The Maid of Maiden Lane

  CHAPTER XII

  A HEART THAT WAITS

  Late summer on the Norfolk Broads! And where on earth can the lover ofboats find a more charming resort? How alluring are the mysteriousentrances to these Broads! where a boat seems to make an insane diveinto a hopeless cul de sac of a ditch, and then suddenly emerges on awide expanse of water, teeming with pike and bream and eels; andfringed with a border of plashy ground, full of reeds and willows andflowering flags; and alive with water fowl.

  Now close to the Manor of Hyde, the country home of Earl Hyde inNorfolk, there was one of these delightful Broads--flat as a billiardtable, and hidden by the tall reeds which bordered it. But Annie Hydelying at the open window of her room in the Manor House could see itssilvery waters, and the black-sailed wherry floating on them, and theyoung man sitting at the prow fishing, and idling, among the lilies andlanguors of these hot summer days. Her hands were folded, her lipsmoved, she was asking of some intelligence among the angels, grace andfavour for one who was dearer to her than her own life or happiness.

  An aged man sat silently by her, a man of noble beauty, whose soul wasin every part of his body, expressive and impressive--a fiery particlenot always at its window, but when there, infecting and going throughobservers, whether they would or not. He was dressed altogether inblack, and had fine small hands, a thin austere face and cleansensitive lips which seemed to say, "He hath made us kings andpriests"--a man of celestial race, valuing things at their eternal, notat their temporal worth.

  There had been silence for some time between them, and he did notappear disposed to break it; but Annie longed for him to do so, becauseshe had a mystical appetite for sacred things, and was never so happyand so much at rest as when he was talking to her of them. For sheloved God, and had been led to the love of God by a kind of thirst forGod.

  "Dear father," she said finally, "I have been thinking of the pastyears, in which you have taught me so much."

  "It is better to look forward, Annie," he answered. "The traveller toEternity must not continually turn back to count his steps; for if Godbe leading him, no matter how dangerous or lonely the road, 'He willpluck thy feet out of the net.'"

  "Even in the valley of death?"

  "'BE NOT AFRAID! NOTHING OF THEE WILL DIE!' Take these sweetcompassionate words of Jesus, as He wept by the dying bed of Joseph,His father, into thy heart. Blessed are the homesick, Annie! for theyshall get home."

  "All my life I have loved God, and His love has been over me."

  "Date not God's love from thy nativity; look far, far back of it--tothe everlasting love."

  "After death, I SHALL KNOW."

  "Death!" he repeated, "Death that deceitful word. What is it? A dream,that wakes us at the end of the night. This is the great saying thatmen forget--Death is Life!"

  "Yet life ceases."

  "It does not, Annie. Death, is like the setting of the sun. The sunnever sets; life never ceases. Certain phenomena occur which deceiveus, because human vision is so feeble--we think the sun sets, and itnever ceases shining; we think our friends die, and they never ceaseliving."

  As he spoke these words Mary Damer entered, and she laid her hand onhis shoulder and said, "My dear Doctor Roslyn, after death what then?we are not all good--what then?"

  He looked at her wistfully and answered, "I will give you one thought,Mary, to ponder--the blessedness of heaven, is it not an eternity olderthan the misery of hell? Let your soul fearlessly follow where thisfact leads it; for there is no limit to God's mercy. Do you think it isHis way to worry a wandering sheep eternally? Jesus Christ thoughtbetter of His father. He told us that the Great Shepherd of soulsfollowed such sheep into the wilderness, and brought them home in Hisarms, or on His shoulder, and then called on the angels of heaven torejoice because they were found. Find out what that parable means,Mary. He whose name is 'Love' can teach you."

  Then he rose and went away, and Mary sat down in his place, and Anniegradually came back to the material plane of everyday life and duty.Indeed Mary brought this element in a very decided form with her; forshe had a letter in her hand from an old lover, and she was muchexcited by its advent, and eager to discuss the particulars with Annie.

  "It is from Captain Seabright, who is now in Pondicherry," sheexplained. "He loves me, Annie. He loved me long ago, and went to Indiato make money; now he says he has enough and to spare; and he asks meif I have forgotten."

  "There is Mr. Van Ariens to consider. You have promised to marry him,Mary. It is not hard to find the right way on this road, I think."

  "Of course. I would scorn to do a dishonourable or unhandsome thing.But is it not very strange Willie Seabright should write to me at thistime? How contradictory life is! I had also a letter from Mr. VanAriens by the same mail, and I shall answer them both this evening."Then she laughed a little, and added, "I must take care and not makethe mistake an American girl made, under much the same circumstances."

  "What was it?" inquired Annie languidly.

  "She misdirected her letters and thus sent 'No' to the man whom of allothers, she wished to marry."

  As Mary spoke a soft brightness seemed to pervade Annie's brain cells,and she could hardly restrain the exclamation of sudden enlightenmentthat rose to her lips. She raised herself slightly, and in so doing,her eyes fell upon the tall figure of Hyde standing clearly out in theintense, white sunshine of the Broads; and perhaps her soul may havewhispered to his soul, for he turned his face to the house, and liftedthe little red fishing cap from his head. The action stimulated to theutmost Annie's intuitive powers.

  "Mary," she said, "what a strange incident! Did you know the girl?"

  "I saw her once in Philadelphia. Mr. Van Ariens told me about her. Sheis the friend of his sister the Marquise de Tounnerre."

  "How did Mr. Van Ariens know of such an event?"

  "I suppose the Marquise told him of it."

  "I am interested. Is she pretty? Who, and what is her father? Did shelose her lover through the mistake?"

  "You are more interested in this American girl, than in me. I think youmight ask a little concerning my love affair with Captain Seabright."

  "I always ask you about Mr. Van Ariens. A girl cannot have two lovers,"

  "But if one is gone away?"

  "Then he has gone away; and that is the end of him. He must not troublethe one who has come to stay, eh, Mary?"

  "You are right, Annie. But one's first lover has always a charm abovereason; and Willie Seabright was once very dear to me."

  "I am sorry for that unfortunate American girl."

  "So am I. She is a great beauty. Her name is Cornelia Moran; and herfather is a famous physician in New York."

  "And this beauty had two lovers?"

  "Yes; an Englishman of noble birth; and an American. They both lovedher, and she loved the Englishman. They must have both asked her handon the same day, and she must have answered both letters in the samehour; and the letter she intended for the man she loved, went to theman she did not love. Presumably, the man she loved got the refusal sheintended for the other, for he never sought her society again; and Mr.Van Ariens told me she nearly died in consequence. I know not as tothis part of the story; when I saw her in Philadelphia, she had no moreof fragility than gave delicacy to all her charms."

  "And what became of the two lovers, Mary?"

  "The Englishman went back to England; and the American found anothergirl more kind to him."

  "I wonder what made Mr. Van Ariens tell you this story?"

  "He talked much of his sister, and this young lady was her chief friendand confidante."

  "When did it happen?"

  "A few days after his sister's marriage."

  "Then the Marquise could not know of it; and so she could not have toldher brother. However in the world could he have found out the mistake?Do you think the girl herself found it out?"

  "That is inconceivable," answered Mary. "She would have written to herlover and explained the affair."

  "Certain
ly. It is a very singular incident. I want to think itover--how--did--Mr. Van Ariens--find--it--out, I wonder!"

  "Perhaps the rejected lover confided in him."

  "But why did not the rejected lover send the letter he received--andwhich he must have known he had no right to retain--to Miss Moran, orto the Englishman for whom it was intended? A man who could keep aletter like that, must have some envious sneaking devil in his body. Abad man, Mary, a bad man--the air must be unclean in any room he comesinto."

  "Why Annie! How angry you are. Let us drop the subject. I really dowant to tell you something about Willie Seabright."

  "What did Mr. Van Ariens say about the matter? What did he think? Whydid he tell you?"

  "We were talking of the Marquise. The story came up quite naturally. Ithink Mr. Van Ariens felt very sorry for Miss Moran. Of course he did.Will you listen to Captain Seabright's letter? I had no idea it couldaffect me so much."

  "But you loved him once?"

  "Very dearly."

  "Well then, Mary, I think no one has a double in love or friendship. Ifthe loved one dies, or goes away, his place remains empty forever. Wehave lost feelings that he, and he only, could call up."

  At this point in the conversation Hyde entered, brown and wind-blown,the scent of the sedgy water and the flowery woods about him.

  "Your servant, ladies," he said gayly, "I have bream enough for a dozenfamilies, Mary; and I have sent a string to the rectory."

  "Poor little fish!" answered Annie. "They could not cry out, or pleadwith you, or beg for their lives, and because they were dumb and openednot their mouths, they were wounded and strangled to death."

  "Don't say such things, Annie. How can I enjoy my sport if you do?"

  "I don't think you ought to enjoy sport which is murder. You have yourwherry to sail, is not that sport enough? I have heard you say nothingthat floats on fresh water, can beat a Norfolk wherry."

  "I vow it is the truth. With her fine lines and strong sails she canlie closer to the wind than any other craft. She is safe, and fast, andhandy to manage. Three feet of water will do her, though she be sixtytons burden; and I will sail her where nothing but a row boat canfollow me."

  "Is not that sport enough?"

  "I must have something to get. I would have brought you armfuls offlowers, but you do not like me to cut them."

  "I like my flowers alive, George. You must be dull indeed if you makeno difference between the scent of growing flowers, and cut ones.Tomorrow Mary is going to Ranforth, you must go with her, and you maybring me some peaches from the Hall, if you please to do so."

  Then Hyde and Mary had a game of battledore, and she watched themtossing the gayly painted corks, until amid their light laughter andmerry talk she fell asleep. And when she awakened it was sunset, andthere was no one in her room but her maid. She had slept long, but inspite of its refreshment, she had a sense of something uneasy. Then sherecalled the story Mary Damer had told her, and because shecomprehended the truth, she was instantly at rest. The whole secret wasclear as daylight to her. She knew now every turn of an event so fullof sorrow. She was positive Rem Van Ariens was himself the thief of hercousin's love and happiness, and the bringer of grief--almost ofdeath--to Cornelia. All the facts she did not have, but facts arelittle; intuition is everything. She said to herself, "I shall not belong here, and before I go away, I must put right love's wrong."

  She considered then what she ought to do, and gradually the plan thatpleased her best, grew distinctly just, and even-handed in her mind.She would write to Cornelia. Her word would be indisputable. Then shewould dismiss the subject from her conversations with Mary, untilCornelia's answer arrived; nor until that time would she say a word ofher suspicions to Hyde. In pursuance of these resolutions the followingletter to Cornelia left Hyde Manor for New York the next mail:

  To Miss CORNELIA MORAN:

  Because you are very dear to one of my dear kindred, and because I feelthat you are worthy of his great love, I also love you. Will you trustme now? There has been a sad mistake. I believe I can put it right. Youmust recollect the day on which George Hyde wrote asking you to fix anhour when he could call on Doctor Moran about your marriage. Did anyother lover ask you on that day to marry him? Was that other lover Mr.Van Ariens? Did you write to both about the same time? If so, youmisdirected your letters; and the one intended for Lord Hyde went toMr. Van Ariens; and the one intended for Mr. Van Ariens, went to LordHyde. Now you will understand many things. I found out this mistakethrough the young lady Mr. Van Ariens is intending to marry. Can yousend to me, for Lord Hyde, a copy of the letter you intended for him.When I receive it, you may content your heart. I may never see youagain, but I would like you to remember me by this act of lovingkindness; and I wish you all the joy in your love, that I could wishmyself. The shadows will soon flee away, and when your wedding bellsring, I shall know; and rejoice with you, and with my dear cousin.Delay not to answer this, why should you delay your happiness? I sendyou as love gifts my thoughts, desires, prayers, all that is best inme, al! that I give to one high in my esteem, and whom I wish to placehigh in my affection, This to your hand and heart, with all sincerity, ANNIE HYDE.

  When she had signed her name she was full of content, her face wastransfigured with the joy she foresaw for others, and she thought notof her own gain, though it was great--even the riches of that divineself-culture, that comes only through self-sacrifice. She calculatedher letter would reach Cornelia about the end of September, and shethought how pleasantly the hope it brought, would brighten her life.And without permitting Hyde to suspect any change in his love affair,she very often led the conversation to Cornelia, and to thecircumstances of her life. Hyde was always willing to talk on thissubject, and thus she learned so much about Arenta, and Madame Jacobus,and Rem Van Ariens, that the people became her familiars. Arentaparticularly interested her, and she spoke and thought continually ofthe gay little Dutch girl among the human tigers of Paris. And thethought of her ended ever in a silent prayer for her safety. "I mustask some strong angel to go and help her," she said to Hyde, "a cityfull of blood, must be a city full of evil spirits, and she will needthe wings of angels round her--like a pavilion--so when she comes intomy mind I say 'angels of deliverance go to her.' And I think she mustbe in a great strait now, or I should not feel so constrained to prayfor her."

  "And you believe such prayer avails for deliverance, Annie?"

  "I am sure it avails. When we invoke earnestly and sincerely the helpof any higher and stronger intelligence than ourselves, the angels arewith us. They come when the heart calls them; for they are appointed tobe ministers unto those who shall inherit eternal life." And Hydelistened silently, yet the words fell into his deepest consciousness,and after many years brought him strength and consolation when heneeded it. Thus it is, that a good woman is a priestess standing by thealtar of the heart, thus it is, that the very noblest education any manever gets is what some woman--mother, wife, sister, friend--gives him.

  Certainly the letter sent to Cornelia sped on its way all the morerapidly and joyfully for the good wishes and unselfish prayersaccompanying it. The very ship might have known it was the bearer ofgood tidings; for if there had been one of the mighty angels whosecharge is on the great deep at the helm of the Good Intent she couldnot have gone more swiftly and surely to her haven. One morning, nearlya week in advance of Annie's calculation, the wonderful letter was putinto Cornelia's hand. She was passing through the hall on her way toher room, when Balthazar brought in the mail, and she took the littlewhite messenger without any feeling but one of curiosity concerning it.The handwriting was strange, it was an English letter, what could itmean?

  Let any one who has loved and been parted from the beloved by somemisunderstanding, try to realize what it meant to Cornelia. She read itthrough in an indescribable hurry and emotion, and then in the mostnatural and womanly way, began to cry. No one could have loved her theless for that sincere overflow of emotions she could not separate ordefine, and which
indeed she never tried to understand. It was only onewonderful thought she could entertain--IT WAS NOT THE FAULT OF JORIS.This was the assurance that turned her joyful tears into gladdersmiles, and that made her step light as a bird on the wing, as she randown the stairs to find her mother; for her happiness was not perfecttill she shared it with the heart that had borne her sorrow, andcarried her grief through many weary months, with her.

  Oh, how glad were these two women! They were almost too glad to speak.Sitting still was impossible to Cornelia, but as she stepped swiftlyto-and-fro across the parlour floor, she stopped frequently at hermother's chair and kissed her. She kissed Annie's letter just asfrequently. It was such a gracious, noble letter. It was such a delightto know that friendship so unselfish was waiting for her. It wasaltogether such a marvellous thing that had come to her, that she couldnot behave as a superior woman ought to have done. But then she was nota superior woman, she was only lovable and loving, and thereforerestless and inconsequent.

  In the first hours of her recovered gladness she did not even rememberRem's great fault, nor yet her own carelessness. These things were onlyaccidentals, not worthy to be taken into account while the great sweethope that had come to her, flooded like a springtide every nook andcorner of her heart. In such a mood how easy it was to answer Annie'sletter. She recollected every word she had written to Hyde that fatefulday, and she wrote them again with a tenfold joy. She told Annie everyparticular, and she forgot to say a word of reproach concerning thedishonourable retention of her letter by Rem. "It is altogether my ownfault," she confessed.

  Even when this letter was on its way to Annie she was under suchexcitement that her whole body appeared to think and to feel; herbeautiful hair had an unusual freedom, as if some happy wind blew itinto exquisite unrestraint; her eyes shone like stars; her garmentsfluttered; her steps were like dancing; and every now and then, a baror two of love music warbled in her throat. And oh with what joy themother watched the return of happiness to her dear child! With her ownmilk she had fed her. In her own bosom she had carried and tended her.Night and day for nearly twenty years, like a bird, she had feverishly,prayfully, tenderly hovered over her; so there was great joy in theDoctor's home and though he would say little, his heart grew lighter inhis wife's and daughter's cheerfulness; for the women in any house makethe moral and mental atmosphere of that house just as decidedly, as thesunshine or rain affect the natural atmosphere outside of it.

  Now it is very noticeable that when unusual events begin to happen inany life, there is a succession of such events, and not unfrequentlythey arrive in similar ways. At any rate about ten days after thereceipt of Annie's letter, Cornelia was almost equally amazed by thereceipt of another letter. It came one day about noon, and a slave ofVan Ariens brought it--a piece of paper twisted carelessly butcontaining these few pregnant words:

  Cornelia, dear, come to me. Bring me something to wear. I have justarrived, saved by the skin of my teeth, and I have not a decent garmentof any kind to put on. ARENTA.

  A thunderbolt from a clear sky could hardly have caused such surprise,but Cornelia did not wait to talk about the wonder. She loaded a maidwith clothing of every description, and ran across the street to herfriend. Arerita saw her coming, and met her with a cry of joy, and asVan Ariens was sick and trembling with the sight of his daughter, andthe tale of her sufferings, Cornelia persuaded him to go to sleep, andleave Arenta to her care. Poor Arenta, she was ill with the privationsshe had suffered, she was half-starved, and nearly without clothing,but she did not complain much until she had been fed, and bathed, and"dressed" as she said "like a New York woman ought to be."

  "You know what trunks and trunks full of beautiful things I took awaywith me, Cornelia," she complained; "Well I have not a rag left. I havenothing left at all."

  "Your husband, Arenta?"

  "He was guillotined."

  "Oh, my dear Arenta!"

  "Guillotined. I told him to be quiet. I begged him to go over to Marat,but no! his nobility obliged him to stand by his order and his king. Sofor them, he died. Poor Athanase! He expected me to follow him, but Icould not make up my mind to the knife. Oh how terrible it was!" Thenshe began to sob bitterly, and Cornelia let her talk of her sufferingsuntil she fell into a sleep--a sleep easy to see, still haunted by thefuries and terrors through which she had passed.

  For a week Cornelia remained with her friend, and Madame Jacobus joinedthem as often as possible, and gradually the half-distraught womanrecovered something of her natural spirits and resolution. In this weekshe talked out all her frightful experiences in the great prison of LaForce, and was completely overwhelmed at their remembrance. But thetrouble which has been removed, soon grows far off; and Arenta quicklytook her place in her home, and resumed her old life. Of course withmany differences. She could not be the same Arenta, she had outlivedmany of her illusions. She took but little interest for a while in thelife around her; her thoughts and conversation were still in Paris, andthis was evident from the fact, that during the whole week ofCornelia's stay with her, she never once named Cornelia's love, orlife, or prospects. Rem she did talk about, but chiefly because he wasgoing to marry an English girl, an intention she angrily deplored.

  "I am sure," she said, "Rem might have learned a lesson from my sadfortune. What does he want to marry a foreigner for? He ought to haveprevented me from doing so, instead of following my foolish example."

  "No one could have prevented you, Arenta. You would not listen even toyour father."

  "Oh indeed, it was my fate. We must all submit to fate. Why did yourefuse Rem?"

  "He was not my fate, Arenta."

  "Well then, neither is George Hyde your fate. Aunt Jacobus has told mesome things about him. She says he is to marry his cousin. You ought tomarry Rem."

  As she said these words Van Ariens, accompanied by Joris Van Heemskirkentered the room, and Cornelia was glad to escape. She knew that Arentawould again relate all her experiences, and she disliked to mingle themwith her renewed dreams of love and her lover.

  "She will talk and talk," said Cornelia to her mother, "and then therewill be tea and chocolate and more talk, and I have heard all I wish tohear about that dreadful city, and the demons who walk in blood."

  "Arenta has made a great sensation, Cornelia," answered Mrs. Moran."She has received half the town. Gertrude Kippon stole quietly home andhas hardly been seen, or heard tell of."

  "But mother, Arenta has far more genius than Gertrude. She has made ofher misfortunes a great drama, and wherever you go, it is of theMarquise de Tounnerre people are talking. Senator Van Heemskirk came inwith her father as I left."

  "I hope he treated you more civilly than madame did."

  "He was delightful. I courtesied to him, and he lifted my hand andkissed it, and said, 'I grew lovelier every day,' and I kissed hischeek and said, 'I wished always to be lovely in his sight.' Then Icame home, because I would not, just yet, speak of George to him."

  "Arenta would hardly have given you any opportunity. I wonder at whathour she will release Joris Van Heemskirk!"

  "It will be later than it ought to be."

  Indeed it was so late that Madame Van Heemskirk had locked up her housefor the night, and was troubled at her husband's delay--even a littlecross:

  "An old man like you, Joris," she said in a tone of vexation--"sittingtill nine o'clock with the last runaway from Paris; a cold you havealready, and all for a girl that threw her senses behind her, to marrya Frenchman."

  "Much she has suffered, Lysbet."

  "Much she ought to suffer. And I believe not in Arenta Van Ariens'suffering. In some way, by hook or crook, by word or deed, she wouldout of any trouble work her way."

  "I will sit a little by the fire, Lysbet. Sit down by me. My mind isfull of her story."

  "That is it. And sleep you will not, and tomorrow sick you will be; andanxious and tired I shall be; and who for? The Marquise de Tounnerre!Well then, Joris, in thy old age it is late for thee to bow down to theMarquise de To
unnerre!"

  "To God Almighty only I bow down, Lysbet, and as for titles what careof them has Jons Van Heemskirk? Think you, when God calls me He willsay 'Councillor' or 'Senator'? No, He will say 'Jons Van Heemskirk!'and I shall answer to that name. But you know well, Lysbet, this bloodytrial of liberty in Paris touches all the world beside."

  "Forgive me, Joris! A shame it is to be cross with thee, nor am I crosseven with that poor Arenta. A child, a very child she is."

  "But bitter fears and suffering she has come through. Her husband wasguillotined last May, and from her home she was taken--no time to writeto a friend--no time to save anything she had, except a string ofpearls, which round her waist for many weeks, she had worn. From prisonto prison she was sent, until at last she was ordered before theRevolutionary Tribunal. From that tribunal to the guillotine is only astep, and she would surely have taken it but for--"

  "Minister Morris?"

  "No. Twenty miles outside the city, Minister Morris now lives; and notime was there to send him word of her strait. Hungry and sick upon thefloor of her prison she was sitting, when her name was called, for beadafter bead of her pearl necklace had gone to her jailor, only for alittle black bread and a cup of milk twice a day; and this morning fortwenty-four hours she had been without food or milk."

  "ARENTA BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL"]

  "The poor little one! What did she do?"

  "This is what she did, and blame her I will not. When in that terribleiron armchair before those bloody judges, she says she forgot then tobe afraid. She looked at Fouquier-Tinville the public prosecutor, andat the fifteen jurymen, and flinched not. She had no dress to help herbeauty, but she declares she never felt more beautiful, and well I canbelieve it. They asked her name, and my Lysbet, think of this child'sanswer! 'I am called Arenta JEFFERSON de Tounnerre,' she said; and atthe name of 'Jefferson' there were exclamations, and one of the jurymenrose to his feet and asked excitedly, 'What is it you mean? Jefferson!The great Jefferson! The great Thomas Jefferson! The great American wholoves France and Liberty?' 'It is the same,' she answered, and then shesat silent, asking no favour, so wise was she, and Fouquier-Tinvillelooked at the President and said--'among my friends I count this greatAmerican!' and a juryman added, 'when I was very poor and hungry he fedand helped me,' and he bowed to Arenta as he spoke. And after thatFouquier-Tinville asked who would certify to her claim, and sheanswered boldly, 'Minister Morris.' When questioned further sheanswered, 'I adore Liberty, I believe in France, I married a Frenchman,for Thomas Jefferson told me I was coming to a great nation and mighttrust both its government and its generosity.' They asked her then ifshe had been used kindly in prison, and she told them her jailor hadbeen to her very unkind, and that he had taken from her the pearlnecklace which was her wedding gift, and if you can believe Arenta,they were all extremely polite to her, and gave her at once the paperswhich permitted her to leave France. The next day a little money shegot from Minister Morris, but a very hard passage she had home. Andlisten now, her jailor was guillotined before she left, and shedeclares it was the necklace--very unfortunate beads they were, andMadame Jacobus said when she heard of their fate, 'let them go! Withblood and death they came, it is fit they should go as they came!'Arenta thinks as soon as Fouquier-Tinville heard of them, he doomed theman, for she saw in his eyes that he meant to have them for himself.Well, then, she is also sure that they will take Fouquier-Tinville tothe guillotine."

  "After all, it was a lie she told, Joris."

  "That is so, but I think her life was worth a few words. And ThomasJefferson says she was ten thousand times welcome to the protection hisname gave her. I thank my God I have never had such temptation. I willsay one thing though, Lysbet, that if coming home some night, a thiefshould say to me 'your money I must have' and if in my pocket I hadsome false money, as well as true money, the false money I would givethe thief and think no shame to do it. Overly righteous we must not be,Lysbet."

  "I am astonished also. I thought Arenta would cry out and that only."

  "What a man or a woman will do and suffer, and how they will do andsuffer, no one knows till comes some great occasion. When the water isice, who could believe that it would boil, unless they had seen icebecome boiling water? All the human heart wants, is the chance."

  "As men and women have in Paris to live, I wonder me, that they canwish to live at all! Welcome to them must be death."

  "So wrong are you, Lysbet. Trouble and hardship make us love life. Azest they give to it. It is when we have too much money, too much goodfood and wine, too much pleasure of all kinds, that we grow melancholyand sad, and say all is vanity and vexation. You may see that it isalways so, if you look in the Holy Scriptures. It was not from the Jewsin exile and captivity, but from the Jews of Solomon's glory came theonly dissatisfied, hopeless words in the Bible. Yes, indeed! it is thesouls that have too much, who cry out vanity, vanity, all is vanity!For myself, I like not the petty prudencies of Solomon. There is betterreading in Isaiah, and in the Psalms, and in the blessed Gospels."

  "To-morrow, Joris, I will go and see Arenta. She is fair, and she knowsit; witty, and she knows it; of good courage, and she knows it; thefashion, and she knows it; and when she speaks, she speaks oracles thatone must believe, even though one does not understand them. To AureliaVan Zandt she said, my heart will ache forever for my beloved Athanase,and Aurelia says, that her old lover Willie Nicholls is at her feetsitting all the day long--yet for all these things, she is a bravewoman and I will go and see her."

  "Willie Nicholls is a good young man, and he is rich also; but of him Isaw nothing at all. Cornelia Moran was there and no flower of Paradiseis so sweet, so fair!"

  "A very proud girl! I am glad she said 'no' to my Joris."

  "Come, my Lysbet, we will now pray and sleep. There is so much NOT tosay."