad man who has so beguiled thee."

At this remark Katherine sadly shook her head; and Lysbet's face so plainly expressed caution, that Joris somewhat modified his last order, "That is, little one, no more until the feast of St. Nicholas. Then thou wilt be married and then it is good, if it is safe, to forgive all wrongs, and to begin again with all the world in peace and good living. Wilt thou these things promise me? me and thy mother?"

"Richard I must see once more. That is what I ask."

"Richard! So far is it?"

She did not answer; and Joris rose, and looked at the girl's mother inquiringly. Her face expressed assent; and he said reluctantly, "Well, then, I will as easy make it as I can. Once more, and for one hour, thou may see him. But I lay it on thee to tell him the truth, for this and for all other time."

"Now may I go? He is a-nigh. His boat I hear at the landing;" and she stood up, intent, listening, with her fair head lifted, and her wet eyes fixed on the distance.

"Well, be it so. Go."

With the words she slipped from the room; and Joris called Baltus to bring him some hot coals, and began to fill his pipe. As he did so, he watched Lysbet with some anxiety. She had offered him no sympathy, she evinced no disposition to continue the conversation; and, though she kept her face from him, he understood that all her movements expressed a rebellious temper. In and out of the room she passed, very busy about her own affairs, and apparently indifferent to his anxiety and sorrow.

At first Joris felt some natural anger at her attitude; but, as the Virginia calmed and soothed him, he remembered that he had told her nothing of his interview with Hyde, and that she might be feeling and reasoning from a different standpoint from himself. Then the sweetness of his nature was at once in the ascendant, and he said, "Lysbet, come then, and talk with me about the child."

She turned the keys in her press slowly, and stood by it with them in her hand. "What has been told thee, Joris, to-day? And who has spoken? Tongues evil and envious, I am sure of that."

"Thou art wrong. The young man to me spoke himself. He said, 'I love your daughter. I want to marry her.'"

"Well, then, he did no wrong. And as for Katrijntje, it is in nature that a young girl should want a lover. It is in nature she should choose the one she likes best. That is what I say."

"That is what I say, Lysbet. It is in nature, also, that we want too much food and wine, too much sleep, too much pleasure, too little work. It is in nature that our own way we want. It is in nature that the good we hate, and the sin we love. My Lysbet, to us God gives his own good grace, that the things that are in nature we might put below the reason and the will."

"So hard that is, Joris."

"No, it is not; so far thou hast done the right way. When Katherine was a babe, it was in nature that with the fire she wanted to make play. But thou said, 'There is danger, my precious one;' and in thy arms thou carried her out of the temptation. When older she grew, it was in nature she said, 'I like not the school, and my Heidelberg is hard, and I cannot learn it.' But thou answered, 'For thy good is the school, and go thou every day; and for thy salvation is thy catechism, and I will see that thou learn it well.' Now, then, it is in nature the child should want this handsome stranger; but with me thou wilt certainly say, 'He is not fit for thy happiness; he has not the true faith, he gambles, he fights duels, he is a waster, he lives badly, he will take thee far from thy own people and thy own home.'"

"Can the man help that he was born an Englishman and a Lutheran?"

"They have their own women. Look now, from the beginning it has been like to like. Thou may see in the Holy Scriptures that, after Esau married the Hittite woman, he sold his birthright, and became a wanderer and a vagabond. And it is said that it was a 'grief of mind unto Isaac and Rebekah.' I am sorry this day for Isaac and Rebekah. The heart of the father is the same always."

"And the heart of the mother, also, Joris." She drew close to him, and laid her arm across his broad shoulders; and he took his pipe from his lips and turned his face to her. "Kind and wise art thou, my husband; and whatever is thy wish, that is my wish too."

"A good woman thou art. And what pleasure would it be to thee if Katherine was a countess, and went to the court, and bowed down to the king and the queen? Thou would not see it; and, if thou spoke of it, thy neighbours they would hate thee, and mock thee behind thy back, and say, 'How proud is Lysbet Van Heemskirk of her noble son-in-law that comes never once to see her!' And dost thou believe he is an earl? Not I."

"That is where the mother's love is best, Joris. What my neighbours said would be little care to me, if my Katherine was well and was happy. With her sorrow would I buy my own pleasure? No; I would not so selfish be."

"Would I, Lysbet? Right am I, and I know I am right. And I think that Neil Semple will be a very great person. Already, as a man of affairs, he is much spoken of. He is handsome and of good morality. The elders in the kirk look to such young men as Neil to fill their places when they are no more in them. On the judge's bench he will sit down yet."

"A good young man he may be, but he is a very bad lover; that is the truth. If a little less wise he could only be! A young girl likes some foolish talk. It is what women understand. Little fond words, very strong they are! Thou thyself said them to me."

"That is right. To Neil I will talk a little. A man must seek a good wife with more heart than he seeks gold. Yes, yes; her price above rubies is."

At the very moment Joris made this remark, the elder was speaking for him. When he arrived at home, he found that his wife was out making calls with Mrs. Gordon, so he had not the relief of a marital conversation. He took his solitary tea, and fell into a nap, from which he awoke in a querulous, uneasy temper. Neil was walking about the terrace, and he joined him.



"You are stepping in a vera majestic way, Neil; what's in your thoughts, I wonder?"

"I have a speech to make to-morrow, sir. My thoughts were on the law, which has a certain majesty of its own."

"You'd better be thinking o' a speech you ought to make to-night, if you care at a' aboot saving yoursel' wi' Katherine Van Heemskirk; and ma certie it will be an extraordinar' case that is worth mair, even in the way o' siller, than she is."

The elder was not in the habit of making unmeaning speeches, and Neil was instantly alarmed. In his own way, he loved Katherine with all his soul. "Yes," continued the old man, "you hae a rival, sir. Captain Hyde asked Van Heemskirk for his daughter this afternoon, and an earldom in prospect isna a poor bait."

"What a black scoundrel he must be!—to use your hospitality to steal from your son the woman he loves."

"Tak' your time, Neil, and you won't lose your judgment. How was he to ken that Katherine was your sweetheart? You made little o' the lassie, vera little, I may say. Lawyer-like you may be, but nane could call you lover-like. And while he and his are my guests, and in my house, I'll no hae you fighting him. Tak' a word o' advice now,—I'll gie it without a fee,—you are fond enough to plead for others, go and plead an hour for yoursel'. Certie! When I was your age, I was aye noted for my persuading way. Your father, sir, never left a spare corner for a rival. And I can tell you this: a woman isna to be counted your ain, until you hae her inside a wedding-ring."

"What did the councillor say?"

"To tell the truth, he said 'no,' a vera plain 'no,' too. You ken Van Heemskirk's 'no' isn't a shilly-shallying kind o' a negative; but for a' that, if I hae any skill in judging men, Richard Hyde isna one o' the kind that tak's 'no' from either man or woman."

Neil was intensely angry, and his dark eyes glowed beneath their dropped lids with a passionate hate. But he left his father with an assumed coldness and calmness which made him mutter as he watched Neil down the road, "I needna hae fashed mysel' to warn him against fighting. He's a prudent lad. It's no right to fight, and it would be a matter for a kirk session likewise; but Bruce and Wallace! was there ever a Semple, before Neil, that keepit his hand off his weapon when his love or his right was touched? And there's his mother out the night, of all the nights in the year, and me wanting a word o' advice sae bad; not that Janet has o'er much good sense, but whiles she can make an obsarve that sets my ain wisdom in a right line o' thought. I wish to patience she'd bide at home. She never kens when I may be needing her. And, now I came to think o' things, it will be the warst o' all bad hours for Neil to seek Katherine the night. She'll be fretting, and the mother pouting, and the councillor in ane o' his particular Dutch touch-me-not tempers. I do hope the lad will hae the uncommon sense to let folks cool, and come to theirsel's a wee."

For the elder, judging his son by the impetuosity of his own youthful temper, expected him to go directly to Van Heemskirk's house. But there were qualities in Neil which his father forgot to take into consideration, and their influence was to suggest to the young man how inappropriate a visit to Katherine would be at that time. Indeed, he did not much desire it. He was very angry with Katherine. He was sure that she understood his entire devotion to her. He could not see any necessity to set it forth as particularly as a legal contract, in certain set phrases and with conventional ceremonies.



But his father's sarcastic advice annoyed him, and he wanted time to fully consider his ways. He was no physical coward; he was a fine swordsman, and he felt that it would be a real joy to stand with a drawn rapier between himself and his rival. But what if revenge cost him too much? What if he slew Hyde, and had to leave his love and his home, and his fine business prospects? To win Katherine and to marry her, in the face of the man whom he felt that he detested, would not that be the best of all "satisfactions"?

He walked about the streets, discussing these points with himself, till the shops all closed, and on the stoops of the houses in Maiden Lane and Liberty Street there were merry parties of gossiping belles and beaux. Then he returned to Broadway. Half a dozen gentlemen were standing before the King's Arms Tavern, discussing some governmental statement in the "Weekly Mercury;" but though they asked him to stop, and enlighten them on some legal point, he excused himself for that night, and went toward Van Heemskirk's. He had suddenly resolved upon a visit. Why should he put off until the morrow what he might begin that night?

Still debating with himself, he came to a narrow road which ran to the river, along the southern side of Van Heemskirk's house. It was only a trodden path used by fishermen, and made by usage through the unenclosed ground. But coming swiftly up it, as if to detain him, was Captain Hyde. The two men looked at each other defiantly; and Neil said with a cold, meaning emphasis,—

"At your service, sir."

"Mr. Semple, at your service,"—and touching his sword,—"to the very hilt, sir."

"Sir, yours to the same extremity."

"As for the cause, Mr. Semple, here it is;" and he pushed aside his embroidered coat in order to exhibit to Neil the bow of orange ribbon beneath it.

"I will die it crimson in your blood," said Neil, passionately.

"In the meantime, I have the felicity of wearing it;" and with an offensively deep salute, he terminated the interview.



VI.

"Love and a crown no rivalship can bear. Love, love! Thou sternly dost thy power maintain, And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign."

Neil's first emotion was not so much one of anger as of exultation. The civilization of the Semples was scarce a century old; and behind them were generations of fierce men, whose hands had been on their dirks for a word or a look. "I shall have him at my sword's point;" that was what he kept saying to himself as he turned from Hyde to Van Heemskirk's house. The front-door stood open; and he walked through it to the back-stoop, where Joris was smoking.

Katherine sat upon the steps of the stoop. Her head was in her hand, her eyes red with weeping, her whole attitude one of desponding sorrow. But, at this hour, Neil was indifferent to adverse circumstances. He was moving in that exultation of spirit which may be simulated by the first rapture of good wine, but which is only genuine when the soul takes entire possession of the man, and makes him for some rare, short interval lord of himself, and contemptuous of all fears and doubts and difficulties. He never noticed that Joris was less kind than usual; but touching Katherine, to arouse her attention, said, "Come with me down the garden, my love."

She looked at him wonderingly. His words and manner were strange and potent; and, although she had just been assuring herself that she would resist his advances on every occasion, she rose at his request and gave him her hand.

Then the tender thoughts which had lain so deep in his heart flew to his lips, and he wooed her with a fervour and nobility as astonishing to himself as to Katherine. He reminded her of all the sweet intercourse of their happy lives, and of the fidelity with which he had loved her. "When I was a lad ten years old, and saw you first in your mother's arms, I called you then 'my little wife.' Oh, my Katherine, my sweet Katherine! Who is there that can take you from me?"

"Neil, like a brother to me you have been. Like a dear brother, I love you. But your wife to be! That is not the same. Ask me not that."

"Only that can satisfy me, Katherine. Do you think I will ever give you up? Not while I live."

"No one will I marry. With my father and my mother I will stay."

"Yes, till you learn to love me as I love you, with the whole soul." He drew her close to his side, and bent tenderly to her face.

"No, you shall not kiss me, Neil,—never again. No right have you, Neil."

"You are to be my wife, Katherine?"

"That I have not said."

She drew herself from his embrace, and stood leaning against an elm-tree, watchful of Neil, full of wonder at the sudden warmth of his love, and half fearful of his influence over her.

"But you have known it, Katherine, ay, for many a year. No words could make the troth-plight truer. From this hour, mine and only mine."

"Such things you shall not say."

"I will say them before all the world. Katherine, is it true that an English soldier is wearing a bow of your ribbon? You must tell me."

"What mean you?"

"I will make my meaning plain. Is Captain Hyde wearing a bow of your orange ribbon?"

"Can I tell?"

"Yes. Do not lie to me."

"A lie I would not speak."

"Did you give him one? an orange one?"

"Yes. A bow of my St. Nicholas ribbon I gave him."

"Why?"

"Me he loves, and him I love."

"And he wears it at his breast?"

"On his breast I have seen it. Neil, do not quarrel with him. Do not look so angry. I fear you. My fault it is; all my fault, Neil. Only to please me he wears it."

"You have more St. Nicholas ribbons?"

"That is so."

"Go and get me one. Get a bow, Katherine, and give it to me. I will wait here for it."

"No, that I will not do. How false, how wicked I would be, if two lovers my colours wore!"

"Katherine, I am in great earnest. A bow of that ribbon I must have. Get one for me."

"My hands I would cut off first."

"Well, then, I will cut my bow from Hyde's breast. I will, though I cut his heart out with it."

He turned from her as he said the words, and, without speaking to Joris, passed through the garden-gate to his own home. His mother and Mrs. Gordon, and several young ladies and gentlemen were sitting on the stoop, arranging for a turtle feast on the East River; and Neil's advent was hailed with ejaculations of pleasure. He affected to listen for a few minutes, and then excused himself upon the "assurance of having some very important writing to attend to." But, as he passed the parlour door, his father called him. The elder was casting up some kirk accounts; but, as Neil answered the summons, he carefully put the extinguisher on one candle, and turned his chair from the table in a way which Neil understood as an invitation for his company.



A moment's reflection convinced Neil that it was his wisest plan to accede. It was of the utmost importance that his father should be kept absolutely ignorant of his quarrel with Hyde; for Neil was certain that, if he suspected their intention to fight, he would invoke the aid of the law to preserve peace, and such a course would infallibly subject him to suspicions which would be worse than death to his proud spirit.

"Weel, Neil, my dear lad, you are early hame. Where were you the night?"

"I have just left Katherine, sir, having followed your advice in my wooing. I wish I had done so earlier."

"Ay, ay; when a man is seventy years auld, he has read the book o' life, 'specially the chapter anent women, and he kens a' about them. A bonnie lass expects to hae a kind o' worship; but the service is na unpleasant, quite the contrary. Did you see Captain Hyde?"

"We met near Broadway, and exchanged civilities."

"A gude thing to exchange. When Gordon gets back frae Albany, I'll hae a talk wi' him, and I'll get the captain sent there. In Albany there are bonnie lasses and rich lasses in plenty for him to try his enchantments on. There was talk o' sending him there months syne; it will be done ere long, or my name isna Alexander Semple."

"I see you are casting up the kirk accounts. Can I help you, father?"

"I hae everything ready for the consistory. Neil, what is the gude o' us speaking o' this and that, and thinking that we are deceiving each other? I am vera anxious anent affairs between Captain Hyde and yoursel'; and I'm 'feard you'll be coming to hot words, maybe to blows, afore I manage to put twa hundred miles atween you. My lad, my ain dear lad! You are the Joseph o' a' my sons; you are the joy o' your mother's life. For our sake, keep a calm sough, and dinna let a fool provoke you to break our hearts, and maybe send you into God's presence uncalled and unblessed.

"Father, put yoursel' in my place. How would you feel toward Captain Hyde?"

"Weel, I'll allow that I wouldna feel kindly. I dinna feel kindly to him, even in my ain place."

"As you desire it, we will speak plainly to each other anent this subject. You know his proud and hasty temper; you know also that I am more like yourself than like Moses in the way of meekness. Now, if Captain Hyde insults me, what course would you advise me to adopt?"

"I wouldna gie him the chance to insult you. I would keep oot o' his way. There is naething unusual or discreditable in taking a journey to Boston, to speir after the welfare o' your brother Alexander."

"Oh, indeed, sir, I cannot leave my affairs for an insolent and ungrateful fool! I ask your advice for the ordinary way of life, not for the way that cowardice or fear dictates. If without looking for him, or avoiding him, we meet, and a quarrel is inevitable, what then, father?"

"Ay, weel, in that case, God prevent it! But in sic a strait, my lad, it is better to gie the insult than to tak' it."

"You know what must follow?"

"Wha doesna ken? Blood, if not murder. Neil, you are a wise and prudent lad; now, isna the sword o' the law sharper than the rapier o' honour?"

"Law has no remedy for the wrongs men of honour redress with the sword. A man may call me every shameful name; but, unless I can show some actual loss in money or money's worth, I have no redress. And suppose that I tried it, and that after long sufferance and delays I got my demands, pray, sir, tell me, how can offences which have flogged a man's most sacred feelings be atoned for by something to put in the pocket?"

"Society, Neil"—

"Society, father, always convicts and punishes the man who takes an insult on view, without waiting for his indictment or trial."

"There ought to be a law, Neil"—

"No law will administer itself, sir. The statute-book is a dead letter when it conflicts with public opinion. There is not a week passes but you may see that for yourself, father. If a man is insulted, he must protect his honour; and he will do so until the law is able to protect him better than his own strength."

"There is another way—a mair Christian way"—

"The world has not taken it yet; at any rate, I am very sure none of the Semples have."

"You are, maybe, o'er sure, Neil. Deacon Van Vorst has said mair than my natural man could thole, many a time, in the sessions and oot o' them; but the dominie aye stood between us wi' his word, and we hae managed so far to keep the peace, though a mair pig-headed, provoking, pugnacious auld Dutchman never sat down on the dominie's left hand."

"Then, father, if Captain Hyde should quarrel with me, and if he should challenge me, you advise me to refuse the challenge, and to send for the dominie to settle the matter?"

"I didna say the like o' that, Neil. I am an auld man, and Van Vorst is an aulder one. We'd be a bonnie picture wi' drawn swords in oor shaking hands; though, for mysel', I may say that there wasna a better fencer in Ayrshire, and that the houses o' Lockerby and Lanark hae reason to remember. And I wouldna hae the honour o' the Semples doubted; I'd fight myself first. But I'm in a sair strait, Neil; and oh, my dear lad, what will I say, when it's the Word o' the Lord on one hand, and the scaith and scorn of a' men on the other? But I'll trust to your prudence, Neil, and no begin to feel the weight o' a misery that may ne'er come my way. All my life lang, when evils hae threatened me, I hae sought God's help; and He has either averted them or turned them to my advantage."

"That is a good consolation, father."

"It is that; and I ken nae better plan for life than, when I rise up, to gie mysel' to His direction, and, when I lay me down to sleep, to gie mysel' to His care."

"In such comfortable assurance, sir, I think we may say good-night. I have business early in the morning, and may not wait for your company, if you will excuse me so far."

"Right; vera right, Neil. The dawn has gold in its hand. I used to be an early worker mysel'; but I'm an auld man noo, and may claim some privileges. Good-night, Neil, and a good-morning to follow it."

Neil then lit his candle; and, not forgetting that courteous salute which the young then always rendered to honourable age, he went slowly upstairs, feeling suddenly a great weariness and despair. If Katherine had only been true to him! He was sure, then, that he could have fought almost joyfully any pretender to her favour. But he was deserted by the girl whom he had loved all her sweet life. He was betrayed by the man who had shared the hospitality of his home, and in the cause of such loss, compelled to hazard a life opening up with fair hopes of honour and distinction.

In the calm of his own chamber, through the silent, solemn hours, when the world was shut out of his life, Neil reviewed his position; but he could find no honourable way out of his predicament. Physically, he was as brave as brave could be; morally, he had none of that grander courage which made Joris Van Heemskirk laugh to scorn the idea of yielding God's gift of life at the demand of a passionate fool. He was quite sensible that his first words to Captain Hyde that night had been intended to provoke a quarrel, and he knew that he would be expected to redeem them by a formal defiance. However, as the idea became familiar, it became imperative; and at length it was with a fierce satisfaction that he opened his desk and without hesitation wrote the decisive words:



To CAPTAIN RICHARD HYDE OF HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE: SIR: A person of the character I bear cannot allow the treachery and dishonourable conduct of which you have been guilty to pass without punishment. Convince me that you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by meeting me to-night as the sun drops in the wood on the Kalchhook Hill. Our seconds can locate the spot; and that you may have no pretence to delay, I send by bearer two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make choice.

In the interim, at your service, NEIL SEMPLE.

He had already selected Adrian Beekman as his second. He was a young man of wealth and good family, exceedingly anxious for social distinction, and, moreover, so fastidiously honourable that Neil felt himself in his hands to be beyond reproach. As he anticipated, Beekman accepted the duty with alacrity, and, indeed, so promptly carried out his principal's instructions, that he found Captain Hyde still sleeping when he waited upon him. But Hyde was neither astonished nor annoyed. He laughed lightly at "Mr. Semple's impatience of offence," and directed Mr. Beekman to Captain Earle as his second; leaving the choice of swords and of the ground entirely to his direction.

"A more civil, agreeable, handsome gentleman, impossible it would be to find; and I think the hot haughty temper of Neil is to blame in this affair," was Beekman's private comment. But he stood watchfully by his principal's interests, and affected a gentlemanly disapproval of Captain Hyde's behaviour.

And lightly as Hyde had taken the challenge, he was really more disinclined to fight than Neil was. In his heart he knew that Semple had a just cause of anger; "but then," he argued, "Neil is a proud, pompous fellow, for whom I never assumed a friendship. His father's hospitality I regret in any way to have abused; but who the deuce could have suspected that Neil Semple was in love with the adorable Katherine? In faith, I did not at the first, and now 'tis too late. I would not resign the girl for my life; for I am sensible that life, if she is another's, will be a very tedious thing to me."

All day Neil was busy in making his will, and in disposing of his affairs. He knew himself well enough to be certain, that, if he struck the first blow, he would not hesitate to strike the death blow, and that nothing less than such conclusion would satisfy him. Hyde also anticipated a deathly persistence of animosity in his opponent, and felt equally the necessity for some definite arrangement of his business. Unfortunately, it was in a very confused state. He owed many debts of honour, and Cohen's bill was yet unsettled. He drank a cup of coffee, wrote several important letters, and then went to Fraunce's, and had a steak and a bottle of wine. During his meal his thoughts wandered between Katherine and the Jew Cohen. After it he went straight to Cohen's store.

It happened to be Saturday; and the shutters were closed, though the door was slightly open, and Cohen was sitting with his granddaughter in the cool shadows of the crowded place. Hyde was not in a ceremonious mood, and he took no thought of it being the Jew's sabbath. He pushed wider the door, and went clattering into their presence; and with an air of pride and annoyance the Jew rose to meet him. At the same time, by a quick look of intelligence, he dismissed Miriam; but she did not retreat farther than within the deeper shadows of some curtains of stamped Moorish leather, for she anticipated the immediate departure of the intruder.

She was therefore astonished when her grandfather, after listening to a few sentences, sat down, and entered into a lengthy conversation. And her curiosity was also aroused; for, though Hyde had often been in the store, she had never hitherto seen him in such a sober mood, it was also remarkable that on the sabbath her grandfather should receive papers, and a ring which she watched Hyde take from his finger; and there was, beside, a solemn, a final air about the transaction which gave her the feeling of some anticipated tragedy.

When at last they rose, Hyde extended his hand. "Cohen," he said, "few men would have been as generous and, at this hour, as considerate as you. I have judged from tradition, and misjudged you. Whether we meet again or not, we part as friends."

"You have settled all things as a gentleman, Captain. May my white hairs say a word to your heart this hour?" Hyde bowed; and he continued, in a voice of serious benignity: "The words of the Holy One are to be regarded, and not the words of men. Men call that 'honour' which He will call murder. What excuse is there in your lips if you go this night into His presence?"

There was no excuse in Hyde's lips, even for his mortal interrogator. He merely bowed again, and slipped through the partially opened door into the busy street. Then Cohen put clean linen upon his head and arm, and went and stood with his face to the east, and recited, in low, rhythmical sentences, the prayer called the "Assault." Miriam sat quiet during his devotion but, when he returned to his place, she asked him plainly, "What murder is there to be, grandfather?"

"It is a duel between Captain Hyde and another. It shall be called murder at the last."

"The other, who is he?"

"The young man Semple."

"I am sorry. He is a courteous young man. I have heard you say so. I have heard you speak well of him."

"O Miriam, what sin and sorrow thy sex ever bring to those who love it! There are two young lives to be put in death peril for the smile of a woman,—a very girl she is."

"Do I know her, grandfather?"

"She passes here often. The daughter of Van Heemskirk,—the little fair one, the child."

"Oh, but now I am twice sorry! She has smiled at me often. We have even spoken. The good old man, her father, will die; and her brother, he was always like a watch-dog at her side."

"But not the angels in heaven can watch a woman. For a lover, be he good or bad, she will put heaven behind her back, and stand on the brink of perdition. Miriam, if thou should deceive me,—as thy mother did,—God of Israel, may I not know it!"

"Though I die, I will not deceive you, grandfather."

"The Holy One hears thee, Miriam. Let Him be between us."

Then Cohen, with his hands on his staff, and his head in them, sat meditating, perhaps praying; and the hot, silent moments went slowly away. In them, Miriam was coming to a decision which at first alarmed her, but which, as it grew familiar, grew also lawful and kind. She was quite certain that her grandfather would not interfere between the young men, and probably he had given Hyde his promise not to do so; but she neither had received a charge, nor entered into any obligation, of silence. A word to Van Heemskirk or to the Elder Semple would be sufficient. Should she not say it? Her heart answered "yes," although she did not clearly perceive how the warning was to be given.

Perhaps Cohen divined her purpose, and was not unfavourable to it; for he suddenly rose, and, putting on his cap, said, "I am going to see my kinsman John Cohen. At sunset, set wide the door; an hour after sunset I will return."

As soon as he had gone, Miriam wrote to Van Heemskirk these words: "Good sir,—This is a matter of life and death: so then, come at once, and I will tell you. MIRIAM COHEN."

With the slip of paper in her hand, she stood within the door, watching for some messenger she could trust. It was not many minutes before Van Heemskirk's driver passed, leading his loaded wagon; and to him she gave the note.

That day Joris had gone home earlier than usual, and Bram only was in the store. But it was part of his duty to open and attend to orders, and he supposed the strip of paper to refer to a barrel of flour or some other household necessity.

Its actual message was so unusual and unlooked for, that it took him a moment or two to realize the words; then, fearing it might be some practical joke, he recalled the driver, and heard with amazement that the Jew's granddaughter had herself given him the message. Assured of this fact, he answered the summons for his father promptly. Miriam was waiting just within the door; and, scarcely heeding his explanation, she proceeded at once to give him such information as she possessed. Bram was slow of thought and slow of speech. He stood gazing at the beautiful, earnest girl, and felt all the fear and force of her words; but for some moments he could not speak, nor decide on his first step.



"Why do you wait?" pleaded Miriam. "At sunset, I tell you. It is now near it. Oh, no thanks! Do not stop for them, but hasten to them at once."

He obeyed like one in a dream; but, before he had reached Semple's store, he had fully realized the actual situation. Semple was just leaving business. He put his hand on him, and said, "Elder, no time have you to lose. At sunset, Neil and that d—— English soldier a duel are to fight."

"Eh? Where? Who told you?"

"On the Kalchhook Hill. Stay not for a moment's talk."

"Run for your father, Bram. Run, my lad. Get Van Gaasbeeck's light wagon as you go, and ask your mother for a mattress. Dinna stand glowering at me, but awa' with you. I'll tak' twa o' my ain lads and my ain wagon, and be there instanter. God help me! God spare the lad!"

At that moment Neil and Hyde were on their road to the fatal spot. Neil had been gathering anger all day; Hyde, a vague regret. The folly of what they were going to do was clear to both; but Neil was dominated by a fury of passion, which made the folly a revengeful joy. If there had been any thought of an apology in Hyde's heart, he must have seen its hopelessness in the white wrath of Neil's face, and the calm deliberation with which he assumed and prepared for a fatal termination of the affair.

The sun dropped as the seconds measured off the space and offered the lot for the standing ground. Then Neil flung off his coat and waistcoat, and stood with bared breast on the spot his second indicated. This action had been performed in such a passion of hurry, that he was compelled to watch Hyde's more calm and leisurely movements. He removed his fine scarlet coat and handed it to Captain Earle, and would then have taken his sword; but Beekman advanced to remove also his waistcoat. The suspicion implied by this act roused the soldier's indignation. "Do you take me to be a person of so little honour?" he passionately asked; and then with his own hands he tore off the richly embroidered satin garment, and by so doing exposed what perhaps some delicate feeling had made him wish to conceal,—a bow of orange ribbon which he wore above his heart.

The sight of it to Neil was like oil flung upon flame. He could scarcely restrain himself until the word "go" gave him license to charge Hyde, which he did with such impetuous rage, that it was evident he cared less to preserve his own life, than to slay his enemy.

Hyde was an excellent swordsman, and had fought several duels; but he was quite disconcerted by the deadly reality of Neil's attack. In the second thrust, his foot got entangled in a tuft of grass; and, in evading a lunge aimed at his heart, he fell on his right side. Supporting himself, however, on his sword hand, he sprang backwards with great dexterity, and thus escaped the probable death-blow. But, as he was bleeding from a wound in the throat, his second interfered, and proposed a reconciliation. Neil angrily refused to listen. He declared that he "had not come to enact a farce;" and then, happening to glance at the ribbon on Hyde's breast, he swore furiously, "He would make his way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just anger."



Up to this point, there had been in Hyde's mind a latent disinclination to slay Neil. After it, he flung away every kind memory; and the fight was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until there ensued one of those close locks which it was evident nothing but "the key of the body could open." In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of both men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with the force. Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both, bleeding and exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that moment Van Heemskirk and Semple, with their attendants, reached the spot.

Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men,—Van Heemskirk facing Hyde, and the elder his son. "Neil, you dear lad, you born fool, gie me your weapon instanter, sir!" But there was no need to say another word. Neil fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Hyde's breast; for Hyde had also dropped fainting to the ground, bleeding from at least half a dozen wounds. Then one of Semple's young men, who had probably defined the cause of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made as if he would pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson in Hyde's blood.

But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away. "To touch it would be the vilest theft," he said. "His own it is. With his life he has bought it."



VII.

"I know I felt Love's face Pressed on my neck, with moan of pity and grace, Till both our heads were in his aureole."

The news of the duel spread with the proverbial rapidity of evil news. At the doors of all the public houses, in every open shop, on every private stoop, and at the street-corners, people were soon discussing the event, with such additions and comments as their imaginations and prejudices suggested. One party insisted that lawyer Semple was dead; another, that it was the English officer; a third, that both died as they were being carried from the ground.

Batavius, who had lingered to the last moment at the house which he was building, heard the story from many a lip as he went home. He was bitterly indignant at Katherine. He felt, indeed, as if his own character for morality of every kind had been smirched by his intended connection with her. And his Joanna! How wicked Katherine had been not to remember that she had a sister whose spotless name would be tarnished by her kinship! He was hot with haste and anger when he reached Van Heemskirk's house.

Madam stood with Joanna on the front-stoop, looking anxiously down the road. She was aware that Bram had called for his father, and she had heard them leave the house together in unexplained haste. At first, the incident did not trouble her much. Perhaps one of the valuable Norman horses was sick, or there was an unexpected ship in, or an unusually large order. Bram was a young man who relied greatly on his father. She only worried because supper must be delayed an hour, and that delay would also keep back the completion of that exquisite order in which it was her habit to leave the house for the sabbath rest.

After some time had elapsed, she went upstairs, and began to lay out the clean linen and the kirk clothes. Suddenly she noticed that it was nearly dark; and, with a feeling of hurry and anxiety, she remembered the delayed meal. Joanna was on the front-stoop watching for Batavius, who was also unusually late; and, like many other loving women, she could think of nothing good which might have detained him, but her heart was full only of evil apprehensions.

"Where is Katherine?" That was the mother's first question, and she called her through the house. From the closed best parlour, Katherine came, white and weeping.

"What is the matter, then, that you are crying? And why into the dark room go you?"

"Full of sorrow I am, mother, and I went to the room to pray to God; but I cannot pray."

"'Full of sorrow.' Yes, for that Englishman you are full of sorrow. And how can you pray when you are disobeying your good father? God will not hear you."

The mother was not pitiless; but she was anxious and troubled, and Katherine's grief irritated her at the moment. "Go and tell Dinorah to bring in the tea. The work of the house must go on," she muttered. "And I think, that it was Saturday night Joris might have remembered."

Then she went back to Joanna, and stood with her, looking through the gray mist down the road, and feeling even the croaking of the frogs and the hum of the insects to be an unusual provocation. Just as Dinorah said, "The tea is served, madam," the large figure of Batavius loomed through the gathering grayness; and the women waited for him. He came up the steps without his usual greeting; and his face was so injured and portentous that Joanna, with a little cry, put her arms around his neck. He gently removed them.

"No time is this, Joanna, for embracing. A great disgrace has come to the family; and I, who have always stood up for morality, must bear it too."

"Disgrace! The word goes not with our name, Batavius; and what mean you, then? In one word, speak."

But Batavius loved too well any story that was to be wondered over, to give it in a word; though madam's manner snubbed him a little, and he said, with less of the air of a wronged man,—

"Well, then, Neil Semple and Captain Hyde have fought a duel. That is what comes of giving way to passion. I never fought a duel. No one should make me. It is a fixed principle with me."

"But what? And how?"

"With swords they fought. Like two devils they fought, as if to pieces they would cut each other."

"Poor Neil! His fault I am sure it was not."

"Joanna! Neil is nearly dead. If he had been in the right, he would not be nearly dead. The Lord does not forsake a person who is in the right way."

In the hall behind them Katherine stood. The pallor of her face, the hopeless droop of her white shoulders and arms, were visible in its gloomy shadows. Softly as a spirit she walked as she drew nearer to them.

"And the Englishman? Is he hurt?"

"Killed. He has at least twenty wounds. Till morning he will not live. It was the councillor himself who separated the men."

"My good Joris, it was like him."

For a moment Katherine's consciousness reeled. The roar of the ocean which girds our life round was in her ears, the feeling of chill and collapse at her heart. But with a supreme will she took possession of herself. "Weak I will not be. All I will know. All I will suffer." And with these thoughts she went back to the room, and took her place at the table. In a few minutes the rest followed. Batavius did not speak to her. It was also something of a cross to him that madam would not talk of the event. He did not think that Katherine deserved to have her ill-regulated feelings so far considered, and he had almost a sense of personal injury in the restraint of the whole household.

He had anticipated madam's amazement and shock. He had felt a just satisfaction in the suffering he was bringing to Katherine. He had determined to point out to Joanna the difference between herself and her sister, and the blessedness of her own lot in loving so respectably and prudently as she had done. But nothing had happened as he expected. The meal, instead of being pleasantly lengthened over such dreadful intelligence, was hurried and silent. Katherine, instead of making herself an image of wailing or unconscious remorse, sat like other people at the table, and pretended to drink her tea.

It was some comfort that after it Joanna and he could walk in the garden, and talk the affair thoroughly over. Katherine watched them away, and then she fled to her room. For a few minutes she could let her sorrow have way, and it would help her to bear the rest. And oh, how she wept! She took from their hiding-place the few letters her lover had written her, and she mourned over them as women mourn in such extremities. She kissed the words with passionate love; she vowed, amid her broken ejaculations of tenderness, to be faithful to him if he lived, to be faithful to his memory if he died. She never thought of Neil; or, if she did, it was with an anger that frightened her. In the full tide of her anguish, Lysbet stood at the door. She heard the inarticulate words of woe, and her heart ached for her child. She had followed her to give her comfort, to weep with her; but she felt that hour that Katherine was no more a child to be soothed with her mother's kiss. She had become a woman, and a woman's sorrow had found her.



It was near ten o'clock when Joris came home. His face was troubled, his clothing disarranged and blood-stained; and Lysbet never remembered to have seen him so completely exhausted. "Bram is with Neil," he said; "he will not be home."

"And thou?"

"I helped them carry—the other. To the 'King's Arms' we took him. A strong man was needed until their work the surgeons had done. I stayed; that is all."

"Live will he?"

"His right lung is pierced clean through. A bad wound in the throat he has. At death's door is he, from loss of the blood. But then, youth he has, and a great spirit, and hope. I wish not for his death, my God knows."

"Neil, what of him?"

"Unconscious he was when I left him at his home. I stayed not there. His father and his mother were by his side; Bram also. Does Katherine know?"

"She knows."

"How then?"

"O Joris, if in her room thou could have heard her crying! My heart for her aches, the sorrowful one!"

"See, then, that this lesson she miss not. It is a hard one, but learn it she must. If thy love would pass it by, think this, for her good it is. Many bitter things are in it. What unkind words will now be said! Also, my share in the matter I must tell in the kirk session; and Dominie de Ronde is not one slack in giving the reproof. With our own people a disgrace it will be counted. Can I not hear Van Vleek grumble, 'Well, now, I hope Joris Van Heemskirk has had enough of his fine English company;' and Elder Brouwer will say, 'He must marry his daughter to an Englishman; and, see, what has come of it;' and that evil old woman, Madam Van Corlaer, will shake her head and whisper, 'Yes, neighbours, and depend upon it, the girl is of a light mind and bad morals, and it is her fault; and I shall take care my nieces to her speak no more.' So it will be; Katherine herself will find it so."

"The poor child! Sorry am I she ever went to Madam Semple's to see Mrs. Gordon. If thy word I had taken, Joris!"

"If my word the elder also had taken. When first, he told me that his house he would offer to the Gordons, I said to him, 'So foolish art them! In the end, what does not fit will fight.' If to-night them could have seen Mistress Gordon when she heard of her nephew's hurt. Without one word of regret, without one word of thanks, and in a great passion, she left the house. For Neil she cared not. 'He had been ever an envious kill-joy. He had ever hated her dear Dick. He had ever been jealous of any one handsomer than himself. He was a black dog in the manger; and she hoped, with all her heart, that Dick had done for him.' Beside herself with grief and passion she was, or the elder had not borne so patiently her words."

"As her own son, she loved him."

"Yea, Lysbet; but just one should be. Weary and sad am I to-night."

The next morning was the sabbath, and many painful questions suggested themselves to Joris and Lysbet Van Heemskirk. Joris felt that he must not take his seat among the deacons until he had been fully exonerated of all blame of blood-guiltiness by the dominie and his elders and deacons in full kirk session. Madam could hardly endure the thought of the glances that would be thrown at her daughter, and the probable slights she would receive. Batavius plainly showed an aversion to being seen in Katherine's company. But these things did not seem to Joris a sufficient reason for neglecting worship. He thought it best for people to face the unpleasant consequences of wrong-doing; and he added, "In trouble also, my dear ones, where should we go but into the house of the good God?"

Katherine had not spoken during the discussion but, when it was over, she said, "Mijn vader, mijn moeder, to-day I cannot go! For me have some pity. The dominie I will speak to first; and what he says, I will do."

"Between me and thy moeder thou shalt be."

"Bear it I cannot. I shall fall down, I shall be ill; and there shall be shame and fear, and the service to make stop, and then more wonder and more talk, and the dominie angry also! At home I am the best."

"Well, then, so it shall be."

But Joris was stern to Katherine, and his anger added the last bitterness to her grief. No one had said a word of reproach to her; but, equally, no one had said a word of pity. Even Joanna was shy and cold, for Batavius had made her feel that one's own sister may fall below moral par and sympathy. "If either of the men die," he had said, "I shall always consider Katherine guilty of murder; and nowhere in the Holy Scriptures are we told to forgive murder, Joanna. And even while the matter is uncertain, is it not right to be careful? Are we not told to avoid even the appearance of evil?" So that, with this charge before him, Batavius felt that countenancing Katherine in any way was not keeping it.

And certainly the poor girl might well fear the disapproval of the general public, when her own family made her feel her fault so keenly. The kirk that morning would have been the pillory to her. She was unspeakably grateful for the solitude of the house, for space and silence, in which she could have the relief of unrestrained weeping. About the middle of the morning, she heard Bram's footsteps. She divined why he had come home, and she shrank from meeting him until he removed the clothing he had worn during the night's bloody vigil. Bram had not thought of Katherine's staying from kirk; and when she confronted him, so tear-stained and woe-begone, his heart was full of pity for her. "My poor little Katherine!" he said; and she threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed upon his breast as if her heart would break.



"Mijn kleintje, who has grieved thee?"

"O Bram! is he dead?"

"Who? Neil? I think he will get well once more."

"What care I for Neil? The wicked one! I wish that he might die. Yes, that I do."

"Whish!—to say that is wrong."

"Bram! Bram! A little pity give me. It is the other one. Hast thou heard?"

"How can he live? Look at that sorrow, dear one, and ask God to forgive and help thee."

"No, I will not look at it. I will ask God every moment that he may get well. Could I help that I should love him? So kind, so generous, is he! Oh, my dear one, my dear one, would I had died for thee!"

Bram was much moved. Within the last twenty-four hours he had begun to understand the temptation in which Katherine had been; begun to understand that love never asks, 'What is thy name? Of what country art thou? Who is thy father?' He felt that so long as he lived he must remember Miriam Cohen as she stood talking to him in the shadowy store. Beauty like hers was strange and wonderful to the young Dutchman. He could not forget her large eyes, soft and brown as gazelle's; the warm pallor and brilliant carnation of her complexion; her rosy, tender mouth; her abundant black hair, fastened with large golden pins, studded with jewels. He could not forget the grace of her figure, straight and slim as a young palm-tree, clad in a plain dark garment, and a neckerchief of white India silk falling away from her exquisite throat. He did not yet know that he was in love; he only felt how sweet it was to sit still and dream of the dim place, and the splendidly beautiful girl standing among its piled-up furniture and its hanging draperies. And this memory of Miriam made him very pitiful to Katherine.

"Every one is angry at me, Bram, even my father; and Batavius will not sit on the chair at my side; and Joanna says a great disgrace I have made for her. And thou? Wilt thou also scold me? I think I shall die of grief."

"Scold thee, thou little one? That I will not. And those that are angry with thee may be angry with me also. And if there is any comfort I can get thee, tell thy brother Bram. He will count thee first, before all others. How could they make thee weep? Cruel are they to do so. And as for Batavius, mind him not. Not much I think of Batavius! If he says this or that to thee, I will answer him."

"Bram! my Bram! my brother! There is one comfort for me,—if I knew that he still lived; if one hope thou could give me!"

"What hope there is, I will go and see. Before they are back from kirk, I will be back; and, if there is good news, I will be glad for thee."

Not half an hour was Bram away; and yet, to the miserable girl, how grief and fear lengthened out the moments! She tried to prepare herself for the worst; she tried to strengthen her soul even for the message of death. But very rarely is any grief as bad as our own terror of it. When Bram came back, it was with a word of hope on his lips.

"I have seen," he said, "who dost thou think?—the Jew Cohen. He of all men, he has sat by Captain Hyde's side all night; and he has dressed the wound the English surgeon declared 'beyond mortal skill.' And he said to me, 'Three times, in the Persian desert, I have cured wounds still worse, and the Holy One hath given me the power of healing; and, if He wills, the young man shall recover.' That is what he said, Katherine."

"Forever I will love the Jew. Though he fail, I will love him. So kind he is, even to those who have not spoken well, nor done well, to him."

"So kind, also, was the son of David to all of us. Now, then, go wash thy face, and take comfort and courage."

"Bram, leave me not."

"There is Neil. We have been companions; and his father and his mother are old, and need me."

"Also, I need thee. All the time they will make me to feel how wicked is Katherine Van Heemskirk!"

At this moment the family returned from the morning service, and Bram rather defiantly drew his sister to his side. Joris was not with them. He had stopped at the "King's Arms" to ask if Captain Hyde was still alive; for, in spite of everything, the young man's heroic cheerfulness in the agony of the preceding night had deeply touched Joris. No one spoke to Katherine; even her mother was annoyed and humiliated at the social ordeal through which they had just passed, and she thought it only reasonable that the erring girl should be made to share the trial. Batavius, however, had much curiosity; and his first thought on seeing Bram at home was, "Neil is of course dead, and Bram is of no further use;" and, in the tone of one personally injured by such a fatality, he ejaculated,—