The battle was won.
Margaret lingered behind, cast her eye rapidly round the furniture, and selected the Vulgate and the psaltery. The rest she sighed at, and let it lie. The breastplate and the cilice of bristles she took and dashed with feeble ferocity on the floor.
Then seeing Gerard watch her with surprise from the outside, she coloured and said, “I am but a woman: 'little' will still be 'spiteful.'”
“Why encumber thyself with those? They are safe.”
“Oh, she had a reason.”
And with this they took the road to Gouda parsonage, The moon and stars were so bright, it seemed almost as light as day.
Suddenly Gerard stopped. “My poor little birds!”
“What of them?”
“They will miss their food. I feed them every day.”
“The child hath a piece of bread in his cowl, Take that, and feed them now against the morn.”