He staggered, and but for Margaret would have fallen, With her one disengaged arm she supported him as well as she could and cried for help.
A couple of servants came running, and carried him away in a state bordering on syncope, The last Margaret saw of him was his old furrowed face, white and helpless as his hair that hung down over the servant's elbow.
“Heaven forgive me,” she said. “I doubt I have killed the poor old man.”
Then this attempt to penetrate the torturing mystery left it as dark, or darker than before. For when she came to ponder every word, her suspicion was confirmed that Ghysbrecht did know something about Gerard. “And who were the two knaves he thought had done a good deed, and told me? Oh, my Gerard, my poor deserted babe, you and I are wading in deep waters.”
The visit to Tergou took more money than she could well afford; and a customer ran away in her debt. She was once more compelled to unfold Catherine's angel. But strange to say, as she came down stairs with it in her hand she found some loose silver on the table, with a written line—
For Gerard his wife.
She fell with a cry of surprise on the writing; and soon it rose into a cry of joy.
“He is alive. He sends me this by some friendly hand.”
She kissed the writing again and again, and put it in her bosom.
Time rolled on, and no news of Gerard.