And I called Kate's little hand a Kardiometer, or heart-measurer, because it graduated emotion, and pinched by scale. At its best it was by no means a high-pressure engine. But all is relative. Denys soon learned the tender gamut; and when to water the suspense, and extract the thrill as far as possible. On one occasion only he cannily indemnified his narrative for this drawback. Falling personally into the Rhine, and sinking, he got pinched, he Denys, to his surprise and satisfaction. "Oho!" thought he, and on the principle of the anatomists, "experimentum in corpore vili," kept himself a quarter of an hour under water; under pressure all the time. And even when Gerard had got hold of him, he was loth to leave the river, so, less conscientious than I was, swam with Gerard to the east bank first, and was about to land, but detected the officers, and their intent, chaffed them a little space, treading water, then turned and swam wearily all across, and at last was obliged to get out, for very shame, or else acknowledge himself a pike; so permitted himself to land, exhausted: and the pressure relaxed. * * * * * It was eleven o'clock, an unheard-of hour, but they took no note of time this night; and Denys had still much to tell them, when the door was opened quietly, and in stole Cornelis and Sybrandt looking hang-dog. They had this night been drinking the very last drop of their mysterious funds. Catherine feared her husband would rebuke them before Denys: but he only looked sadly at them, and motioned them to sit down quietly. Denys it was who seemed discomposed. He knitted his brows and eyed them thoughtfully and rather gloomily. Then turned to Catherine. "What say you, dame? the rest tomorrow? for I am somewhat weary and it waxes late." "So be it," said Eli. But when Denys rose to go to his inn, he was instantly stopped by Catherine. "And think you to lie from this house? Gerard's room has been got ready for you hours agone: the sheets I'll not say much for, seeing I spun the flax and wove the web." "Then would I lie in them blindfold," was the gallant reply. "Ah, dame, our poor Gerard was the one for fine linen. He could hardly forgive the honest Germans their coarse flax, and, whene'er my traitors of countrymen did amiss, a would excuse them saying, 'Well, well; bonnes toiles sont en Bourgogne:' that means 'there be good lenten cloths in Burgundy.' But indeed he beat all for bywords and cleanliness." "Oh Eli! Eli! doth not our son come back to us at each word?" "Ay. Buss me, my poor Kate. You and I know all that passeth in each other's hearts this night. None other can, but God." CHAPTER XLIX