The Cloister and the Hearth by Charles Reade (most interesting books to read .TXT) 📕

courting a maid. Oft had I scoffed at this saying, 'So then his wooing is the earth's concern. But now, so far from the Rotter, that bunch at a masthead made my heart leap with assurance of a countryman. They carried me, and oh, Margaret! on the stern of that Dutch boy, was written in muckle letters,

RICHART ELIASSOEN, AMSTERDAM.

'Put me down,' I said; 'for our Lady's sake put me down.' I sat on the bank and looked, scarce believing my eyes, and looked, and presently fell to crying, till I could see the words no more. Ah me, how they went to my heart, those bare letters in a foreign land. Dear Richart! good, kind brother Richart! often I have sat on his knee and rid on his back. Kisses many he has given me, unkind word from him had I never. And there was his name on his own ship, and his face and all his grave, but good and gentle ways, came back to me, and I sobbed vehemently, and cried aloud, 'Why, why is not brother Richart here, and not his name only?' I spake in Dutch, for my heart was too full to hold their foreign tongues, and

Eli. “Well, Richart, go on, lad, prithee go on. Is this a place to halt at?”

Richart. “Father, with my duty to you, it is easy to say go on, but think ye I am not flesh and blood? The poor boy's—simple grief and brotherly love coming—so sudden-on me, they go through my heart and—I cannot go on; sink me if I can even see the words, 'tis writ so fine.”

Denys. “Courage, good Master Richart! Take your time. Here are more eyne wet than yours. Ah, little comrade! would God thou wert here, and I at Venice for thee.”

Richart. “Poor little curly-headed lad, what had he done that we have driven him so far?”

“That is what I would fain know,” said Catherine drily, then fell to weeping and rocking herself, with her apron over her head.

“Kind dame, good friends,” said Margaret trembling, “let me tell you how the letter ends. The skipper hearing our Gerard speak his grief in Dutch, accosted him, and spake comfortably to him; and after a while our Gerard found breath to say he was worthy Master Richart's brother. Thereat was the good skipper all agog to serve him.”

Richart. “So! so! skipper! Master Richart aforesaid will be at thy wedding and bring's purse to boot.”

Margaret. “Sir, he told Gerard of his consort that was to sail that very night for Rotterdam; and dear Gerard had to go home and finish his letter and bring it to the ship. And the rest, it is but his poor dear words of love to me, the which, an't please you, I think shame to hear them read aloud, and ends with the lines I sent to Mistress Kate, and they would sound so harsh now and ungrateful.”

The pleading tone, as much as the words, prevailed, and Richart said he would read no more aloud, but run his eye over it for his own brotherly satisfaction. She blushed and looked uneasy, but made no reply.

“Eli,” said Catherine, still sobbing a little, “tell me, for our Lady's sake, how our poor boy is to live at that nasty Rome. He is gone there to write, but here he his own words to prove writing avails nought: a had died o' hunger by the way but for paint-brush and psaltery. Well a-day!”

“Well,” said Eli, “he has got brush and music still. Besides, so many men so many minds. Writing, though it had no sale in other parts, may be merchandise at Rome.”

“Father,” said little Kate, “have I your good leave to put in my word 'twixt mother and you?”

“And welcome, little heart.”

“Then, seems to me, painting and music, close at hand, be stronger than writing, but being distant, nought to compare; for see what glamour written paper hath done here but now. Our Gerard, writing at Venice, hath verily put his hand into this room at Rotterdam, and turned all our hearts. Ay, dear dear Gerard, methinks thy spirit hath rid hither on these thy paper wings; and oh! dear father, why not do as we should do were he here in the body?”

“Kate,” said Eli, “fear not; Richart and I will give him glamour for glamour. We will write him a letter, and send it to Rome by a sure hand with money, and bid him home on the instant.”

Cornelis and Sybrandt exchanged a gloomy look.

“Ah, good father! And meantime?”

“Well, meantime?”

“Dear father, dear mother, what can we do to pleasure the absent, but be kind to his poor lass; and her own trouble afore her?”

“'Tis well!” said Eli; “but I am older than thou.” Then he turned gravely to Margaret: “Wilt answer me a question, my pretty mistress?”

“If I may, sir,” faltered Margaret.

“What are these marriage lines Gerard speaks of in the letter?”

“Our marriage lines, sir. His and mine. Know you not that we are betrothed?”

“Before witnesses?”

“Ay, sure. My poor father and Martin Wittenhaagen.”

“This is the first I ever heard of it. How came they in his hands? They should be in yours.”

“Alas, sir, the more is my grief; but I ne'er doubted him; and he said it was a comfort to him to have them in his bosom.”

“Y'are a very foolish lass.”

“Indeed I was, sir. But trouble teaches the simple.”

“'Tis a good answer. Well, foolish or no, y'are honest. I had shown ye more respect at first, but I thought y'had been his leman, and that is the truth.”

“God forbid, sir! Denys, methinks 'tis time for us to go. Give me my letter, sir!”

“Bide ye! bide ye! be not so hot for a word! Natheless, wife, methinks her red cheek becomes her.”

“Better than it did you to give it her, my man.”

“Softly, wife, softly. I am not counted an unjust man though I be somewhat slow.”

Here Richart broke in. “Why, mistress, did ye shed your blood for our Gerard?”

“Not I, sir. But maybe I would.”

“Nay, nay. But he says you did. Speak sooth now!”

“Alas! I know not what ye mean. I rede ye believe not all that my poor lad says of me. Love makes him blind.”

“Traitress!” cried Denys. “Let not her throw dust in thine eyes, Master Richart. Old Martin tells me ye need not make signals to me, she-comrade; I am as blind as love—Martin tells me she cut her arm, and let her blood flow, and smeared her heels