“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?”