"Well, let misfortune and the hand go together."
"It was not so said." She looked furtively at Bronck's powerful rival, loath to reveal to him the sick old man's prophecies.
"I have heard of the hearts of heroes being sealed in coffers and treasured in the cities from which they sprung," said Van Corlaer, taking his hat from the step and holding it to shield his eyes from mounting light. "But Jonas was no hero. And I have heard of papists venerating little pieces of saints' bones. Father Jogues might do so, and I could behold him without smiling. But a Protestant woman should have no superstition for relics."
"What I cannot help dreading," confessed Antonia, moving her hands nervously in their wrapping, "is what may follow this loss."
"Why, let the hand go! What should follow its loss?"
"Some trouble might befall the people who are kindest to me."
"Because Bronck's hand has been mislaid?" inquired Van Corlaer with shrewd light in his eyes.
"Yes, mynheer," hesitated Antonia. He burst into laughter and Antonia looked at him as if he had spoken against religion.
She sighed.
"It was my duty to open the box once every month."