She listened half stupidly to his retiring footsteps till they ceased. Then she sank moaning down by the cradle, and drew little Gerard tight to her bosom. “Oh, my poor fatherless boy; my fatherless boy!”
CHAPTER LXXVII
Not long after this, as the little family at Tergou sat at dinner, Luke Peterson burst in on them, covered with dust. “Good people, Mistress Catherine is wanted instantly at Rotterdam.”
“My name is Catherine, young man. Kate, it will be Margaret.”
“Ay, dame, she said to me, 'Good Luke, hie thee to Tergou, and ask for Eli the hosier, and pray his wife Catherine to come to me, for God His love.' I didn't wait for daylight.”
“Holy saints! He has come home, Kate. Nay, she would sure have said so. What on earth can it be?” And she heaped conjecture on conjecture.
“Mayhap the young man can tell us,” hazarded Kate timidly.
“That I can,” said Luke, “Why, her babe is a-dying, And she was so wrapped up in it!”
Catherine started up: “What is his trouble?”