“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 when Gerard was hunted by the bloodhounds, to turn the scent from her lad.”
“Well, and if I did, 'twas my own, and spilled for the good of my own,” said Margaret defiantly. But Catherine suddenly clasping her, she began to cry at having found a bosom to cry on, of one who would have also shed her blood for Gerard in danger.
Eli rose from his chair. “Wife,” said he solemnly, “you will set another chair at our table for every meal: also another plate and knife. They will be for Margaret and Peter. She will come when she likes, and stay away when she pleases. None may take her place at my left hand. Such as can welcome her are welcome to me. Such as cannot, I force them not to abide with me. The world is wide and free. Within my walls I am master, and my son's betrothed is welcome.”
Catherine bustled out to prepare supper. Eli and Richart sat down and concocted a letter to bring Gerard home. Richart promised it should go by sea to Rome that very week. Sybrandt and Cornelis exchanged a gloomy wink, and stole out. Margaret, seeing Giles deep in meditation, for the dwarf's intelligence had taken giant strides, asked him to bring her the letter. “You have heard but half, good master Giles,” said she. “Shall I read you the rest?”