“No, Margaret,” said Reicht despondently. And they returned home.
Perhaps after all Margaret had nourished some faint secret hope in her heart, though her reason had rejected it, for she certainly went home more dejectedly.
Just as they entered Rotterdam, Reicht said, “Stay! Oh, Margaret, I am ill at deceit; but 'tis death to utter ill news to thee; I love thee so dear.”
“Speak out, sweetheart,” said Margaret. “I have gone through so much, I am almost past feeling any fresh trouble.”
“Margaret, the hermit did speak to me.”
“What, a hermit there? among all those birds.”
“Ay; and doth not that show him a holy man?”
“I' God's name, what said he to thee, Reicht?”
“Alas! Margaret, I told him thy story, and I prayed him for our Lady's sake tell me where thy Gerard is, And I waited long for an answer, and presently a voice came like a trumpet: 'Pray for the soul of Gerard the son of Eli!”
“Ah!”