"Bless thee, Giles," murmured Margaret, softly.
"Thou wast ever his stanch friend, dear Giles," said little Kate; "but alack I know not what thou canst do for him now."
Giles had left them, and all was sad and silent again, when a well-dressed man opened the door softly and asked was Margaret Brandt here.
"D'ye hear, lass? You are wanted," said Catherine, briskly. In her the Gossip was indestructible.
"Well, mother," said Margaret, listlessly, "and here I am."
A shuffling of feet was heard at the door, and a colourless, feeble, old man was assisted into the room. It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten. At sight of him Catherine shrieked and threw her apron over her head and Margaret shuddered violently and turned her head swiftly away not to see him.
A feeble voice issued from the strange visitor's lips, "Good people, a dying man hath come to ask your forgiveness."
"Come to look on your work, you mean," said Catherine, taking down her apron and bursting out sobbing. "There, there, she is fainting; look to her, Eli, quick."
"Nay," said Margaret, in a feeble voice, "the sight of him gave me a turn, that is all. Prithee let him say his say; and go; for he is the murtherer of me and mine."
"Alas," said Ghysbrecht, "I am too feeble to say it standing, and no one biddeth me sit down."