Margaret made her toilet in the same spirit that a knight of her day dressed for battle--he to parry blows, and she to parry glances--glances of contempt at her poverty, or of irony at her extravagance. Her kirtle was of English cloth, dark blue, and her farthingale and hose of the same material, but a glossy roan, or claret colour. Not an inch of pretentious fur about her, but plain snowy linen wristbands, and curiously plaited linen from the bosom of the kirtle up to the commencement of the throat; it did not encircle her throat, but framed it, being square, not round. Her front hair still peeped in two waves much after the fashion which Mary Queen of Scots revived a century later; but instead of the silver net, which would have ill become her present condition, the rest of her head was covered with a very small tight-fitting hood of dark blue cloth, hemmed with silver. Her shoes were red; but the roan petticoat and hose prepared the spectator's mind for the shock, and they set off the arched instep and shapely foot. Beauty knew its business then as now. And with all this she kept her enemies waiting, though it was three by the dial. At last she started, attended by her he-comrade. And when they were halfway, she stopped and said thoughtfully, “Denys!” “Well, she-general?” “I must go home” (piteously). “What, have ye left somewhat behind?” “What?” “My courage. Oh! oh! oh!” “Nay, nay, be brave, she-general. I shall be with you.” “Ay, but wilt keep close to me when I be there?” Denys promised, and she resumed her march, but gingerly. Meantime they were all assembled, and waiting for her with a strange mixture of feelings. Mortification, curiosity, panting affection, aversion to her who came to gratify those feelings, yet another curiosity to see what she was like, and what there was in her to bewitch Gerard and make so much mischief. At last Denys came alone, and whispered, “The she-comrade is without.” “Fetch her in,” said Eli. “Now whisht, all of ye. None speak to her but I.” They all turned their eyes to the door in dead silence. A little muttering was heard outside; Denys's rough organ and a woman's soft and mellow voice. Presently that stopped; and then the door opened slowly, and Margaret Brandt, dressed as I have described, and somewhat pale, but calm and lovely, stood on the threshold, looking straight before her. They all rose but Kate, and remained mute and staring. “Be seated, mistress,” said Eli gravely, and motioned to a seat that had been set apart for her. She inclined her head, and crossed the apartment; and in so doing her condition was very visible, not only in her shape, but in her languor. Cornelis and Sybrandt hated her for it. Richart thought it spoiled her beauty. It softened the women somewhat. She took her letter out of her bosom, and kissed it as if she had been alone; then disposed herself to read it, with the air of one who knew she was there for that single purpose.