"Caitiff, you knew there was another one worth all these twice told." "'Tis false," cried Jorian, made suspicious by the other's suspicion. "'Tis a trick to rob me of my hundred crowns. Oh! I know you, burgomaster." And Jorian was ready to whimper. A mellow voice fell on them both like oil upon the waves. "No, good man, it is not false, nor yet is it quite true: there was another parchment." "There, there, there! Where is it?" "But," continued Margaret calmly, "it was not a town record (so you have gained your hundred crowns, good man): it was but a private deed between the burgomaster here and my grandfather Flor----" "Hush, hush!" "--is Brandt." "Where is it, girl? that is all we want to know." "Have patience, and I shall tell you." Gerard read the title of it, and he said, "This is as much yours as the burgomaster's," and he put it apart, to read it with me at his leisure." "It is in the house, then?" said the burgomaster, recovering his calmness. "No, sir," said Margaret, bravely, "it is not." Then, in a voice that faltered suddenly, "You hunted--my poor Gerard--so hard--and so close--that you gave him--no time--to think of aught--but his life--and his grief.--The parchment was in his bosom, and he hath ta'en it with him." "Whither, whither?" "Ask me no more, sir. What right is yours to question me thus? It was for _your_ sake, good man, I put force upon my heart, and came out here, and bore to speak at all to this hard old man. For, when I think of the misery he has brought on _him_ and me, the sight of him is more than I can bear:" and she gave an involuntary shudder, and went slowly in, with her hand to her head, crying bitterly. Remorse for the past, and dread of the future--the slow, but, as he now felt, the inevitable future--avarice, and fear, all tugged in one short moment at Ghysbrecht's tough heart. He hung his head, and his arms fell listless by his sides. A coarse chuckle made him start round, and there stood Martin Wittenhaagen leaning on his bow, and sneering from ear to ear. At sight of the man and his grinning face, Ghysbrecht's worst passions awoke. "Ho! attach him, seize him, traitor and thief!" cried he. "Dog, thou shalt pay for all." Martin, without a word, calmly thrust the duke's pardon under Ghysbrecht's nose. He looked, and had not a word to say. Martin followed up his advantage. "The duke and I are soldiers. He won't let you greasy burghers trample on an old comrade. He bade me carry you a message too." "The duke send a message to me?"