“Art a man of sense, Eli, a dirk, a chose, a chose(1),”' shouted Denys. “The she-comrade will be right glad to obey Gerard and yet not face you all, whom she hates as wormwood, saving your presence. Bless ye, the world hath changed, she is all submission to-day: 'obedience is honey,' quoth she; and in sooth 'tis a sweetmeat she cannot but savour, eating so little on't, for what with her fair face, and her mellow tongue; and what wi' flying in fits and terrifying us that be soldiers to death, an we thwart her; and what wi' chiding us one while, and petting us like lambs t' other, she hath made two of the crawlingest slaves ever you saw out of two honest swashbucklers. I be the ironing ruffian, t' other washes.” “What next? “What next? why, whenever the brat is in the world I shall rock cradle, and t' other knave will wash tucker and bib. So, then, I'll go fetch the letter on the instant. Ye will let me bide and hear it read, will ye not?” “Else our hearts were black as coal,” said Catherine. So Denys went for the letter. He came back crestfallen. “She will not let it out of her hand neither to me nor you, nor any he or she that lives.” “I knew she would not,” said Cornelis. “Whisht! whisht!” said Eli, “and let Denys tell his story.” “'Nay,' said I, 'but be ruled by me.' 'Not I,' quoth she. 'Well, but,' quoth I, 'that same honey Obedience ye spake of.' 'You are a fool,' says she; 'obedience to Gerard is sweet, but obedience to any other body, who ever said that was sweet?' “At last she seemed to soften a bit, and did give me a written paper for you, mademoiselle. Here 'tis.” “For me?” said little Kate, colouring. “Give that here!” said Eli, and he scanned the writing, and said almost in a whisper, “These be words from the letter Hearken! “'And, sweetheart, an if these lines should travel safe to thee, make thou trial of my people's hearts withal. Maybe they are somewhat turned towards me, being far away. If 'tis so they will show it to thee, since now to me they may not. Read, then, this letter! But I do strictly forbid thee to let it from thy hand; and if they still hold aloof from thee, why, then say nought, but let them think me dead. Obey me in this; for, if thou dost disrespect my judgment and my will in this, thou lovest me not.'” There was a silence, and Gerard's words copied by Margaret here handed round and inspected. “Well,” said Catherine, “that is another matter. But methinks 'tis for her to come to us, not we to her.” “Alas, mother! what odds does that make?” “Much,” said Eli. “Tell her we are over many to come to her, and bid her hither, the sooner the better.” When Denys was gone, Eli owned it was a bitter pill to him.