Jorian Ketel went straight to Margaret's room, and there, to his infinite surprise, he found the man he had been in search of, pale and motionless, his head in Margaret's lap, and she kneeling over him, mute now, and stricken to stone. Her eyes were dilated1 yet glazed2, and she neither saw the light nor heard the man, nor cared for anything on earth, but the white face in her lap.
Jorian stood awe-struck, the candle shaking in his hand.
“Why, where was he, then, all the time?”
Margaret heeded3 him not. Jorian went to the empty chest and inspected it. He began to comprehend. The girl's dumb and frozen despair moved him.
“This is a sorry sight,” said he; “it is a black night's work: all for a few skins! Better have gone with us than so. She is past answering me, poor wench. Stop! let us try whether—”
He took down a little round mirror, no bigger than his hand, and put it to Gerard's mouth and nostrils4, and held it there. When he withdrew it, it was dull.
“THERE IS LIFE IN HIM!” said Jorian Ketel to himself.
Margaret caught the words instantly, though only muttered, and it was if a statue should start into life and passion. She rose and flung her arms round Jorian's neck.
“Oh, bless the tongue that tells me so!” and she clasped the great rough fellow again and again, eagerly, almost fiercely.
“There, there! let us lay him warm, said Jorian; and in a moment he raised Gerard and laid him on the bed-clothes. Then he took out a flask5 he carried, and filled his hand twice with Schiedamze, and flung it sharply each time in Gerard's face. The pungent6 liquor co-operated with his recovery—he gave a faint sigh. Oh, never was sound so joyful7 to human ear! She flew towards him, but then stopped, quivering for fear she should hurt him. She had lost all confidence in herself.
“That is right—let him alone,” said Jorian; “don't go cuddling him as you did me, or you'll drive his breath back again. Let him alone: he is sure to come to. 'Tisn't like as if he was an old man.”
Gerard sighed deeply, and a faint streak8 of colour stole to his lips. Jorian made for the door. He had hardly reached it, when he found his legs seized from behind.
It was Margaret! She curled round his knees like a serpent, and kissed his hand, and fawned9 on him. “You won't tell? You have saved his life; you have not the heart to thrust him back into his grave, to undo10 your own good work?”
“No, no! It is not the first time I have done you two a good turn; 'twas I told you in the church whither we had to take him. Besides, what is Dierich Brower to me? I'll see him hanged ere I'll tell him. But I wish you'd tell me where the parchments are! There are a hundred crowns offered for them. That would be a good windfall for my Joan and the children, you know.”
“Ah! they shall have those hundred crowns.
“What! are the things in the house?” asked Jorian eagerly.
“No; but I know where they are; and by God and St. Bavon I swear you shall have them to-morrow. Come to me for them when you will, but come alone.”
“I were made else. What! share the hundred crowns with Dirk Brower? And now may my bones rot in my skin if I let a soul know the poor boy is here.”
He then ran off, lest by staying longer he should excite suspicion, and have them all after him. And Margaret knelt, quivering from head to foot, and prayed beside Gerard and for Gerard.
“What is to do?” replied Jorian to Dierich Brower's query11; “why, we have scared the girl out of her wits. She was in a kind of fit.”
“We had better all go and doctor her, then.”
“Oh, yes! and frighten her into the churchyard. Her father is a doctor, and I have roused him, and set him to bring her round. Let us see the fire, will ye?”
His off-hand way disarmed12 all suspicion. And soon after the party agreed that the kitchen of the “Three Kings” was much warmer than Peter's house, and they departed, having first untied13 Martin.
“Take note, mate, that I was right, and the burgomaster wrong,” said Dierich Brower at the door; “I said we should be too late to catch him, and we were too late.&rd............