“And so will Michaelmas; but when? and I was so bent on you seeing the girl. Then we could have put our heads together about her. Say what they will, there is no judging body or beast but by the eye. And were I to have fifty more sons I'd ne'er thwart one of them's fancy, till such time as I had clapped my eyes upon her and seen Quicksands; say you, I should have thought of that before condemning Gerard his fancy; but there, life is a school, and the lesson ne'er done; we put down one fault and take up t'other, and so go blundering here, and blundering there, till we blunder into our graves, and there's an end of us.” “Mother,” said Kate timidly. “Well, what is a-coming now? no good news though, by the look of you. What on earth can make the poor wretch so scared?” “An avowal she hath to make,” faltered Kate faintly. “Now, there is a noble word for ye,” said Catherine proudly. “Our Gerard taught thee that, I'll go bail. Come then, out with thy vowel.” “Well then, sooth to say, I have seen her.” “And?” “And spoken with her to boot.” “And never told me? After this marvels are dirt.” “Mother, you were so hot against her. I waited till I could tell you without angering you worse.” “Ay,” said Catherine, half sadly, half bitterly, “like mother, like daughter; cowardice it is our bane. The others I whiles buffet, or how would the house fare? but did you, Kate, ever have harsh word or look from your poor mother, that you--Nay, I will not have ye cry, girl; ten to one ye had your reason; so rise up, brave heart, and tell me all, better late than ne'er; and first and foremost when ever, and how ever, wend you to Sevenbergen wi' your poor crutches, and I not know?” “I never was there in my life; and, mammy dear, to say that I ne'er wished to see her that I will not, but I ne'er went nor sought to see her.” “There now,” said Catherine disputatively, “said I not 'twas all unlike my girl to seek her unbeknown to me? Come now, for I'm all agog. “Then thus 'twas. It came to my ears, no matter how, and prithee, good mother, on my knees ne'er ask me how, that Gerard was a prisoner in the Stadthouse tower.” “Ah” “By father's behest as 'twas pretended.” Catherine uttered a sigh that was almost a moan. “Blacker than I thought,” she muttered faintly. “Giles and I went out at night to bid him be of good cheer. And there at the tower foot was a brave lass, quite strange to me I vow, on the same errand.” “Lookee there now, Kate.” “At first we did properly frighten one another, through the place his bad name, and our poor heads being so full o' divels, and we whitened a bit in moonshine. But next moment, quo' I, 'You are Margaret.' 'And you are Kate,' quo' she. Think on't!” “Did one ever? 'Twas Gerard! He will have been talking backards and forrards of thee to her, and her to thee.”