"Oh, sir!" said little Kate, "for pity's sake tell us; are these the features of a living woman, of--of--Margaret Brandt?" "A mirror is not truer, my little maid." "But is it she, sir, for very certain?" "Why, who else should it be?" "Now, why couldn't you say so at once?" snarled Ghysbrecht. "I did say so, as plain as I could speak," snapped Peter; and they growled over this small bone of contention so zealously, that they did not see Catherine and her daughter had thrown their aprons over their heads, and were rocking to and fro in deep distress. The next moment Elias came in from the shop, and stood aghast. Catherine, though her face was covered, knew his footstep. "That is my poor man," she sobbed. "Tell him, good Peter Buyskens, for I have not the courage." Elias turned pale. The presence of the burgomaster in his house, after so many years of coolness, coupled with his wife's and daughter's distress, made him fear some heavy misfortune. "Richart! Jacob!" he gasped. "No! no!" said the burgomaster; "it is nearer home, and nobody is dead or dying, old friend." "God bless you, burgomaster! Ah! something is gone off my breast that was like to choke me. Now, what is the matter?" Ghysbrecht then told him all that he told the women, and showed the picture in evidence. "Is that all?" said Eli, profoundly relieved. "What are ye roaring and bellowing for? It is vexing, it is angering, but it is not like death nor even sickness. Boys will be boys. He will outgrow that disease: 'tis but skin deep." But when Ghysbrecht told him that Margaret was a girl of good character; that it was not to be supposed she would be so intimate if marriage had not been spoken of between them, his brow darkened. "Marriage? that shall never be," said he, sternly. "I'll stay that, ay, by force if need be, as I would his hand lifted to cut his throat. I'd do what old John Koestein did t'other day." "And what is that, in Heaven's name?" asked the mother, suddenly removing her apron. It was the burgomaster who replied: "He made me shut young Albert Koestein up in the prison of the Stadthouse till he knocked under: it was not long. Forty-eight hours, all alone, on bread and water, cooled his hot stomach. 'Tell my father I am his humble servant,' says he, 'and let me into the sun once more--the sun is worth all the wenches in the world.'" "Oh the cruelty of men!" sighed Catherine. "As to that, the burgomaster has no choice: it is the law. And if a father says, 'Burgomaster, lock up my son,' he must do it. A fine thing it would be if a father might not lock up his own son." "Well, well! it won't come to that with me and my son. He never disobeyed me in his life: he never shall. Where is he? It is past supper-time. Where is he, Kate?" "Alas, I know not, father." "I know," said Ghysbrecht; "he is at Sevenbergen. My servant met him on the road." * * * * *