And growing agitation succeeded to amazement. “Now hush!” said Eli, “let none speak but I. Young man,” said he solemnly, “in God's name who are you, that know us though we know you not, and that shake our hearts speaking to us of--the absent-our poor rebellious son: whom Heaven forgive and bless?” “What, master,” said Denys, lowering his voice, “hath he not writ to you? hath he not told you of me, Denys of Burgundy?” “He hath writ, but three lines, and named not Denys of Burgundy, nor any stranger.” “Ay, I mind the long letter was to his sweetheart, this Margaret, and she has decamped, plague take her, and how I am to find her Heaven knows.” “What, she is not your sweetheart then?” “Who, dame? an't please you.” “Why, Margaret Brandt.” “How can my comrade's sweetheart be mine? I know her not from Noah's niece; how should I? I never saw her.” “Whist with this idle chat, Kate,” said Eli impatiently, “and let the young man answer me. How came you to know Gerard, our son? Prithee now think on a parent's cares, and answer me straightforward, like a soldier as thou art.” “And shall. I was paid off at Flushing, and started for Burgundy. On the German frontier I lay at the same inn with Gerard. I fancied him. I said, 'Be my comrade.' He was loth at first; consented presently. Many a weary league we trode together. Never were truer comrades: never will be while earth shall last. First I left my route a bit to be with him: then he his to be with me. We talked of Sevenbergen and Tergou a thousand times; and of all in this house. We had our troubles on the road; but battling them together made them light. I saved his life from a bear; he mine in the Rhine: for he swims like a duck and I like a hod o' bricks and one another's lives at an inn in Burgundy, where we two held a room for a good hour against seven cut-throats, and crippled one and slew two; and your son did his devoir like a man, and met the stoutest champion I ever countered, and spitted him like a sucking-pig. Else I had not been here. But just when all was fair, and I was to see him safe aboard ship for Rome, if not to Rome itself, met us that son of a--the Lord Anthony of Burgundy, and his men, making for Flanders, then in insurrection, tore us by force apart, took me where I got some broad pieces in hand, and a broad arrow in my shoulder, and left my poor Gerard lonesome. At that sad parting, soldier though I be, these eyes did rain salt scalding tears, and so did his, poor soul. His last word to me was, 'Go, comfort Margaret!' so here I be. Mine to him was, 'Think no more of Rome. Make for Rhine, and down stream home.' Now say, for you know best, did I advise him well or ill?” “Soldier, take my hand,” said Eli. “God bless thee! God bless thee!” and his lip quivered. It was all his reply, but more eloquent than many words.