Supper passed in gloomy silence. Evening descended--no Gerard: eight o'clock came--no Gerard. Then the father sent all to bed except Catherine. "You and I will walk abroad, wife, and talk over this new care." "Abroad, my man, at this time? Whither?" "Why on the road to Sevenbergen." "Oh no, no hasty words, father. Poor Gerard! he never vexed you before." "Fear me not. But it must end; and I am not one that trusts to-morrow with to-day's work." The old pair walked hand in hand; for strange as it may appear to some of my readers, the use of the elbow to couples walking was not discovered in Europe till centuries after this. They sauntered on a long time in silence. The night was clear and balmy. Such nights, calm and silent, recall the past from the dead. "It is a many years since we walked so late, my man," said Catherine, softly. "Ay, sweetheart, more than we shall see again (Is he never coming, I wonder?") "Not since our courting days, Eli." "No. Ay, you were a buxom lass then." "And you were a comely lad, as ever a girl's eye stole a look at. I do suppose Gerard is with her now, as you used to be with me. Nature is strong, and the same in all our generations." "Nay, I hope he has left her by now, confound her, or we shall be here all night." "Eli!" "Well, Kate?" "I have been happy with you sweetheart, for all our rubs,--much happier, I trow, than if I had--been--a--a--nun. You won't speak harshly to the poor child? One can be firm without being harsh." "Surely." "Have you been happy with me, my poor Eli?" "Why, you know I have. Friends I have known, but none like thee. Buss me, wife!" "A heart to share joy and grief with is a great comfort to man or woman. Isn't it, Eli?" "It is so, my lass." '_It doth joy double, And halveth trouble,_' runs the byword. And so I have found it, sweetheart. Ah! here comes the young fool." Catherine trembled and held her husband's hand tight. The moon was bright, but they were in the shadow of some trees, and their son did not see them. He came singing in the moonlight, and his face shining. CHAPTER VIII WHILE the burgomaster was exposing Gerard at Tergou, Margaret had a trouble of her own at Sevenbergen. It was a housewife's distress, but deeper than we can well conceive. She came to Martin Wittenhaagen, the old soldier, with tears in her eyes. "Martin, there's nothing in the house, and Gerard is coming, and he is so thoughtless. He forgets to sup at home. When he gives over work then he runs to me straight, poor soul: and often, he comes quite faint. And to think I have nothing to set before my servant that loves me so dear." Martin scratched his head. "What can I do?" "It is Thursday: it is your day to shoot,--sooth to say, I counted on you to-day."