While Jorian was putting on his doublet and jerkin to go to Peter's tomb, his tongue was not idle."They used to call him a magician out Sevenbergen way.And they do say he gave 'em a touch of his trade at parting; told 'em he saw Margaret's lad a-coming down Rhine in brave clothes and store o' money, but his face scarred by foreign glaive, and not altogether so many arms and legs as a went away wi'.But, dear heart, nought came on't.
Margaret is still wearying for her lad; and Peter, he lies as quiet as his neighbours; not but what she hath put a stone slab over him, to keep him where he is: as you shall see."He put both hands on the edge of the grave, and was about to raise himself out of it, but the friar laid a trembling hand on his shoulder, and said in a strange whisper -"How long since died Peter Brandt?"
"About two months, Why?"
"And his daughter buried him, say you?"
"Nay, I buried him, but she paid the fee and reared the stone.""Then - but he had just one daughter; Margaret?""No more leastways, that he owned to."
"Then you think Margaret is - is alive?"
"Think? Why, I should be dead else.Riddle me that.""Alas, how can I? You love her!"
"No more than reason, being a married man, and father of four more sturdy knaves like myself.Nay, the answer is, she saved my life scarce six weeks agone.Now had she been dead she couldn't ha'
kept me alive.Bless your heart, I couldn't keep a thing on my stomach; nor doctors couldn't make me.My Joan says, "Tis time to buy thee a shroud.' 'I dare say, so 'tis,' says I; but try and borrow one first.' In comes my lady, this Margaret, which she died three years ago, by your way on't, opens the windows, makes 'em shift me where I lay, and cures me in the twinkling of a bedpost;but wi' what? there pinches the shoe; with the scurviest herb, and out of my own garden, too; with sweet feverfew.A herb, quotha, 'tis a weed; leastways it was a weed till it cured me, but now whene'er I pass my hunch I doff bonnet, and says I, 'fly service t'ye.' Why, how now, father, you look wondrous pale, and now you are red, and now you are white? Why, what is the matter? What, in Heaven's name, is the matter?""The surprise - the joy - the wonder - the fear," gasped Clement.
"Why, what is it to thee? Art thou of kin to Margaret Brandt?""Nay; but I knew one that loved her well, so well her death nigh killed him, body and soul.And yet thou sayest she lives.And Ibelieve thee."
Jorian stared, and after a considerable silence said very gravely, "Father, you have asked me many questions, and I have answered them truly; now for our Lady's sake answer me but two.Did you in very sooth know one who loved this poor lass? Where?"Clement was on the point of revealing himself, but he remembered Jerome's letter, and shrank from being called by the name he had borne in the world.
"I knew him in Italy," said he.
"If you knew him you can tell me his name," said Jorian cautiously.
"His name was Gerard Eliassoen."
"Oh, but this is strange.Stay, what made thee say Margaret Brandt was dead?""I was with Gerard when a letter came from Margaret Van Eyck.The letter told him she he loved was dead and buried.Let me sit down, for my strength fails me, Foul play! Foul play!""Father," said Jorian," I thank Heaven for sending thee to me, Ay, sit ye down; ye do look like a ghost; ye fast overmuch to be strong.My mind misgives me; methinks I hold the clue to this riddle, and if I do, there be two knaves in this town whose heads I would fain batter to pieces as I do this mould;" and he clenched his teeth and raised his long spade above his head, and brought it furiously down upon the heap several times."Foul play? You never said a truer word i' your life; and if you know where Gerard is now, lose no time, but show him the trap they have laid for him.
Mine is but a dull head, but whiles the slow hound puzzles out the scent - go to, And I do think you and I ha' got hold of two ends o' one stick, and a main foul one."Jorian then, after some of those useless preliminaries men of his class always deal in, came to the point of the story.He had been employed by the burgomaster of Tergou to repair the floor of an upper room in his house, and when it was almost done, Coming suddenly to fetch away his tools, curiosity had been excited by some loud words below, and he had lain down on his stomach, and heard the burgomaster talking about a letter which Cornelis and Sybrandt were minded to convey into the place of one that a certain Hans Memling was taking to Gerard; "and it seems their will was good, but their stomach was small; so to give them courage the old man showed them a drawer full of silver, and if they did the trick they should each put a hand in, and have all the silver they could hold in't.Well, father," continued Jorian, "I thought not much on't at the time, except for the bargain itself, that kept me awake mostly all night.Think on't! Next morning at peep of day who should I see but my masters Cornelis and Sybrandt come out of their house each with a black eye.'Oho,'
says I, 'what yon Hans hath put his mark on ye; well now I hope that is all you have got for your pains.' Didn't they make for the burgomaster's house? I to my hiding-place."At this part of Jorian's revelation the monk's nostril dilated, and his restless eye showed the suspense he was in.
"Well, father," continued Jorian, "the burgomaster brought them into that same room.He had a letter in his hand; but I am no scholar; however, I have got as many eyes in my head as the Pope hath, and I saw the drawer opened, and those two knaves put in each a hand and draw it out full.And, saints in glory, how they tried to hold more, and more, and more o' yon stuff! And Sybrandt, he had daubed his hand in something sticky, I think 'twas glue, and he made shift to carry one or two pieces away a sticking to the back of his hand, he! he! he! 'Tis a sin to laugh.So you see luck was on the wrong side as usual; they had done the trick; but how they did it, that, methinks, will never be known till doomsday.Go to, they left their immortal jewels in yon drawer.