“Ay, is it, lad; and no farther off than my pocket. Come out, Gerard's reward,” and she brought a letter out of her capacious pocket.
Gerard threw his arm round her neck and hugged her.
“My best friend,” said he, “my second mother, I'll read it to you.
“Ay, do, do.”
“Alas! it is not from Margaret. This is not her hand.” And he turned it about.
“Alack; but maybe her bill is within. The lasses are aye for gliding in their bills under cover of another hand.”
“True. Whose hand is this? sure I have seen it. I trow 'tis my dear friend the demoiselle Van Eyck. Oh, then Margaret's bill will be inside.” He tore it open. “Nay, 'tis all in one writing. 'Gerard, my well beloved son' (she never called me that before that I mind), 'this letter brings thee heavy news from one would liever send thee joyful tidings. Know that Margaret Brandt died in these arms on Thursday sennight last.' (What does the doting old woman mean by that?) 'The last word on her lips was “Gerard:” she said, “Tell him I prayed for him at my last hour; and bid him pray for me.” She died very comfortable, and I saw her laid in the earth, for her father was useless, as you shall know. So no more at present from her that is with sorrowing heart thy loving friend and servant,
“MARGARET VAN EYCK.'”
“Ay, that is her signature sure enough. Now what d'ye think of that, dame?” cried Gerard, with a grating laugh. “There is a pretty letter to send to a poor fellow so far from home. But it is Reicht Heynes I blame for humouring the old woman and letting her do it; as for the old woman herself, she dotes, she has lost her head, she is fourscore. Oh, my heart, I'm choking. For all that she ought to be locked up, or her hands tied. Say this had come to a fool; say I was idiot enough to believe this; know ye what I should do? run to the top of the highest church tower in Rome and fling myself off it, cursing Heaven. Woman! woman! what are you doing?” And he seized her rudely by the shoulder. “What are ye weeping for?” he cried, in a voice all unlike his own, and loud and hoarse as a raven. “Would ye scald me to death with your tears? She believes it. She believes it. Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!—Then there is no God.”
The poor woman sighed and rocked herself.