The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

by Amelia E. Barr · English · Gutenberg #17173 · 499,851 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

Author: Amelia E. Barr

Illustrator: Theo. Hampe

Release date: November 28, 2005 [eBook #17173]
Most recently updated: December 13, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17173

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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Ereaut and the Online
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[Illustration: Cover and spine]

[Illustration: She was going down the steps with him]

[Transcribers note: A title has been created for an unlisted illustration
on p102 of the original text and inserted into the list of illustrations.]

_THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON_

A ROMANCE OF NEW YORK

_BY AMELIA E. BARR AUTHOR OF
"JAN VEDDER'S WIFE"
"A DAUGHTER OF FIFE" ETC._

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THEO. HAMPE_

_NEW YORK DODD, MEAD & COMPANY PUBLISHERS_

_All rights reserved_

Typography Presswork

BY ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL, BY JOHN WILSON AND SON,

_Boston_ _Cambridge_.

BY PERMISSION

This Book is Dedicated

TO THE

_HOLLAND SOCIETY OF NEW YORK_

[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS:]

She was going down the steps with him
May in New York one hundred and twenty-one years ago
Joris Van Heemskirk
Locking-up the cupboards
She was tying on her white apron
"Come awa', my bonnie lassie"
Knitting
Neil and Bram
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
With her spelling-book and Heidelberg
The amber necklace
In one of those tall-backed Dutch chairs
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
He heard her calling him to breakfast
The quill pens must be mended
A Guelderland flagon
"A very proper love-knot"
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
Hyde flung off the touch with a passionate oath
Batavius stood at the mainmast
He took her in his arms
A little black boy entered
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
"Sir, you are very uncivil"
"Listen to me, thy father!"
He took his solitary tea
On the steps of the houses
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
"Katherine, I am in great earnest"
"In the interim, at your service"
"Why do you wait?"
The swords of both men sprung from their hands
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
Oh, how she wept!
"O Bram! is he dead?"
The streets were noisy with hawkers
Katherine was close to his side
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
In its satin depths
Katherine knelt by Richard's side
"I am faint"
"Don't trouble yourself to come down"
"Listen to me!"
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
They stood together over the budding snowdrops
His whole air and attitude had expressed delight
"I am going to take the air this afternoon"
"I will go with you, Richard"
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
"Madam, I come not on courtesy"
"O mother, my sister Katherine!"
"Oh, my cheeny, my cheeny!"
Plain and dark were her garments
Tail-piece
Chapter heading
Katherine stood with her child in her arms
The garden next fell under Katherine's care
"Thou has a grandson of thy own name"
Plate old and new
"Make me not to remember the past"
With a great sob Bram laid his head against her breast
Chapter heading
She spread out all her finery
All kinds of frivolity and amusement
"Dick, I am angry at you"
She was softly singing to the drowsy child
Chapter heading
She was stretched upon a sofa
She stood in the gray light by the window
Chapter heading
She knelt speechless and motionless
Jane lifted her apron to her eyes
"O Richard, my lover, my husband!"
Chapter heading
"One night in Rome, in a moment, the thing was altered,"
"I must draw my sword again"
"We have closed his Majesty's custom-house forever"
"I am reading the Word"
He was standing on the step of his high counting-desk.
Chapter heading
Lysbet and Catherine were unpacking
He marshalled the six children in front of him
The City Hall
He swung a great axe
Lysbet's hands gave it to them
Tail-piece

THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON

[Illustration: May in New York one hundred and twenty-one years ago]

"_Love, that old song, of which the world is never weary_."

It was one of those beautiful, lengthening days, when May was pressing
back with both hands the shades of the morning and the evening; May in
New York one hundred and twenty-one years ago, and yet the May of A.D.
1886,--the same clear air and wind, the same rarefied freshness, full of
faint, passing aromas from the wet earth and the salt sea and the
blossoming gardens. For on the shore of the East River the gardens still
sloped down, even to below Peck Slip; and behind old Trinity the
apple-trees blossomed like bridal nosegays, the pear-trees rose in
immaculate pyramids, and here and there cows were coming up heavily to
the scattered houses; the lazy, intermitting tinkle of their bells
giving a pleasant notice of their approach to the waiting
milking-women.

In the city the business of the day was over; but at the open doors of
many of the shops, little groups of apprentices in leather aprons were
talking, and on the broad steps of the City Hall a number of
grave-looking men were slowly separating after a very satisfactory civic
session. They had been discussing the marvellous increase of the export
trade of New York; and some vision of their city's future greatness may
have appeared to them, for they held themselves with the lofty and
confident air of wealthy merchants and "members of his Majesty's Council
for the Province of New York."

[Illustration: Joris Van Heemskirk]

They were all noticeable men, but Joris Van Heemskirk specially so. His
bulk was so great that it seemed as if he must have been built up: it
was too much to expect that he had ever been a baby. He had a fair,
ruddy face, and large, firm eyes, and a mouth that was at once strong
and sweet. And he was also very handsomely dressed. The long, stiff
skirts of his dark-blue coat were lined with satin, his breeches were
black velvet, his ruffles edged with Flemish lace, his shoes clasped
with silver buckles, his cocked hat made of the finest beaver.

With his head a little forward, and his right arm across his back, he
walked slowly up Wall Street into Broadway, and then took a
north-westerly direction toward the river-bank. His home was on the
outskirts of the city, but not far away; and his face lightened as he
approached it. It was a handsome house, built of yellow bricks, two
stories high, with windows in the roof, and gables sending up sharp
points skyward. There were weather-cocks on the gables, and little round
holes below the weather-cocks, and small iron cranes below the holes,
and little windows below the cranes,--all perfectly useless, but also
perfectly picturesque and perfectly Dutch. The rooms were large and
airy, and the garden sloped down to the river-side. It had paths
bordered by clipped box, and shaded by holly and yew trees cut in
fantastic shapes.

In the spring this garden was a wonder of tulips and hyacinths and
lilacs, of sweet daffodils and white lilies. In the summer it was ruddy
with roses, and blazing with verbenas, and gay with the laburnum's gold
cascade. Then the musk carnations and the pale slashed pinks exhaled a
fragrance that made the heart dream idyls. In the autumn there was the
warm, sweet smell of peaches and pears and apples. There were
morning-glories in riotous profusion, tall hollyhocks, and wonderful
dahlias. In winter it still had charms,--the white snow, and the green
box and cedar and holly, and the sharp descent of its frozen paths to
the frozen river. Councillor Van Heemskirk's father had built the house
and planted the garden, and he had the Dutch reverence for a good
ancestry. Often he sent his thoughts backward to remember how he walked
by his father's side, or leaned against his mother's chair, as they told
him the tragic tales of the old Barneveldt and the hapless De Witts; or
how his young heart glowed to their memories of the dear fatherland,
and the proud march of the Batavian republic.

But this night the mournful glamour of the past caught a fresh glory
from the dawn of a grander day forespoken. "More than three hundred
vessels may leave the port of New York this same year," he thought. "It
is the truth; every man of standing says so. Good-evening, Mr. Justice.
Good-evening, neighbours;" and he stood a minute, with his hands on his
garden-gate, to bow to Justice Van Gaasbeeck and to Peter Sluyter, who,
with their wives, were going to spend an hour or two at Christopher
Laer's garden. There the women would have chocolate and hot waffles, and
discuss the new camblets and shoes just arrived from England, and to be
bought at Jacob Kip's store; and the men would have a pipe of Virginia
and a glass of hot Hollands, and fight over again the quarrel pending
between the governor and the Assembly.

"Men can bear all things but good days," said Peter Sluyter, when they
had gone a dozen yards in silence; "since Van Heemskirk has a seat in
the council-room, it is a long way to his hat."

"Come, now, he was very civil, Sluyter. He bows like a man not used to
make a low bow, that is all."

"Well, well! with time, every one gets into his right place. In the City
Hall, I may yet put my chair beside his, Van Gaasbeeck."

"So say I, Sluyter; and, for the present, it is all well as it is."

This little envious fret of his neighbour lost itself outside Joris Van
Heemskirk's home. Within it, all was love and content. He quickly divested
himself of his fine coat and ruffles, and in a long scarlet vest, and a
little skull-cap made of orange silk, sat down to smoke. He had talked a
good deal in the City Hall, and he was now chewing deliberately the cud of
his wisdom over again. Madam Van Heemskirk understood that, and she let
the good man reconsider himself in peace. Besides, this was her busy hour.
She was giving out the food for the morning's breakfast, and locking up
the cupboards, and listening to complaints from the kitchen, and making a
plaster for black Tom's bealing finger. In some measure, she prepared all
day for this hour, and yet there was always something unforeseen to be
done in it.

[Illustration: Locking-up the cupboards]

She was a little woman, with clear-cut features, and brown hair drawn
backward under a cap of lace very stiffly starched. Her tight fitting
dress of blue taffeta was open in front, and looped up behind in order
to show an elaborately quilted petticoat of light-blue camblet. Her
white wool stockings were clocked with blue, her high-heeled shoes cut
very low, and clasped with small silver buckles. From her trim cap to
her trig shoes, she was a pleasant and comfortable picture of a happy,
domestic woman; smiling, peaceful, and easy to live with.

When the last duty was finished, she let her bunch of keys fall with a
satisfactory "all done" jingle, that made her Joris look at her with a
smile. "That is so," she said in answer to it. "A woman is glad when she
gets all under lock and key for a few hours. Servants are not made
without fingers; and, I can tell thee, all the thieves are not yet
hung."

"That needs no proving, Lysbet. But where, then, is Joanna and the
little one? And Bram should be home ere this. He has stayed out late
more than once lately, and it vexes me. Thou art his mother, speak to
him."

"Bram is good; do not make his bridle too short. Katherine troubles me
more than Bram. She is quiet and thinks much; and when I say, 'What art
thou thinking of?' she answers always, 'Nothing, mother.' That is not
right. When a girl says, 'Nothing, mother,' there is something--perhaps,
indeed, _somebody_--on her mind."

"Katherine is nothing but a child. Who would talk love to a girl who has
not yet taken her first communion? What you think is nonsense, Lysbet;"
but he looked annoyed, and the comfort of his pipe was gone. He put it
down, and walked to a side-door, where he stood a little while, watching
the road with a fretful anxiety.

"Why don't the children come, then? It is nearly dark, and the dew
falls; and the river mist I like not for them."

"For my part, I am not uneasy, Joris. They were to drink a dish of tea
with Madam Semple, and Bram promised to go for them. And, see, they are
coming; but Bram is not with them, only the elder. Now, what can be the
matter?"

"For every thing, there are more reasons than one; if there is a bad
reason, Elder Semple will be sure to croak about it. I could wish that
just now he had not come."

"But then he is here, and the welcome must be given to a caller on the
threshold. You know that, Joris."

"I will not break a good custom."

Elder Alexander Semple was a great man in his sphere. He had a
reputation for both riches and godliness, and was scarcely more
respected in the market-place than he was in the Middle Kirk. And there
was an old tie between the Semples and the Van Heemskirks,--a tie going
back to the days when the Scotch Covenanters and the Netherland
Confessors clasped hands as brothers in their "churches under the
cross." Then one of the Semples had fled for life from Scotland to
Holland, and been sheltered in the house of a Van Heemskirk; and from
generation to generation the friendship had been continued. So there was
much real kindness and very little ceremony between the families; and
the elder met his friend Joris with a grumble about having to act as
"convoy" for two lasses, when the river mist made the duty so
unpleasant.

"Not to say dangerous," he added, with a forced cough. "I hae my plaid
and my bonnet on; but a coat o' mail couldna stand mists, that are a
vera shadow o' death to an auld man, wi' a sair shortness o' the
breath."

"Sit down, Elder, near the fire. A glass of hot Hollands will take the
chill from you."

"You are mair than kind, gudewife; and I'll no say but what a sma' glass
is needfu', what wi' the late hour, and the thick mist"--

"Come, come, Elder. Mists in every country you will find, until you
reach the New Jerusalem."

"Vera true, but there's a difference in mists. Noo, a Scotch mist isna
at all unhealthy. When I was a laddie, I hae been out in them for a week
thegither, ay, and felt the better o' them." He had taken off his plaid
and bonnet as he spoke; and he drew the chair set for him in front of
the blazing logs, and stretched out his thin legs to the comforting
heat.

In the mean time, the girls had gone upstairs together; and their
footsteps and voices, and Katherine's rippling laugh, could be heard
distinctly through the open doors. Then Madam called, "Joanna!" and the
girl came down at once. She was tying on her white apron as she entered
the room; and, at a word from her mother, she began to take from the
cupboards various Dutch dainties, and East Indian jars of fruits and
sweetmeats, and a case of crystal bottles, and some fine lemons. She was
a fair, rosy girl, with a kind, cheerful face, a pleasant voice, and a
smile that was at once innocent and bright. Her fine light hair was
rolled high and backward; and no one could have imagined a dress more
suitable to her than the trig dark bodice, the quilted skirt, and the
white apron she wore.

[Illustration: She was tying on her white apron]

Her father and mother watched her with a loving satisfaction; and though
Elder Semple was discoursing on that memorable dispute between the
Caetus and Conferentie parties, which had resulted in the establishment
of a new independent Dutch church in America, he was quite sensible of
Joanna's presence, and of what she was doing.

"I was aye for the ordaining o' American ministers in America," he said,
as he touched the finger tips of his left hand with those of his right;
and then in an aside full of deep personal interest, "Joanna, my dearie,
I'll hae a Holland bloater and nae other thing. And I was a proud man
when I got the invite to be secretary to the first meeting o' the new
Caetus. Maybe it is praising green barley to say just yet that it was a
wise departure; but I think sae, I think sae."

At this point, Katherine Van Heemskirk came into the room; and the elder
slightly moved his chair, and said, "Come awa', my bonnie lassie, and
let us hae a look at you." And Katherine laughingly pushed a stool
toward the fire, and sat down between the two men on the hearthstone.
She was the daintiest little Dutch maiden that ever latched a
shoe,--very diminutive, with a complexion like a sea-shell, great blue
eyes, and such a quantity of pale yellow hair, that it made light of its
ribbon snood, and rippled over her brow and slender white neck in
bewildering curls. She dearly loved fine clothes; and she had not
removed her visiting dress of Indian silk, nor her necklace of amber
beads. And in her hands she held a great mass of lilies of the valley,
which she caressed almost as if they were living things.

"Father," she said, nestling close to his side, "look at the lilies. How
straight they are! How strong! Oh, the white bells full of sweet scent!
In them put your face, father. They smell of the spring." Her fingers
could scarcely hold the bunch she had gathered; and she buried her
lovely face in them, and then lifted it, with a charming look of
delight, and the cries of "Oh, oh, how delicious!"

[Illustration: "Come awa', my bonnie lassie"]

Long before supper was over, Madam Van Heemskirk had discovered that this
night Elder Semple had a special reason for his call. His talk of Mennon
and the Anabaptists and the objectionable Lutherans, she perceived, was
all surface talk; and when the meal was finished, and the girls gone to
their room, she was not astonished to hear him say, "Joris, let us light
another pipe. I hae something to speak anent. Sit still, gudewife, we
shall want your word on the matter."

"On what matter, Elder?"

"Anent a marriage between my son Neil and your daughter Katherine."

The words fell with a sharp distinctness, not unkindly, but as if they
were more than common words. They were followed by a marked silence, a
silence which in no way disturbed Semple. He knew his friends well, and
therefore he expected it. He puffed his pipe slowly, and glanced at
Joris and Lysbet Van Heemskirk. The father's face had not moved a
muscle; the mother's was like a handsome closed book. She went on with
her knitting, and only showed that she had heard the proposal by a small
pretence of finding it necessary to count the stitches in the heel she
was turning. Still, there had been some faint, evanescent flicker on her
face, some droop or lift of the eyelids, which Joris understood; for,
after a glance at her, he said slowly, "For Katherine the marriage would
be good, and Lysbet and I would like it. However, we will think a little
about it; there is time, and to spare. One should not run on a new road.
The first step is what I like to be sure of; as you know, Elder, to the
second step it often binds you.--Say what you think, Lysbet."

"Neil is to my mind, when the time comes. But yet the child knows not
perfectly her Heidelberg. And there is more: she must learn to help her
mother about the house before she can manage a house of her own. So in
time, I say, it would be a good thing. We have been long good friends."

[Illustration: Knitting]

"We hae been friends for four generations, and we may safely tie the
knot tighter now. There are wise folk that say the Dutch and the Lowland
Scotch are of the same stock, and a vera gude stock it is,--the women o'
baith being fair as lilies and thrifty as bees, and the men just a
wonder o' every thing wise and weel-spoken o'. For-bye, baith o'
us--Scotch and Dutch--are strict Protestors. The Lady o' Rome never
threw dust in our een, and neither o' us would put our noses to the
ground for either powers spiritual or powers temporal. When I think o'
our John Knox"--

"First came Erasmus, Elder."

"Surely. Well, well, it was about wedding and housekeeping I came to
speak, and we'll hae it oot. The land between this place and my place,
on the river-side, is your land, Joris. Give it to Katherine, and I will
build the young things a house; and the furnishing and plenishing we'll
share between us."

"There is more to a wedding than house and land, Elder."

"Vera true, madam. There's the income to meet the outgo. Neil has a good
practice now, and is like to have better. They'll be comfortable and
respectable, madam; but I think well o' you for speering after the daily
bread."

"Well, look now, it was not the bread-making I was thinking about. It
was the love-making. A young girl should be wooed before she is married.
You know how it is; and Katherine, the little one, she thinks not of
such a thing as love and marriage."

"Wha kens what thoughts are under curly locks at seventeen? You'll hae
noticed, madam, that Katherine has come mair often than ordinar' to
Semple House lately?"

"That is so. It was because of Colonel Gordon's wife, who likes
Katherine. She is teaching her a new stitch in her crewel-work."

"Hum-m-m! Mistress Gordon has likewise a nephew, a vera handsome lad. I
hae seen that he takes a deal o' interest in the crewel-stitch likewise.
And Neil has seen it too,--for Neil has set his heart on Katherine,--and
this afternoon there was a look passed between the young men I dinna
like. We'll be haeing a challenge, and twa fools playing at murder,
next."

"I am glad you spoke, Elder. Thank you. I'll turn your words over in my
heart." But Van Heemskirk was under a certain constraint: he was
beginning to understand the situation, to see in what danger his darling
might be. He was apparently calm; but an angry fire was gathering in his
eyes, and stern lines settling about the lower part of his face.

"You ken," answered Semple, who felt a trifle uneasy in the sudden
constraint, "I hae little skill in the ordering o' girl bairns. The
Almighty thought them beyond my guiding, and I must say they are a great
charge, a great charge; and, wi' all my infirmities and
simplicity,--anent women,--one that would hae been mair than I could
hae kept. But I hae brought up my lads in a vera creditable way. They
know how to manage their business, and they hae the true religion. I am
sure Neil would make a good husband, and I would be glad to hae him
settled near by. My three eldest lads hae gone far off, Joris, as you
ken."

"I remember. Two went to the Virginia Colony"--

"To Norfolk,--tobacco brokers, and making money. My son Alexander--a
wise lad--went to Boston, and is in the African trade. I may say that
they are all honest, pious men, without wishing to be martyrs for
honesty and piety, which, indeed, in these days is mercifully not called
for. As for Neil, he's our last bairn; and his mother and I would fain
keep him near us. Katherine would be a welcome daughter to our auld age,
and weel loved, and much made o'; and I hope baith Madam Van Heemskirk
and yoursel' will think with us."

"We have said we would like the marriage. It is the truth. But, look
now, Katherine shall not come any more to your house at this time, not
while English soldiers come and go there; for I will not have her speak
to one: they are no good for us."

"That is right for you, but not for me. My wife was a Gordon, and we
couldn't but offer our house to a cousin in a strange country. And
you'll find few better men than Col. Nigel Gordon; as for his wife,
she's a fine English leddy, and I hae little knowledge anent such women.
But a Scot canna kithe a kindness; if I gie Colonel Gordon a share o'
my house, I must e'en show a sort o' hospitality to his friends and
visitors. And the colonel's wife is much thought o', in the regiment and
oot o' it. She has a sight o' vera good company,--young officers and
bonnie leddies, and some o' the vera best o' our ain people."

"There it is. I want not my daughters to learn new ways. There are the
Van Voorts: they began to dine and dance at the governor's house, and
then they went to the English Church."

"They were Lutherans to begin wi', Joris."

"My Lysbet is the finest lady in the whole land: let her daughters walk
in her steps. That is what I want. But Neil can come here; I will make
him welcome, and a good girl is to be courted on her father's hearth.
Now, there is enough said, and also there is some one coming."

"It will be Neil and Bram;" and, as the words were spoken, the young men
entered.

[Illustration: Neil and Bram]

"Again you are late, Bram;" and the father looked curiously in his son's
face. It was like looking back upon his own youth; for Bram Van
Heemskirk had all the physical traits of his father, his great size, his
commanding presence and winning address, his large eyes, his deep,
sonorous voice and slow speech. He was well dressed in light-coloured
broadcloth; but Neil Semple wore a coat and breeches of black velvet,
with a long satin vest, and fine small ruffles. He was tall and
swarthy, and had a pointed, rather sombre face. Without speaking much in
the way of conversation, he left an impression always of intellectual
adroitness,--a young man of whom people expected a successful career.

With the advent of Bram and Neil, the consultation ended. The elder,
grumbling at the chill and mist, wrapped himself in his plaid, and
leaning on his son's arm, cautiously picked his way home by the light of
a lantern. Bram drew his chair to the hearth, and sat silently waiting
for any question his father might wish to ask. But Van Heemskirk was not
inclined to talk. He put aside his pipe, nodded gravely to his son, and
went thoughtfully upstairs. At the closed door of his daughters' room,
he stood still a moment. There was a murmur of conversation within it,
and a ripple of quickly smothered laughter. How well his soul could see
the child, with her white, small hands over her mouth, and her bright
hair scattered upon the white pillow!

"_Ach, mijn kind, mijn kind! Mijn liefste kind!_" he whispered. "God
Almighty keep thee from sin and sorrow!"

[Illustration: Tail-piece]

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

II.

_"To be a sweetness more desired
than spring,--
This is the flower of life."_

Joris Van Heemskirk had not thought of prayer; but, in his vague fear
and apprehension, his soul beat at his lips, and its natural language
had been that appeal at his daughter's closed door. For Semple's words
had been like a hand lifting the curtain in a dark room: only a clouded
and uncertain light had been thrown, but in it even familiar objects
looked portentous. In these days, the tendency is to tone down and to
assimilate, to deprecate every thing positive and demonstrative. But
Joris lived when the great motives of humanity stood out sharp and bold,
and surrounded by a religious halo.

Many of his people had begun to associate with the governing race, to
sit at their banquets, and even to worship in their church; but Joris,
in his heart, looked upon such "indifferents" as renegades to their God
and their fatherland. He was a Dutchman, soul and body; and no English
duke was prouder of his line, or his royal quarterings, than was Joris
Van Heemskirk of the race of sailors and patriots from whom he had
sprung.

Through his father, he clasped hands with men who had swept the narrow
seas with De Ruyter, and sailed into Arctic darkness and icefields with
Van Heemskirk. Farther back, among that mysterious, legendary army of
patriots called "The Beggars of the Sea," he could proudly name his
fore-goers,--rough, austere men, covered with scars, who followed
Willemsen to the succour of Leyden. The likeness of one of them, Adrian
Van Heemskirk, was in his best bedroom,--the big, square form wrapped in
a pea-jacket; a crescent in his hat, with the device, "_Rather Turk than
Papist_;" and upon his breast one of those medals, still hoarded in the
Low Countries, which bore the significant words, "_In defiance of the
Mass_."

He knew all the stories of these men,--how, fortified by their natural
bravery, and by their Calvinistic acquiescence in the purposes of
Providence, they put out to sea in any weather, braved any danger,
fought their enemies wherever they found them, worked like beavers
behind their dams, and yet defiantly flung open their sluice-gates, and
let in the ocean, to drown out their enemies.

Through his mother, a beautiful Zealand woman, he was related to the
Evertsens, the victorious admirals of Zealand, and also to the great
mercantile family of Doversteghe; and he thought the enterprise of the
one as honourable as the valour of the other. Beside the sailor pictures
of Cornelius and Jan Evertsen, and the famous "Keesje the Devil," he
hung sundry likenesses of men with grave, calm faces, proud and lofty of
aspect, dressed in rich black velvet and large wide collars,--merchants
who were every inch princes of commerce and industry.

These lines of thought, almost tedious to indicate, flashed hotly and
vividly through his mind. The likes and dislikes, the faiths and
aspirations, of past centuries, coloured the present moments, as light
flung through richly stained glass has its white radiance tinged by it.
The feeling of race--that strong and mysterious tie which no time nor
circumstances can eradicate--was so living a motive in Joris Van
Heemskirk's heart, that he had been quite conscious of its appeal when
Semple spoke of a marriage between Katherine and his own son. And Semple
had understood this, when he so cunningly insinuated a common stock and
a common form of faith. For he had felt, instinctively, that even the
long tie of friendship between them was hardly sufficient to bridge over
the gulf of different nationalities.

Then, Katherine was Van Heemskirk's darling, the very apple of his eye.
He felt angry that already there should be plans laid to separate her in
any way from him. His eldest daughters, Cornelia and Anna, had married
men of substance in Esopus and Albany: he knew they had done well for
themselves, and had become contented in that knowledge; but he also
felt that they were far away from his love and home. Joanna was already
betrothed to Capt. Batavius de Vries; Bram would doubtless find himself
a wife very soon; for a little while, he had certainly hoped to keep
Katherine by his own side. Semple, in speaking of her as already
marriageable, had given him a shock. It seemed such a few years since he
had walked her to sleep at nights, cradled in his strong arms, close to
his great, loving heart; such a little while ago when she toddled about
the garden at his side, her plump white hands holding his big
forefinger; only yesterday that she had been going to the school, with
her spelling-book and Heidelberg in her hand. When Lysbet had spoken to
him of the English lady staying with Madam Semple, who was teaching
Katherine the new crewel-stitch, it had appeared to him quite proper
that such a child should be busy learning something in the way of
needlework. "Needlework" had been given as the reason of those visits,
which he now remembered had been very frequent; and he was so absolutely
truthful, that he never imagined the word to be in any measure a false
definition.

[Illustration: With her spelling-book and Heidelberg]

Therefore, Elder Semple's implication had stunned him like a buffet. In
his own room, he sat down on a big oak chest; and, as he thought, his
wrath slowly gathered. Semple knew that gay young English officers were
coming and going about his house, and he had not told him until he
feared they would interfere with his own plans for keeping Neil near to
him. The beautiful little Dutch maiden had been an attraction which he
was proud to exhibit, just as he was proud of his imported furniture,
his pictures, and his library. He remembered that Semple had spoken with
touching emphasis of his longing to keep his last son near home; but
must he give up his darling Katherine to further this plan?

"I like not it," he muttered. "God for the Dutchman made the Dutchwoman.
That is the right way; but I will not make angry myself for so much of
passion, so much of nothing at all to the purpose. That is the truth.
Always I have found it so."

Then Lysbet, having finished her second locking up, entered the room.
She came in as one wearied and troubled, and said with a sigh, as she
untied her apron, "By the girls' bedside I stopped one minute. Dear me!
when one is young, the sleep is sound."

"Well, then, they were awake when I passed,--that is not so much as one
quarter of the hour,--talking and laughing; I heard them."

"And now they are fast in sleep; their heads are on one pillow, and
Katherine's hand is fast clasped in Joanna's hand. The dear ones! Joris,
the elder's words have made trouble in my heart. What did the man mean?"

"Who can tell? What a man says, we know; but only God understands what
he means. But I will say this, Lysbet, and it is what I mean: if Semple
has led my daughter into the way of temptation, then, for all that is
past and gone, we shall be unfriends."

"Give yourself no _kommer_ on that matter, Joris. Why should not our
girls see what kind of people the world is made of? Have not some of
our best maidens married into the English set? And none of them were as
beautiful as Katherine. There is no harm, I think, in a girl taking a
few steps up when she puts on the wedding ring."

"Mean you that our little daughter should marry some English
good-for-nothing? Look, then, I would rather see her white and cold in
the dead-chamber. In a word, I will have no Englishman among the Van
Heemskirks. There, let us sleep. To-night I will speak no more."

But madam could not sleep. She was quite sensible that she had tacitly
encouraged Katherine's visits to Semple House, even after she understood
that Captain Hyde and other fashionable and notable persons were
frequent visitors there. In her heart she had dreamed such dreams of
social advancement for her daughters as most mothers encourage. Her
prejudices were less deep than those of her husband; or, perhaps, they
were more powerfully combated by her greater respect for the pomps and
vanities of life. She thought rather well than ill of those people of
her own race and class who had made themselves a place in the most
exclusive ranks. During the past ten years, there had been great changes
in New York's social life: many families had become very wealthy, and
there was a rapidly growing tendency to luxurious and splendid living.
Lysbet Van Heemskirk saw no reason why her younger children should not
move with this current, when it might set them among the growing
aristocracy of the New World.

[Illustration: The amber necklace]

She tried to recall Katharine's demeanour and words during the past day,
and she could find no cause for alarm in them. True, the child had spent
a long time in arranging her beautiful hair, and she had also begged
from her the bright amber necklace that had been her own girlish pride;
but what then? It was so natural, especially when there was likely to be
fine young gentlemen to see them. She could not remember having noticed
anything at all which ought to make her uneasy; and what Lysbet did not
see or hear, she could not imagine.

Yet the past ten hours had really been full of danger to the young girl.
Early in the afternoon, some hours before Joanna was ready to go,
Katherine was dressed for her visit to Semple House. It was the next
dwelling to the Van Heemskirks' on the river-bank, about a quarter of a
mile distant, but plainly in sight; and this very proximity gave the
mother a sense of security for her children. It was a different house
from the Dutchman's, one of those great square plain buildings, so
common in the Georgian era,--not at all picturesque, but finished inside
with handsomely carved wood-work, and with mirrors and wall-papering
brought specially for it from England.

It stood, like Van Heemskirk's, at the head of a garden sloping to the
river; and there was a good deal of pleasant rivalry about these
gardens, both proprietors having impressed their own individuality upon
their pleasure-grounds. Semple's had nothing of the Dutchman's glowing
prettiness and quaintness,--no clipped yews and hollies, no fanciful
flower-beds and little Gothic summer-house. Its slope was divided into
three fine terraces, the descent from one to the other being by broad,
low steps; the last flight ending on a small pier, to which the pleasure
and fishing boats were fastened. These terraced walks were finely shaded
and adorned with shrubs; and on the main one there was a stone sun-dial,
with a stone seat around it. Van Heemskirk did not think highly of
Semple's garden; and Semple was sure, "that, in the matter o' flowers
and fancy clippings, Van Heemskirk had o'er much o' a gude thing." But
still the rivalry had always been a good-natured one, and, in the
interchange of bulbs and seeds, productive of much friendly feeling.

The space between the two houses was an enclosed meadow; and this
afternoon, the grass being warm and dry, and full of wild flowers,
Katherine followed the narrow foot-path through it, and entered the
Semple garden by the small side gate. Near this gate was a stone dairy,
sunk below the level of the ground,--a deliciously cool, clean spot,
even in the hottest weather. Passing it, she saw that the door was open,
and Madam Semple was busy among its large, shallow, pewter cream-dishes.
Lifting her dainty silk skirts, she went down the few steps, and stood
smiling and nodding in the doorway. Madam was beating some rich curd
with eggs and currants and spices; and Katherine, with a sympathetic
smile, asked delightedly,--

"Cheesecakes, madam?"

"Just cheesecakes, dearie."

"Oh, I am glad! Joanna is coming, too, only she had first some flax to
unplait. Wait for her I could not. Let me fill some of these pretty
little patty pans."

"I'll do naething o' the kind, Katherine. You'd be spoiling the bonnie
silk dress you hae put on. Go to the house and sit wi' Mistress Gordon.
She was asking for you no' an hour ago. And, Katherine, my bonnie
lassie, dinna gie a thought to one word that black-eyed nephew o' her's
may say to you. He's here the day and gane to-morrow, and the lasses
that heed him will get sair hearts to themsel's."

The bright young face shadowed, and a sudden fear came into Madam
Semple's heart as she watched the girl turn thoughtfully and slowly
away. The blinds of the house were closed against the afternoon sun; but
the door stood open, and the wide, dim stairway was before her. All was
as silent as if she had entered an enchanted castle. And on the upper
hall the closed doors, and the soft lights falling through stained glass
upon the dark, rich carpets, made an element of mystery, vague and
charmful, to which Katherine's sensitive, childlike nature was fully
responsive.

Slowly she pushed back a heavy mahogany door, and entered a large room,
whose richly wainscoted walls, heavy friezes, and beautifully painted
ceiling were but the most obvious points in its general magnificence. On
a lounge covered with a design done in red and blue tent stitch, an
elegantly dressed woman was sitting, reading a novel. "The Girl of
Spirit," "The Fair Maid of the Inn," "The Curious Impertinent," and
other favourite tales of the day, were lying upon an oval table at her
side.

"La, child!" she cried, "come here and give me a kiss. So you wear that
sweet-fancied suit again. You are the most agreeable creature in it;
though Dick vows upon his sword-hilt that you look a hundred times more
bewitching in the dress you wore this morning."

"How? This morning, madam? This morning Captain Hyde did not see me at
all."

"Pray don't blush so, child; though, indeed, it is vastly becoming. I do
assure you he saw you this morning. He had gone out early to take the
air, and he had a most transporting piece of good fortune: for he
bethought himself to walk under the great trees nearly opposite your
house; and when you came to the door, with your excellent father, he
noted all, from the ribbon on your head to the buckles on your shoes.
His talk now is of nothing but your short quilted petticoat, and your
tight bodice, and beautiful bare arms. Is that the Dutch style, then,
child? It must be extremely charming."

"If my mother you could see in it! She is beautiful. And we have a
picture of my grandmother in the true Zealand dress. Like a princess she
looks, my father says; but, indeed, I have never seen a princess."

"My dear, you must allow me to laugh a little. Will you believe it,
princesses are sometimes very vulgar creatures? I am sure, however, that
your grandmother was very genteel and agreeable. I must tell you that I
have just received my new scarf from London. You shall see it, and give
me your opinion."

"O madam, you are very kind! What is it like?"

"It is all extravagance in mode and fancy. I believe, my dear, there are
two hundred yards of edging on it; and it has the most enchanting slope
to the shoulders. I am wonderfully pleased with it, and hope it will
prove becoming."

"Indeed, I think all your suits are becoming."

"Faith, child, I think they are. I have always dressed with the most
perfect intelligence. I follow all the fashions, and they must be
French. La, here comes Richard. He is going to ask you to take a sail on
the river; and I shall lend you my new green parasol. I do believe it is
the only one in the country."

"I came to sit with you, and work with my worsteds. Perhaps my
mother--might not like me to go on the river with--any one."

"Pray, child, don't be affected. 'My mother--might not like me to go on
the river with--any one;'" and she mimicked Katherine so cleverly that
the girl's face burned with shame and annoyance.

But she had no time to defend herself; for, with his cavalry cap in his
hand, and a low bow, Captain Hyde entered the room; and Katharine's
heart throbbed in her cheeks, and she trembled, and yet withal dimpled
into smiles, like clear water in the sunshine. A few minutes afterward
she was going down the terrace steps with him; and he was looking into
her face with shining eyes, and whispering the commonest words in such
an enchanting manner that it seemed to her as if her feet scarcely
touched the low, white steps, and she was some sort of glorified
Katherine Van Heemskirk, who never, never, never could be unhappy again.

They did not go on the river. Captain Hyde hated exertion. His splendid
uniform was too tight to row in. He did not want a third party near, in
any capacity. The lower steps were shaded by great water beeches, and
the turf under them was green and warm. There was the scent of lilies
around, the song of birds above, the ripple of water among pebbles at
their feet. A sweeter hour, a lovelier maid, man could never hope to
find; and Captain Hyde was not one to neglect his opportunity.

"Let us stay here, my beloved," he whispered. "I have something sweet to
tell you. Upon mine honour, I can keep my secret no longer."

The innocent child! Who could blame her for listening to it?--at first
with a little fear and a little reluctance, but gradually resigning her
whole heart to the charm of his soft syllables and his fervent manner,
until she gave him the promise he begged for,--love that was to be for
him alone, love for him alone among all the sons of men.

What an enchanted afternoon it was! how all too quickly it fled away,
one golden moment after another! and what a pang it gave her to find at
the end that there must be lying and deception! For, somehow, she had
been persuaded to acquiesce in her lover's desire for secrecy. As for
the lie, he told it with the utmost air of candour.

"Yes, we had a beautiful sail; and how enchanting the banks above here
are! Aunt, I am at your service to-morrow, if you wish to see them."

"Oh, your servant, Captain, but I am an indifferent sailor; and I trust
I have too much respect for myself and my new frocks, to crowd them into
a river cockboat!"

In a few minutes Joanna and the elder came in. He had called for her on
his way home; for he liked the society of the young and beautiful, and
there were many hours in which he thought Joanna fairer than her sister.
Then tea was served in a pretty parlour with Turkish walls and coloured
windows, which, being open into the garden, framed lovely living
pictures of blossoming trees. Every one was eating and drinking,
laughing and talking; so Katherine's unusual silence was unnoticed,
except by the elder, who indeed saw and heard everything, and who knew
what he did not see and hear by that kind of prescience to which wise
and observant years attain. He saw that the cakes Katherine dearly loved
remained upon her plate untasted, and that she was unusually,
suspiciously quiet.

After tea he walked down the garden with Colonel Gordon. The lily bed
was near the river; and he made the gathering of some lilies for
Katherine an excuse for going close enough to the pier to see how the
boat lay, and whether the oars had been moved from the exact position in
which he had placed them. And he found the boat rocking at its moorings,
tied with his own peculiar knot. It told him everything, and he was
sincerely troubled at the discovery.

[Illustration: In one of those tall-backed Dutch chairs]

"Love and lying," he mused. "I wonder why they are ever such thick
friends. As for Dick Hyde, lying is his native tongue; but if Katharine
Van Heemskirk has been aye one thing above another, it was to tell the
truth. It ought to come easy to her likewise, for I'll say the same o'
the hale nation o' Dutchmen. I dinna think Joris would tell a lie to
save baith life and fortune."

He looked at Katherine almost sternly when he went back to the house;
though he gave her the lilies, and bid her keep her soul sweet and pure
as their white bells. She was sitting by Mistress Gordon's side, in one
of those tall-backed Dutch chairs, whose very blackness and straightness
threw into high relief her own undulating roundness and mobility, the
glowing colours of her Indian silk gown, the shining amber against her
white throat, and the picturesque curl and flow of her fair hair.
Captain Hyde sat opposite, bending toward her; and his aunt reclined
upon the couch, and watched them with a singular look of speculation in
her half-shut eyes.

Joanna was talking to Neil Semple in the recess of a window; but Neil's
face was white with suppressed anger, and, though he seemed to be
listening to her, his eyes--full of passion--were fixed upon Hyde.
Perhaps the young soldier was conscious of it; for he occasionally
addressed some trivial remark to him, as if to prevent Neil from losing
sight of the advantages he had over him.

"The vera air o' this room is gunpowdery," thought the elder; "and ane
or the other will be flinging a spark o' passion into it, and then the
de'il will be to pay. O'er many women here! O'er many women here! One is
enough in any house. I'll e'en tak' the lasses hame mysel'; and I'll
speak to Joris for his daughter,--as good now as any other time."

Then he said in his blandest tones, "Joanna, my dearie, you'll hae to
tell Neil the rest o' your tale the morn; and, Katherine, put awa' now
that bit o' busy idleness, and don your hoods and mantles, baith o'
you. I'm going to tak' you hame, and I dinna want to get my deathe wi'
the river mist."

"Pray, sir," said Hyde, "consider me at your service. I have occasion to
go into town at once, and will do your duty to the young ladies with
infinite pleasure."

"Much obliged, Captain, vera much obliged; but it tak's an auld
wise-headed, wise-hearted man like mysel' to walk safely atween twa
bonnie lasses;" then turning to his son, he added, "Neil, my lad, put
your beaver on, and go and find Bram. You can tell him, as he didna come
to look after his sisters afore this hour, he needna come at a'."

"Do you know, father, where Bram is likely to be found?"

"Hum-m-m! As if you didna know yoursel'! He will dootless be among that
crowd o' young wiseacres wha are certain the safety o' the Provinces is
in their keeping. It's the young who ken a' things, ken mair than
councils and assemblies, and king and parliament, thegither."

Colonel Gordon laughed. "Never mind, sir," he said, "they let the army
alone, and the church; so you and I need hardly alarm ourselves"--

"I'm no sure o' that, Colonel. When it comes to the army, it's a mere
question o' wha can strike the hardest blows; and as to kirk matters,
I'm thinking men had better meddle wi' the things o' God, which they
canna change, than wi' those o' the king wi' which they can wark a deal
o' mischief."

While he was speaking, Neil left the room. The little argument struck
him as a pretext and a cover, and he was glad to escape from a position
which he felt to be both painful and humiliating. He was in a measure
Captain Hyde's host, and subject to traditions regarding the duties of
that character; any display of anger would be derogatory to him, and yet
how difficult was restraint! So his father's interference was a welcome
one; and he was reconciled to his own disappointment, when, looking
back, he saw the old gentleman slowly taking the road to Van Heemskirk's
with the pretty girls in their quilted red hoods, one on each side of
him.

The elder was very polite to his charges; he never once regretted to
them the loss of his pipe, and chat with Colonel Gordon. But he noticed
that Katherine was silent and disappointed, and that she lingered in her
own room after her arrival at home. Her subsequent pretty cheerfulness,
her delight in her lilies, her confiding claims upon her father's
love,--nothing in these things deceived him. He saw beneath all the
fluttering young heart, trembling, and yet happy in the new, sweet
feeling, never felt before, which had come to it that afternoon.

But he thought that most girls had to have this initiative: it prepared
the way for a soberer and more lasting affection. In the end, Katherine
would perceive how imprudent, how impossible, a marriage with Captain
Hyde must be; and her heart would turn back to Neil, who had been her
lover from boyhood. Yet he reflected, it would be well to have the
matter understood, and to give it that "possibility" which is best
attained on a money basis.

So while he and the Van Heemskirks discussed the matter,--a little
reluctantly, he thought, on their part,--Katherine talked with Joanna of
the Gordons. Her heart was so full of her lover, that it was a relief to
discuss the people and things nearest to him. And her very repression
excited her. She toyed with her cambric kerchief before the small
looking-glass, and imitated the fashionable English lady with a piquant
cleverness that provoked low peals of laughter, and a retrospective
discussion of the evening, which was merry enough, without being in the
least ill-natured.

But, oh, in what strange solitudes every separate soul dwells! When
Katherine kissed her sister, and said simperingly, with the highest
English accent, "La, child, I protest it has been the most agreeable
evening," Joanna had not a suspicion of the joy and danger that had come
to the dear little one at her side. She was laughing softly with her,
even while the fearful father stood at the closed door, and lifted up
his tender soul in that pathetic petition, "_Ach, mijn kind! mijn kind!
mijn liefste kind!_ Almighty God preserve thee from all sin and sorrow!"

[Illustration: Tail-piece]

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

III.

"_The proverb holds, that to be wise and love
Is hardly granted to the gods above._"

"Well, well, to-day goes to its forefathers, like all the rest; and, as
for what comes after it, every thing is in the love and counsel of the
Almighty One."

This was Joris Van Heemskirk's last thought ere he fell asleep that
night, after Elder Semple's cautious disclosure and proposition. In his
calm, methodical, domestic life, it had been an "eventful day." We say
the words often and unreflectingly, seldom pausing to consider that such
days are the results which months, years, perchance centuries, have made
possible. Thus, a long course of reckless living and reckless gambling,
and the consequent urgent need of ready money, had first made Captain
Hyde turn his thoughts to the pretty daughter of the rich Dutch
merchant.

Madam Semple, in her desire to enhance the importance of the Van
Heemskirks, had mentioned more than once the handsome sums of ready
money given to each of Katharine's sisters on their wedding-day; and
both Colonel Gordon and his wife had thought of this sum so often, as a
relief to their nephew's embarrassments, that it seemed almost as much
Hyde's property as if he had been born to inherit it. At first
Katherine, as its encumbrance, had been discussed very heartlessly,--she
could be left in New York when his regiment received marching orders, if
it were thought desirable; or she could be taken to England, and settled
as mistress of Hyde Manor House, a lonely mansion on the Norfolk fens,
which was so rarely tenanted by the family that Hyde had never been
there since his boyhood.

"She is a homespun little thing," laughed the colonel's fashionable
wife, "and quite unfit to go among people of our condition. But she
adores you, Dick; and she will be passably happy with a house to manage,
and a visit from you when you can spare the time."

"Oh, your servant, aunt! Then I am a very indifferent judge; for indeed
she has much spirit below her gentle manner; and, upon my word, I think
her as fine a creature as you can find in the best London society. The
task, I assure you, is not easy. When Katherine is won, then, in faith,
her father may be in no hurry of approval. And the child is a fair,
innocent child: I am very uneasy to do her wrong. The ninety-nine
plagues of an empty purse are to blame for all my ill deeds."

"Upon my word, Dick, nothing can be more commendable than your temper.
You make vastly proper reflection, sir; but you are in troubled
waters,--admit it,--and this little Dutch-craft may bring you
respectably into harbour.

It was in this mood that Katherine and her probable fortune had been
discussed; and thus she was but one of the events, springing from lives
anterior to her own, and very different from it. And causes nearly as
remote had prepared the way for her ready reception of Hyde's homage,
and the relaxation of domestic discipline which had trusted her so often
and so readily in his society--causes which had been forgotten, but
which had left behind them a positive and ever-growing result. When a
babe, she was remarkably frail and delicate; and this circumstance,
united to the fact of her being the youngest child, had made the whole
household very tender to her, and she had been permitted a much larger
portion of her own way than was usually given to any daughter in a Dutch
family.

Also, in her father's case, the motives influencing his decision
stretched backward through many generations. None the less was their
influence potent to move him. In fact, he forgot entirely to reflect how
a marriage between his child and Captain Hyde would be regarded at that
day; his first thoughts had been precisely such thoughts as would have
occurred to a Van Heemskirk living two hundred years before him. And
thus, though we hardly remember the fact, it is this awful solidarity of
the human family which makes the third and fourth generations heirs of
their forefathers, and brings into every life those critical hours we
call "eventful days."

Joris, however, made no such reflections. His age was not an age
inclined to analysis, and he was still less inclined to it from a
personal standpoint. For he was a man of few, but positive ideas; yet
these ideas, having once commended themselves to his faith or his
intelligence, were embraced with all his soul. It was this spirit which
made him deprecate even religious discussions, so dear to the heart of
his neighbour.

[Illustration: He heard her calling him to breakfast]

"I like them not, Elder," he would say; "of what use are they, then?
The Calvinistic faith is the true faith. That is certain. Very well,
then; what is true does not require to be examined, to see if it be
true."

Semple's communication regarding Captain Hyde and his daughter had
aroused in him certain feelings, and led him to certain decisions. He
went to sleep, satisfied with their propriety and justice. He awoke in
precisely the same mood. Then he dressed, and went into his garden. It
was customary for Katherine to join him there; and he frequently turned,
as he went down the path, to see if she were coming. He watched eagerly
for the small figure in its short quilted petticoat and buckled shoes,
and the fair, pink face shaded by the large Zealand hat, with its long
blue ribbons crossed over the back. But this morning she did not come.
He walked alone to his lily bed, and stooped a little forlornly to
admire the tulips and crocus-cups and little purple pansies; but his
face brightened when he heard her calling him to breakfast, and very
soon he saw her leaning over the half door, shading her eyes with both
her hands, the better to watch his approach.

Lysbet was already in her place; so was Joanna, and also Bram; and a
slim black girl called Dinorah was handing around fricasseed chicken and
venison steaks, hot fritters and johnny-cake; while the rich Java berry
filled the room with an aroma of tropical life, and suggestions of the
spice-breathing coasts of Sunda. Joris and Bram discussed the business
of the day; Katherine was full of her visit to Semple House the
preceding evening. Dinorah was no restraint. The slaves Joris owned,
like those of Abraham, were born or brought up in his own household;
they held to all the family feelings with a faithful, often an
unreasonable, tenacity.

And yet, this morning, Joris waited until Lysbet dismissed her handmaid,
before he said the words he had determined to speak ere he began the
work of the day. Then he put down his cup with an emphasis which made
all eyes turn to him, and said,--

"_Katrijntje_, my daughter, call not to-day, nor call not any day, until
I tell you different, at Madam Semple's. The people who go and come
there, I like them not. They will be no good to you. Lysbet, what say
you in this matter?"

"What you say, I say, Joris. The father is to be obeyed. When he will
not, the children can not."

"Joanna, what say you?"

"I like best of all things to do your pleasure, father."

"And you, Bram?"

"As for me, I think you are very right. I like not those English
officers,--insolent and proud men, all of them. It would have been a
great pleasure to me to strike down the one who yesterday spurned with
his spurred boot our good neighbour Jacob Cohen, for no reason but that
he was a Jew"--

"Heigho! go softly, Bram. That which burns thee not, cool not."

"As he passed our store door where I stood, he said 'devil,' but he
meant me."

"Only God knows what men mean. Now, then, little one, thy will is my
will, is it not?"

She had drawn her chair close to her father's, and taken his big hand
between her own, and was stroking and petting it as he spoke; and, ere
she answered, she leaned her head upon his breast.

"Father, I like to see the English lady; and she is teaching me the new
stitch."

"_Schoone Lammetje_! There are many other things far better for thee to
learn; for instance, to darn the fine Flemish lace, and to work the
beautiful 'clocks' on thy stockings, and to make perfect thy Heidelberg
and thy Confession of Faith. In these things, the best of all good
teachers is thy mother."

"I can do these things also, father. The lady loves me, and will be
unhappy not to see me."

"Then, let her come here and see thee. That will be the proper thing.
Why not? She is not better than thou art. Once thy mother has called on
her; thou and Joanna, a few times too often. Now, then, let her call on
thee. Always honour thyself, as well as others. That is the Dutch way;
that is the right way. Mind what I tell thee."

His voice had gradually grown sterner; and he gently withdrew his hand
from her clasp, and rose as a man in a hurry, and pressed with affairs:
"Come, Bram, there is need now of some haste. The 'Sea Hound' has her
cargo, and should sail at the noon-tide; and, as for the 'Crowned
Bears,' thou knowest there is much to be said and done. I hear she left
most of her cargo at Perth Amboy. Well, well, I have told Jerome Brakel
what I think of that. It is his own affair."

Thus talking, he left the room; and Lysbet instantly began to order the
wants of the house with the same air of settled preoccupation. "Joanna,"
she said, "the linen web in the loom, go and see how it is getting on;
and the fine napkins must be sent to the lawn for the bleaching, and
to-day the chambers must be aired and swept. The best parlour Katherine
will attend to."

Katherine still sat at the table; her eyes were cast down, and she was
arranging--without a consciousness of doing so--her bread-crumbs upon
her Delft plate. The directions roused her from her revery, and she
comprehended in a moment how decisive her father's orders were intended
to be. Yet in this matter she was so deeply interested that she
instinctively made an appeal against them.

"Mother, my mother, shall I not go once more to see Madam Gordon? So
kind she has been to me! She will say I am ungrateful, that I am rude,
and know not good manners. And I left there the cushion I am making, and
the worsteds. I may go at once, and bring them home? Yes, mother, I may
go at once. A young girl does not like to be thought ungrateful and
rude."

"More than that, Katherine; a young girl should not like to disobey a
good father. You make me feel astonished and sorry. Here is the key of
the best parlour; go now, and wash carefully the fine china-ware. As to
the rose-leaves in the big jars, you must not let a drop of water touch
them."

"My cushion and my worsteds, mother!"

"Well, then, I will send Dinorah for them with a civil message. That
will be right."

So Lysbet turned and left the room. She did not notice the rebellious
look on her daughter's face, the lowering brows, the resentment in the
glance that followed her, the lips firmly set to the mental purpose. "To
see her lover at all risks"--that was the purpose; but how best to
accomplish it, was not clear to her. The ways of the household were so
orderly, so many things brought the family together during the day,
Lysbet and Joanna kept such a loving watch over her, the road between
their own house and the Semples' was so straight and unscreened, and she
was, beside, such a novice in deception,--all these circumstances
flashing at once across her mind made her, for a moment or two, almost
despair.

But she lifted the key given her and went to the parlour. It was a
large, low room, with wainscoted walls, and a big tiled fireplace nearly
filling one end of it. The blinds were closed, but there was enough
light to reveal its quaint and almost foreign character. Great jars with
dragons at the handles stood in the recesses made by large oak cabinets,
black with age, and elaborately carved with a marvellous nicety and
skill. The oval tables were full of curious bits of china, dainty
Oriental wicker work, exquisite shells on lacquered trays, wonderfully
wrought workboxes and fans and amulets. The odours of calamus and myrrh
and camphor from strange continents mingled with the faint perfume of
the dried rose leaves and the scent-bags of English lavender. Many of
these rare and beautiful things were the spoils brought from India and
Java by the sea-going Van Heemskirks of past generations. Others had
come at long intervals as gifts from the captains of ships with whom the
house did business. Katherine had often seen such visitors--men with
long hair and fierce looks, and the pallor of hot, moist lands below the
tan of wind and sunshine. It had always been her delight to dust and
care for these various treasures; and the room itself, with its
suggestive aromas, was her favourite hiding-place. Here she had made her
own fairy tales, and built the enchanted castles which the less
fortunate children of this day have clever writers build for them.

And at length the prince of her imagination had come! As she moved about
among the strange carven toys and beautiful ornaments, she could think
only of him,--of his stately manner and dark, handsome face. Simple,
even rustic, she might be; but she understood that he had treated her
with as much deference and homage as if she had been a princess. She
recalled every word he said to her as they sat under the water beeches.
More vividly still she recalled the tender light in his eyes, the
lingering clasp of his hand, his low, persuasive voice, and that
nameless charm of fashion and culture which perhaps impressed her more
than any other thing.

Among the articles she had to dust was a square Indian box with drawers.
It had always been called "the writing-box," and it was partly filled
with paper and other materials for letter-writing. She stood before the
open lid thoughtfully, and a sudden overwhelming desire to send some
message of apology to Mrs. Gordon came into her heart. She could write
pretty well, and she had seen her mother and Joanna fold and seal
letters; and, although she was totally inexperienced in the matter, she
determined to make the effort.

[Illustration: The quill pens must be mended]

There was nothing in the materials then to help her. The letter paper
was coarse; envelopes were unknown. She would have to bring a candle
into the room in order to seal it; and a candle could only be lit by
striking a spark from the flint upon the tinder, and then igniting a
brimstone match from it,--unless she lit it at the kindled fire, which
would subject her to questions and remonstrances. Also, the quill pens
must be mended, and the ink renewed. But all these difficulties were
overcome, one by one; and the following note was intrusted to the care
of Diedrich Becker, the old man who worked in the garden and milked the
cows:

To MISTRESS COLONEL GORDON: HONOURED MADAM: My father forbids that I
come to see you. He thinks you should upon my mother call. That you will
judge me to be rude and ungrateful I fear very much. But that is not
true. I am unhappy, indeed. I think all the day of you.

Your obedient servant,
KATHERINE VAN HEEMSKIRK.

"'The poor child," said Mrs. Gordon, when she had read the few anxious
sentences. "Look here, Dick;" and Dick, who was beating a tattoo upon
the window-pane, turned listlessly and asked, "Pray, madam, what is it?"

"Of all earthly things, a letter from that poor child, Katherine Van
Heemskirk. She has more wit than I expected. So her father won't let her
come to me. Why, then, upon my word, I will go to her."

Captain Hyde was interested at once. He took the letter his aunt
offered, and read it with a feeling of love and pity and resentment.
"You will go to-morrow?" he asked; "and would it be beyond good breeding
for me to accompany you?"

"Indeed, nephew, I think it would. But I will give your service, and say
everything that is agreeable. Be patient; to-morrow morning I will call
upon our fair neighbour."

The next morning was damp, for there had been heavy rain during the
night; but Captain Hyde would not let his aunt forget or forego her
promise. She had determined to make an unceremonious visit; and early in
the day she put on her bonnet and pelisse, and walked over to the Van
Heemskirks. A negro woman was polishing the brass ornaments of the door,
and over its spotless threshold she passed without question or delay.

A few minutes she waited alone in the best parlour, charmed with its far
off air and Eastern scents, and then Madam Van Heemskirk welcomed her.
In her heart she was pleased at the visit. She thought privately that
her Joris had been a little too strict. She did not really see why her
beautiful daughters should not have the society and admiration of the
very best people in the Province. And Mrs. Gordon's praise of Katharine,
and her declaration that "she was inconsolable without the dear
creature's society," seemed to the fond mother the most proper and
natural of feelings.

"Do but let me see her an hour, madam," she said. "You know my sincere
admiration. Is not that her voice? I vow, she sings to perfection And
what a singular melody! Please to set wide the door, madam."

"It is the brave song of the brave men of Zealand, when from the walls
of Leyden they drove away the Spaniards;" and madam stood in the open
door, and called to her daughter, "Well, then, Katharine, begin again
the song of 'The Beggars of the Sea.'"

"We are the Beggars of the Sea,--
Strong, gray Beggars from Zealand we;
We are fighting for liberty:
Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

"Hardy sons of old Zierikzee,
Fed on the breath of the wild North Sea.
Beggars are kings if free they be:
Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

"'_True to the Wallet_,' whatever betide;
'_Long live the Gueux_,'--the sea will provide
Graves for the enemy, deep and wide:
Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

"Beggars, but not from the Spaniard's hand;
Beggars, 'under the Cross' we stand;
Beggars, for love of the fatherland:
Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

"Now, if the Spaniard comes our way,
What shall we give him, Beggars gray?
Give him a moment to kneel and pray:
Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!"

At the second verse, Mrs. Gordon rose and said, "Indeed, madam, I find
my good-breeding no match against such singing. And the tune is
wonderful; it has the ring of trumpets, and the roar of the waves, in
it. Pray let us go at once to your daughters."

"At work are they; but, if you mind not that, you are welcome indeed."
Then she led the way to the large living, or dining, room, where
Katherine stood at the table cleaning the silver flagons and cups and
plates that adorned the great oak sideboard.

Joanna, who was darning some fine linen, rose and made her respects with
perfect composure. She had very little liking, either for Mrs. Gordon or
her nephew; and many of their ways appeared to her utterly foolish, and
not devoid of sin. But Katherine trembled and blushed with pleasure and
excitement, and Mrs. Gordon watched her with a certain kind of curious
delight. Her hair was combed backward, plaited, and tied with a ribbon;
her arms bare to the shoulders, her black bodice and crimson petticoat
neatly shielded with a linen apron: and poised in one hand she held a
beautiful silver flagon covered with raised figures, which with patient
labour she had brought into shining relief.

"Oh," cried the visitor, "that is indeed a piece of plate worth looking
at! Surely, child, it has a history,--a romance perhaps. La, there are
words also upon it! Pray, madam, be so obliging as to read the
inscription;" and madam, blushing with pride and pleasure, read it
aloud,--

"'Hoog van Moed,
Klein van Goed,
Een zwaard in de hand:
Is 't wapen van Gelderland.'"

"Dutch, I vow! Surely, madam, it is very sonorous and emphatic; vastly
different, I do assure you, from the vowelled idioms of Italy and Spain.
Pray, madam, be so civil as to translate the words for me."

"'Of spirit great,
Of small estate,
A sword in the hand:
Such are the arms of Guelderland.'

[Illustration: A Guelderland flagon]

"You must know," continued Madam Van Heemskirk, "that my husband's
father had a brother, who, in a great famine in Guelderland, filled one
hundred flat boats with wheat of Zealand,--in all the world it is the
finest wheat, that is the truth,--and help he sent to those who were
ready to perish. And when came better days, then, because their hearts
were good, they gave to their preserver this flagon. Joris Van
Heemskirk, my husband, sets on it great store, that is so."

Conversation in this channel was easily maintained. Madame Van Heemskirk
knew the pedigree or the history of every tray or cup, and in
reminiscence and story an hour passed away very pleasantly indeed.
Joanna did not linger to listen. The visitor did not touch her liking or
her interest; and besides, as every one knows, the work of a house must
go on, no matter what guest opens the door. But Katherine longed and
watched and feared. Surely her friend would not go away without some
private token or message for her. She turned sick at heart when she rose
as if to depart. But Mrs. Gordon proved herself equal to the emergency;
for, after bidding madam an effusive good-by, she turned suddenly and
said, "Pray allow your daughter to show me the many ornaments in your
parlour. The glimpse I had has made me very impatient to see them more
particularly."

The request was one entirely in sympathy with the mood and the previous
conversation, and madam was pleased to gratify it; also pleased, that,
having fully satisfied the claims of social life, she could with
courtesy leave her visitor's further entertainment with Katherine, and
return to her regular domestic cares. To her the visit had appeared to
be one of such general interest, that she never suspected any motive
beneath or beyond the friendliness it implied. Yet the moment the
parlour-door had been shut, Mrs. Gordon lifted Katharine's face between
her palms, and said,--

"Faith, child, I am almost run off my head with all the fine things I
have listened to for your sake. Do you know _who_ sent me here?"

"I think, madam, Captain Hyde."

"Psha! Why don't you blush, and stammer, and lie about it? 'I think,
madam, Captain Hyde,'" mimicking Katherine's slight Dutch accent. "'Tis
to be seen, miss, that you understand a thing or two. Now, Captain Hyde
wishes to see you; when can you oblige him so much?"

"I know not. To come to Madam Semple's is forbidden me by my father."

"It is on my account. I protest your father is very uncivil."

"Madam, no; but it is the officers; many come and go, and he thinks it
is not good for me to meet them."

"Oh, indeed, miss, it is very hard on Captain Hyde, who is more in love
than is reasonable Has your father forbidden you to walk down your
garden to the river-bank?"

"No, madam."

"Then, if Captain Hyde pass about two o'clock, he might see you there?"

"At two I am busy with Joanna."

"La, child! At three then?"

"Three?"

The word was a question more than an assent; but Mrs. Gordon assumed the
assent, and did not allow Katharine to contradict it. "And I promised to
bring him a token from you,--he was exceedingly anxious about that
matter; give me the ribbon from your hair."

"Only last week Joanna bought it for me. She would surely ask me, 'Where
is your new ribbon?'"

"Tell her that you lost it."

"How could I say that? It would not be true."

The girl's face was so sincere, that Mrs. Gordon found herself unable to
ridicule the position. "My dear," she answered, "you are a miracle. But,
among all these pretty things, is there nothing you can send?"

Katherine looked thoughtfully around. There was a small Chinese cabinet
on a table: she went to it, and took from a drawer a bow of orange
ribbon. Holding it doubtfully in her hand, she said, "My St. Nicholas
ribbon."

"La, miss, I thought you were a Calvinist! What are you talking of the
saints for?"

"St. Nicholas is our saint, our own saint; and on his day we wear
orange. Yes, even my father then, on his silk cap, puts an orange bow.
Orange is the Dutch colour, you know, madam."

"Indeed, child, I do _not_ know; but, if so, then it is the best colour
to send to your true love."

"For the Dutch, orange always. On the great days of the kirk, my father
puts blue with it. Blue is the colour of the Dutch Calvinists."

"Make me thankful to learn so much. Then when Councillor Van Heemskirk
wears his blue and orange, he says to the world, 'I am a Dutchman and a
Calvinist'?"

"That is the truth. For the _Vaderland_ the _Moeder-Kerk_ he wears their
colours. The English, too, they will have their own colour!"

"La, my dear, England claims every colour! But, indeed, even an English
officer may now wear an orange favour; for I remember well when our
Princess Anne married the young Prince of Orange. Oh, I assure you the
House of Nassau is close kin to the House of Hanover! And when English
princesses marry Dutch princes, then surely English officers may marry
Dutch maidens. Your bow of orange ribbon is a very proper love-knot."

"Indeed, madam, I never"--

[Illustration: "A very proper love-knot"]

"There, there! I can really wait no longer. _Some one_ is already in a
fever of impatience. 'Tis a quaintly pretty room; I am happy to have seen
its curious treasures. Good-by again, child; my service once more to your
mother and sister;" and so, with many compliments, she passed chatting and
laughing out of the house.

Katherine closed the best parlour, and lingered a moment in the act. She
felt that she had permitted Mrs. Gordon to make an appointment for her
lover, and a guilty sense of disobedience made bitter the joy of
expectation. For absolute truthfulness is the foundation of the Dutch
character; and an act of deception was not only a sin according to
Katherine's nature, but one in direct antagonism to it. As she turned
away from the closed parlour, she felt quite inclined to confide
everything to her sister Joanna; but Joanna, who had to finish the
cleaning of the silver, was not in that kind of a temper which invites
confidence; and indeed, Katherine, looking into her calm, preoccupied
face, felt her manner to be a reproof and a restraint.

So she kept her own counsel, and doubted and debated the matter in her
heart until the hands of the great clock were rising quickly to the hour
of fate. Then she laid down her fine sewing, and said, "Mother, I want
to walk in the garden. When I come back my task I will finish."

"That is well. Joanna, too, has let her work fall down to her lap. Go,
both of you, and get the fine air from the river."

This was not what Katherine wished; but nothing but assent was possible,
and the girls strolled slowly down the box-bordered walks together.
Madam Van Heemskirk watched them from the window for a few minutes. A
smile of love and pleasure was on her fine, placid face; but she said
with a sigh, as she turned away,--

"Well, well, if it is the will of God they should not rise in the world,
one must be content. To the spider the web is as large as to the whale
the whole wide sea; that is the truth."

Joanna was silent; she was thinking of her own love-affairs; but
Katherine, doubtful of herself, thought also that her sister suspected
her. When they reached the river-bank, Joanna perceived that the lilacs
were in bloom, and at their root the beautiful auriculas; and she
stooped low to inhale their strange, nameless, earthy perfume. At that
moment a boat rowed by with two English soldiers, stopped just below
them, and lay rocking on her oars. Then an officer in the stern rose and
looked towards Katherine, who stood in the full sunlight with her large
hat in her hand. Before she could make any sign of recognition, Joanna
raised herself from the auriculas and stood beside her sister; yet in
the slight interval Katherine had seen Captain Hyde fling back from his
left shoulder his cloak, in order to display the bow of orange ribbon on
his breast.

The presence of Joanna baffled and annoyed him; but he raised his beaver
with a gallant grace, and Joanna dropped a courtesy, and then, taking
Katherine's hand, turned toward home with her, saying, "That is the boat
of Captain Hyde. What comes he this way for?"

"The river way is free to all, Joanna." And Joanna looked sharply at
her sister and remained silent.

But Katherine was merry as a bird. She chattered of this and of that,
and sang snatches of songs, old and new. And all the time her heart beat
out its own glad refrain, "My bow of orange ribbon, my bow of orange
ribbon!" Her needle went to her thoughts, and her thoughts went to
melody; for, as she worked, she sang,--

"Will you have a pink knot?
Is it blue you prize?
One is like a fresh rose,
One is like your eyes.
No, the maid of Holland,
For her own true love,
Ties the splendid orange,
Orange still above!
_O oranje boven!_
Orange still above.

"Will you have the white knot?
No, it is too cold.
Give me splendid orange,
Tint of flame and gold;
Rich and glowing orange,
For the heart I love;
_Under_, white and pink and blue;
Orange still _above_!
_O oranje boven!_
Orange still above!"

"How merry you sing, _mijn Katrijntje_! Like a little bird you sing.
What, then, is it?"

"A pretty song made by the schoolmaster, _mijn moeder. 'Oranje Boven'_
the name is."

"That is a good name. Your father I will remind to have it painted over
the door of the summer-house."

"There already are two mottoes painted,--Peaceful is my garden,' and
'Contentment is my lot.'"

"Well, then, there is always room for two more good words, is there
not?" And Katherine gayly sung her answer,--

"Tie the splendid orange,
Orange still above!
_O oranje boven!_
Orange still above."

[Illustration: Tail-piece]

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

IV.

"_The trifles of our daily lives,
The common things scarce worth recall,
Whereof no visible trace survives,--
These are the mainsprings, after all._"

"Honoured gentleman, when will you pay me my money?"

The speaker was an old man, dressed in a black coat buttoned to the
ankles, and a cap of silk and fur, from beneath which fell a fringe of
gray hair. His long beard was also gray, and he leaned upon an ivory
staff carved with many strange signs. The inquiry was addressed to
Captain Hyde. He paid no attention whatever to it, but, gayly humming a
stave of "Marlbrook," watched the crush of wagons and pedestrians, in
order to find a suitable moment to cross the narrow street.

"Honoured gentleman, when will you pay me my moneys?"

The second inquiry elicited still less attention for, just as it was
made, Neil Semple came out of the City Hall, and his appearance gave the
captain a good excuse for ignoring the unpleasant speaker.

"Faith, Mr. Semple," he cried, "you came in an excellent time. I am for
Fraunce's Tavern, and a chop and a bottle of Madeira. I shall be vastly
glad of your company."

The grave young lawyer, with his hands full of troublesome-looking
papers, had little of the air of a boon companion; and, indeed, the
invitation was at once courteously declined.

"I have a case on in the Admiralty Court, Captain," he answered, "and so
my time is not my own. It belongs, I may say, to the man who has paid me
good money for it."

"Lawyer Semple?"

"Mr. Cohen, at your service, sir."

"Captain Hyde owes me one hundred guineas, with the interests, since the
fifteenth day of last December. He will not hear me when I say to him,
'Pay me my moneys;' perhaps he will listen, if you speak for me."

"If you are asking my advice in the way of business, you know my
office-door, Cohen; if in the way of friendship, I may as well say at
once, that I never name friendship and money in the same breath.
Good-day, gentlemen. I am in something of a hurry, as you may
understand." Cohen bowed low in response to the civil greeting; Captain
Hyde stared indignantly at the man who had presumed to couple one of
his Majesty's officers with a money-lender and a Jew.

"I do not wish to make you more expenses, Captain;" and Cohen, following
the impulse of his anxiety, laid his hand upon his debtor's arm. Hyde
turned in a rage, and flung off the touch with a passionate oath. Then
the Jew left him. There was neither anger nor impatience visible in his
face or movements. He cast a glance up at the City Hall,--an involuntary
appeal, perhaps, to the justice supposed to inhabit its chambers,--and
then he walked slowly toward his store and home.

[Illustration: Hyde flung off the touch with a passionate oath]

Both were under one roof,--a two-storied building in the lower part of
Pearl Street, dingy and unattractive in outward appearance, but crowded
in its interior with articles of beauty and worth,--Flemish paintings
and rich metal work, Venetian glasses and velvets, Spanish and Moorish
leather goods, silverware, watches, jewellery, etc. The window of the
large room in which all was stored was dim with cobwebs, and there was
no arrangement of the treasures. They were laid in the drawers of the
great Dutch presses and in cabinets, or packed in boxes, or hung against
the walls.

At the back of the store, there was a small sitting-room, and behind it
a kitchen, built in a yard which was carefully boarded up. A narrow
stairway near the front of the store led to the apartments above. They
were three in number. One was a kind of lumber-room; a second, Cohen's
sleeping-room; and the largest, at the back of the house, belonged to
the Jew's grandchild Miriam. There was one servant in the family, an old
woman who had come to America with Jacob. She spoke little English, and
she lived in complete seclusion in her kitchen and yard. As far as Jacob
Cohen was concerned, he preserved an Oriental reticence about the women
of his household; he never spoke of them, and he was never seen in their
company. It was seldom they went abroad; when they did so, it was early
in the morning, and usually to the small synagogue in Mill Street.

He soon recovered the calmness which had been lost during his
unsatisfactory interview with Captain Hyde. "A wise man frets not
himself for the folly of a fool;" and, having come to this decision, he
entered his house with the invocation for its peace and prosperity on
his lips. A party of three gentlemen were examining his stock: they were
Governor Clinton and his friends Colden and Belcher.

"Cohen," said Clinton, "you have many fine things here; in particular,
this Dutch cabinet, with heavy brass mountings. Send it to my residence.
And that Venetian mirror with the silver frame will match the silver
sconces you sold me at the New Year. I do not pretend to be a judge, but
these things are surely extremely handsome. Pray, sir, let us see the
Moorish leather that William Walton has reserved for his new house. I
hear you are to have the ordering of the carpets and tapestries. You
will make money, Jacob Cohen."

"Your Excellency knows best. I shall make my just profits,--no more, no
more."

"Yes, yes; you have many ways to make profits, I hear. All do well,
too."

"When God pleases, it rains with every wind, your Excellency."

Then there was a little stir in the street,--that peculiar sense of
something more than usual, which can make itself felt in the busiest
thoroughfare,--and Golden went to the door and looked out. Joris Van
Heemskirk was just passing, and his walk was something quicker than
usual.

"Good-day to you, Councillor. Pray, sir, what is to do at the wharf? I
perceive a great bustle comes thence."

"At your service, Councillor Golden. At the wharf there is good news.
The 'Great Christopher' has come to anchor,--Captain Batavius de Vries.
So a good-morrow, sir;" and Joris lifted his beaver, and proceeded on
his way to Murray's Wharf.

[Illustration: Batavius stood at the mainmast]

Bram was already on board. His hands were clasped across the big right
shoulder of Batavius, who stood at the mainmast, giving orders about his
cargo. He was a large man, with the indisputable air of a sailor from
strange seas, familiar with the idea of solitude, and used to absolute
authority. He loved Bram after his own fashion, but his vocabulary of
affectionate words was not a large one. Bram, however, understood him;
he had been quite satisfied with his short and undemonstrative
greeting,--

"Thee, Bram? Good! How goes it?"

The advent of Joris added a little to the enthusiasm of the meeting.
Joris thoroughly liked Batavius, and their hands slipped into each
other's with a mighty grasp almost spontaneously. After some necessary
delay, the three men left the ship together. There was quite a crowd on
the wharf. Some were attracted by curiosity; others, by the hope of a
good job on the cargo; others, again, not averse to a little private
bargaining for any curious or valuable goods the captain of the "Great
Christopher" had for sale. Cohen was among the latter; but he had too
much intelligence to interfere with a family party, especially as he
heard Joris say to the crowd with a polite authority, "Make way,
friends, make way. When a man is off a three-years' cruise, for a trifle
he should not be stopped."

Joanna had had a message from her lover, and she was watching for his
arrival. There was no secrecy in her love-affairs, and it was amid the
joy and smiles of the whole household that she met her affianced
husband. They were one of those loving, sensible couples, for whom it is
natural to predict a placid and happy life; and the first words of
Batavius seemed to assure it.

"My affairs have gone well, Joanna, as they generally do; and now I
shall build the house, and we shall be married."

Joanna laughed. "I shall just say a word or two, also, about that,
Batavius."

"Come, come, the word or two was said so long ago. Have you got the
pretty Chinese _kas_ I sent from the ship? and the Javanese _cabaya_,
and the sweetmeats, and the golden pins?"

"All of them I have got. Much money, Batavius, they must have cost."

"Well, well, then! There is enough left. A man does not go to the
African coast for nothing. _Katrijntje, mijn meisje_, what's the matter
now, that you never come once?"

Katherine was standing at the open window, apparently watching the
honey-bees among the locust blooms, but really perceiving something far
beyond them,--a boat on the river at the end of the garden. She could
not have told how she knew that it was there; but she saw it, saw it
through the intervening space, barred and shaded by many trees. She felt
the slow drift of the resting oars, and the fascination of an eager,
handsome face lifted to the lilac-bushes which hedged the bank. So the
question of Batavius touched very lightly her physical consciousness. A
far sweeter, a far more peremptory voice called her; but she answered,--

"There is nothing the matter, Batavius. I am well, I am happy. And now I
will go into the garden to make me a fine nosegay."

"Three times this week, into the garden you have gone to get a nosegay;
and then all about it you forget. It will be better to listen to
Batavius, I think. He will tell us of the strange countries where he has
been, and of the strange men and women."

"For you, Joanna, that will be pleasant; but"--

"For you also. To listen to Batavius is to learn something."

"Well, that is the truth. But to me all this talk is not very
interesting. I will go into the garden;" and she walked slowly out of
the door, and stopped or stooped at every flower-bed, while Joanna
watched her.

"The child is now a woman. It will be a lover next, Joanna."

"There is a lover already; but to anything he says, Katrijntje listens
not. It is at her father's knee she sits, not at the lover's."

"It will be Rem Verplanck? And what will come of it?"

"No, it is Neil Semple. To-night you will see. He comes in and talks of
the Assembly and the governor, and of many things of great moment. But
it is Katherine for all that. A girl has not been in love four years for
nothing. I can see, too, that my father looks sad, and my mother says
neither yes nor no in the matter."

"The Semples are good business managers. They are also rich, and they
approve of good morals and the true religion. Be content, Joanna. Many
roads lead to happiness beside the road we take. Now, let us talk of our
own affairs."

It was at this moment that Katherine turned to observe if she were
watched. No: Batavius and Joanna had gone away from the window, and for
a little while she would not be missed. She ran rapidly to the end of
the garden, and, parting the lilac-bushes, stood flushed and panting on
the river-bank. There was a stir of oars below her. It was precisely as
she had known it would be. Captain Hyde's pretty craft shot into sight,
and a few strokes put it at the landing-stair. In a moment he was at her
side. He took her in his arms; and, in spite of the small hands covering
her blushing face, he kissed her with passionate affection.

[Illustration: He took her in his arms]

"My darling, my charmer," he said, "how you have tortured me! By my
soul, I have been almost distracted. Pray, now let me see thy lovely
face." He lifted it in his hands and kissed it again,--kissed the rosy
cheeks, and white dropped eyelids, and red smiling mouth; vowed with
every kiss that she was the most adorable of women, and protested, "on
his honour as a soldier," that he would make her his wife, or die a
bachelor for her sake.

And who can blame a young girl if she listens and believes, when
listening and believing mean to her perfect happiness? Not women who
have ever stood, trembling with love and joy, close to the dear one's
heart. If they be gray-haired, and on the very shoal of life, they must
remember still those moments of delight,--the little lane, the fire-lit
room, the drifting boat, that is linked with them. If they be young and
lovely, and have but to say, "It was yesterday," or, "It was last week,"
still better they will understand the temptation that was too great for
Katherine to overcome.

And, as yet, nothing definite had been said to her about Neil Semple,
and the arrangement made for her future. Joris had intended every day to
tell her, and every day his heart had failed him. He felt as if the
entire acceptance of the position would be giving his little daughter
away. As long as she was not formally betrothed, she was all his own;
and Neil could not use that objectionable word "my" in regard to her.
Lysbet was still more averse to a decisive step. She had had "dreams"
and "presentiments" of unusual honour for Katherine, which she kept with
a superstitious reverence in her memory; and the girl's great beauty and
winning manners had fed this latent expectancy. But to see her the wife
of Neil Semple did not seem to be any realization of her ambitious
hopes. She had known Neil all his life; and she could not help feeling,
that, if Katherine's fortune lay with him, her loving dreams were all
illusions and doomed to disappointment.

Besides, with a natural contradiction, she was a little angry at Neil's
behaviour. He had been coming to their house constantly for a month at
least; every opportunity of speaking to Katherine on his own behalf had
been given him, and he had not spoken. He was too indifferent, or he was
too confident; and either feeling she resented. But she judged Neil
wrongly. He was an exceedingly cautious young man; and he _felt_ what
the mother could not perceive,--a certain atmosphere about the charming
girl which was a continual repression to him. In the end, he determined
to win her, win her entirely, heart and hand; therefore he did not wish
to embarrass his subsequent wooing by having to surmount at the outset
the barrier of a premature "no." And, as yet, his jealousy of Captain
Hyde was superficial and intermitting; it had not entered his mind that
an English officer could possibly be an actual rival to him. They were
all of them notoriously light of love, and the Colonial beauties treated
their homage with as light a belief; only it angered and pained him that
Katherine should suffer herself to be made the pastime of Hyde's idle
hours.

On the night of De Vries' return, there was a great gathering at Van
Heemskirk's house. No formal invitations were given, but all the friends
of the family understood that it would be so. Joris kept on his coat and
ruffles and fine cravat, Batavius wore his blue broadcloth and gilt
buttons, and Lysbet and her daughters were in their kirk dresses of silk
and camblet. It was an exquisite summer evening, and the windows
looking into the garden were all open; so also was the door; and long
before sunset the stoop was full of neighbourly men, smoking with Joris
and Batavius, and discussing Colonial and commercial affairs.

In the living-room and the best parlour their wives were
gathered,--women with finely rounded forms, very handsomely clothed, and
all busily employed in the discussion of subjects of the greatest
interest to them. For Joanna's marriage was now to be freely talked
over,--the house Batavius was going to build described, the linen and
clothing she had prepared examined, and the numerous and rich presents
her lover had brought her wondered over, and commented upon.

Conspicuous in the happy chattering company, Lysbet Van Heemskirk
bustled about, in the very whitest and stiffest of lace caps; making a
suggestion, giving an opinion, scolding a careless servant, putting out
upon the sideboard Hollands, Geneva, and other strong waters, and
ordering in from the kitchen hot chocolate and cakes of all kinds for
the women of the company. Very soon after sundown, Elder Semple and
madam his wife arrived; and the elder, as usual, made a decided stir
among the group which he joined.

"No, no, Councillor," he said, in answer to the invitation of Joris to
come outside. "No, no, I'll not risk my health, maybe my vera life, oot
on the stoop after sunset. 'Warm,' do you say? Vera warm, and all the
waur for being warm. My medical man thinks I hae a tendency to fever,
and there's four-fourths o' fever in every inch o' river mist that a
man breathes these warm nights."

"Well, then, neighbours, we'll go inside," said Joris. "Clean pipes, and
a snowball, or a glass of Holland, will not, I think, be amiss."

The movement was made among some jokes and laughter; and they gathered
near the hearthstone, where, in front of the unlit hickory logs, stood a
tall blue jar filled with feathery branches of fennel and asparagus.
But, as the jar of Virginia was passed round, Lysbet looked at Dinorah,
and Dinorah went to the door and called, "Baltus;" and in a minute or
two a little black boy entered with some hot coals on a brass
chafing-dish, and the fire was as solemnly and silently passed round as
if it were some occult religious ceremony.

The conversation interrupted by Semples entrance was not resumed.

[Illustration: A little black boy entered]

It had been one dealing out unsparing and scornful disapproval of
Governor Clinton's financial methods, and Clinton was known to be a
personal friend of Semple's. But the elder would perhaps hardly have
appreciated the consideration, if he had divined it; for he dearly loved
an argument, and had no objections to fight for his own side
single-handed. In fact, it was so natural for him to be "in opposition,"
that he could not bear to join the general congratulation to De Vries on
his fortunate voyage.

"You were lang awa', Captain," was his opening speech. "It would tak' a
deal o' gude fortune to mak' it worth your while to knock around the
high seas for three years or mair."

"Well, look now, Elder, I didn't come home with empty hands. I have
always been apt to get into the place where gold and good bargains were
going."

"Hum-m-m! You sailed for Rotterdam, I think?"

"That is true; from Rotterdam I went to Batavia, and then to the coast
of Africa. The African cargo took me to the West Indies. From Kingston
it was easy to St. Thomas and Surinam for cotton, and then to Curacoa
for dyeing-woods and spices. The 'Great Christopher' took luck with her.
Every cargo was a good cargo."

"I'll no be certain o' that, Captain. I would hae some scruples mysel'
anent buying and selling men and women o' any colour. We hae no
quotations from the other world, and it may be the Almighty holds his
black men at as high a figure as his white men. I'm just speculating,
you ken. I hae a son--my third son, Alexander Semple, o' Boston--wha has
made money on the Africans. I hae told him, likewise, that trading in
wheat and trading in humanity may hae ethical differences; but every one
settles his ain bill, and I'll hae enough to do to secure mysel'."

Batavius was puzzled; and at the words "ethical differences," his big
brown hand was "in the hair" at once. He scratched his head and looked
doubtfully at Semple, whose face was peculiarly placid and thoughtful
and kindly.

"Men must work, Elder, and these blacks won't work unless they are
forced to. I, who am a baptized Christian, have to do my duty in this
life; and, as for pagans, they must be made to do it. I am myself a
great lover of morality, and that is what I think. Also, you may read in
the Scriptures, that St. Paul says that if a man will not work, neither
shall he eat."

"St. Paul dootless kent a' about the question o' forced labour, seeing
that he lived when baith white and black men were sold for a price.
However, siller in the hand answers a' questions and the dominie made a
vera true observe one Sabbath, when he said that the Almighty so ordered
things in this warld that orthodoxy and good living led to wealth and
prosperity."

"That is the truth," answered Justice Van Gaasbeeck; "Holland is Holland
because she has the true faith. You may see that in France there is
anarchy and bloodshed and great poverty; that is because they are Roman
Catholics."

It was at this moment that Katherine came and stood behind her father's
chair. She let her hand fall down over his shoulder, and he raised his
own to clasp it. "What is it, then, _mijn Katrijntje kleintje_?"

"It is to dance. Mother says 'yes' if thou art willing."

"Then I say 'yes,' also."

For a moment she laid her cheek against his; and the happy tears came
into his eyes, and he stroked her face, and half-reluctantly let
Batavius lead her away. For, at the first mention of a dance, Batavius
had risen and put down his pipe; and in a few minutes he was
triumphantly guiding Joanna in a kind of mazy waltzing movement, full of
spirit and grace.

At that day there were but few families of any wealth who did not own
one black man who could play well upon the violin. Joris possessed two;
and they were both on hand, putting their own gay spirits into the
fiddle and the bow. And oh, how happy were the beating feet and the
beating hearts that went to the stirring strains! It was joy and love
and youth in melodious motion. The old looked on with gleaming,
sympathetic eyes; the young forgot that they were mortal.

Then there was a short pause; and the ladies sipped chocolate, and the
gentlemen sipped something a little stronger, and a merry ripple of
conversation and of hearty laughter ran with the clink of glass and
china, and the scraping of the fiddle-bows.

"Miss Katern Van Heemskirk and Mr. Neil Semple will now hab de honour of
'bliging de company wid de French minuet."

At this announcement, made by the first negro violin, there was a sudden
silence; and Neil rose, and with a low bow offered the tips of his
fingers to the beautiful girl, who rose blushing to take them. The elder
deliberately turned his chair around, in order to watch the movement
comfortably; and there was an inexpressible smile of satisfaction on his
face as his eyes followed the young people. Neil's dark, stately beauty
was well set off by his black velvet suit and powdered hair and gold
buckles. And no lovelier contrast could have faced him than Katherine
Van Heemskirk; so delicately fresh, so radiantly fair, she looked in her
light-blue robe and white lace stomacher, with a pink rose at her
breast. There were shining amber beads around her white throat, and a
large amber comb fastened her pale brown hair. A gilded Indian fan was
in her hand, and she used it with all the pretty airs she had so aptly
copied from Mrs. Gordon.

Neil had a natural majesty in his carriage; Katherine supplemented it
with a natural grace, and with certain courtly movements which made the
little Dutch girls, who had never seen Mrs. Gordon practising them,
admire and wonder. As she was in the very act of making Neil a profound
courtesy, the door opened, and Mrs. Gordon and Captain Hyde entered. The
latter took in the exquisite picture in a moment; and there was a fire
of jealousy in his heart when he saw Neil lead his partner to her seat,
and with the deepest respect kiss her pretty fingers ere he resigned
them.

But he was compelled to control himself, as he was ceremoniously
introduced to Councillor and Madam Van Heemskirk by his aunt, who, with
a charming effusiveness, declared "she was very uneasy to intrude so
far; but, in faith, Councillor," she pleaded, "I am but a woman, and I
find the news of a wedding beyond my nature to resist."

There was something so frank and persuasive about the elegant stranger,
that Joris could not refuse the courtesy she asked for herself and her
nephew. And, having yielded, he yielded with entire truth and
confidence. He gave his hand to his visitors, and made them heartily
welcome to join in his household rejoicing. True, Mrs. Gordon's
persuasive words were ably seconded by causes which she had probably
calculated. The elder and Madam Semple were present, and it would have
been impossible for Joris to treat their friends rudely. Bram was also
another conciliating element, for Captain Hyde was on pleasant speaking
terms with him; and, as yet, even Neil's relations were at least those
of presumed friendship. Also, the Van Gaasbeeks and others present were
well inclined to make the acquaintance of a woman so agreeable, and an
officer so exceptionally handsome and genteel. Besides which, Joris was
himself in a happy and genial mood; he had opened his house and his
heart to his friends; and he did not feel at that hour as if he could
doubt any human being, or close his door against even the stranger and
the alien who wished to rejoice with him.

Elder Semple was greatly pleased at his friend's complaisance. He gave
Joris full credit for his victory over his national prejudices, and he
did his very best to make the concession a pleasant event. In this
effort, he was greatly assisted by Mrs. Gordon; she set herself to
charm Van Heemskirk, as she had set herself to charm Madam Van Heemskirk
on her previous visit; and she succeeded so well, that, when "Sir Roger
de Coverley" was called, Joris rose, offered her his hand, and, to the
delight of every one present, led the dance with her.

It was a little triumph for the elder; and he sat smiling, and twirling
his fingers, and thoroughly enjoying the event. Indeed, he was so
interested in listening to the clever way in which "the bonnie woman
flattered Van Heemskirk," that he was quite oblivious of the gathering
wrath in his son's face, and the watchful gloom in Bram's eyes, as the
two men stood together, jealously observant of Captain Hyde's attentions
to Katherine. Without any words spoken on the subject, there was an
understood compact between them to guard the girl from any private
conversation with him; and yet two men with hearts full of suspicion and
jealousy were not a match for one man with a heart full of love. In a
moment, in the interchange of their hands in a dance, Katherine clasped
tightly a little note, and unobserved hid it behind the rose at her
breast.

But nothing is a wonder in love, or else it would have been amazing that
Joanna did not notice the rose absent from her sister's dress after
Captain Hyde's departure; nor yet that Katherine, ere she went to rest
that night, kissed fervently a tiny bit of paper which she hid within
the silver clasps of her Kirk Bible. The loving girl thought it no wrong
to put it there; she even hoped that some kind of blessing or sanction
might come through such sacred keeping; and she went to sleep
whispering to herself,--"_Happy I am. Me he loves; me he loves; me only
he loves; me forever he loves_!"

[Illustration: Tail-piece]

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

"_All pleasure must be bought at the price of pain. The true pay the
price before they enjoy it; the false, after they enjoy it_."

"My dear Dick, I am exceedingly concerned to find you in such a
taking,--a soldier who has known some of the finest women of the day,
moping about a Dutch school-girl! Pshaw! Don't be a fool! I had a much
better opinion of you."

"'Tis a kind of folly that runs in the family, aunt. I have heard that
you preferred Colonel Gordon to a duke."

"Now, sir, you are ill-natured. Dukes are not uncommon: a man of sense
and sensibility is a treasure. Make me grateful that I secured one."

"Lend me your wit, then, for the same consummation. I assure you that I
consider Katherine Van Heemskirk a treasure past belief. Confess, now,
that she was the loveliest of creatures last night."

"She has truly a fine complexion, and she dances with all the elegance
imaginable. I know, too, that she sings to perfection, and has most
agreeable and obliging manners."

"And a heart which abounds in every tender feeling."

"Oh, indeed, sir! I was not aware that you knew her so well."

"I know that I love her beyond everything, and that I am likely so to
love her all my life."

"Upon my word, Dick, love may live an age--if you don't marry it."

"Let me make you understand that I wish to marry it."

"Oh, indeed, sir! Then the church door stands open. Go in. I suppose the
lady will oblige you so far."

"Pray, my dear aunt, talk sensibly. Give me your advice; you know
already that I value it. What is the first step to be taken?"

"Go and talk with her father. I assure you, no real progress can be made
without it. The girl you think worth asking for; but it is very
necessary for you to know what fortune goes with her beauty."

"If her father refuse to give her to me"--

"That is not to be thought of. I have seen that some of the best of
these Dutch families are very willing to be friendly with us. You come
of a noble race. You wear your sword with honour. You are not far from
the heritage of a great title and estate. If you ask for her fortune,
you offer far above its equivalent, sir."

"I have heard Mr. Neil Semple say that Van Heemskirk is a great stickler
for trade, and that he hates every man who wears a sword."

"You have heard more than you need listen to. I talked to the man an
hour last night. He is as honest as a looking-glass, and I read him all
through with the greatest ease. I am sure that he has a heart very
tender, and devoid of anger or prejudice of any kind."

"That is to be seen. I have discovered already that men who can be very
gentle can also be very rough. But this suspense is intolerable, and not
to be borne. I will go and end it. Pray, what is the hour?"

"It is about three o'clock; a very suitable hour, I think."

"Then give me your good wishes."

"I shall be impatient to hear the result."

"In an hour or two."

"Oh, sir, I am not so foolish as to expect you in an hour or two! When
you have spoken with the father, you will doubtless go home with him and
drink a dish of tea with your divinity. I can imagine your unreasonable
felicity, Dick,--seas of milk, and ships of amber, and all sails set for
the desired haven! I know it all, so I hope you will spare me every
detail,--except, indeed, such as relate to pounds, shillings, and
pence."

It was a very hot afternoon; and Van Heemskirk's store, though open to
the river-breezes, was not by any means a cool or pleasant place. Bram
was just within the doors, marking "Boston" on a number of
flour-barrels, which were being rapidly transferred to a vessel lying at
the wharf. He was absorbed and hurried in the matter, and received the
visitor with rather a cool courtesy; but whether the coolness was of
intention or preoccupation, Captain Hyde did not perceive it. He asked
for Councillor Van Heemskirk, and was taken to his office, a small room,
intensely warm and sunny at that hour of the day.

"Your servant, Captain."

"Yours, most sincerely, Councillor. It is a hot day."

"That is so. We come near to midsummer. Is there anything I can oblige
you in, sir?"

Joris asked the question because the manner of the young man struck him
as uneasy and constrained; and he thought, "Perhaps he has come to
borrow money." It was notorious that his Majesty's officers gambled, and
were often in very great need of it; and, although Joris had not any
intention of risking his gold, he thought it as well to bring out the
question, and have the refusal understood before unnecessary politeness
made it more difficult. He was not, therefore, astonished when Captain
Hyde answered,--

"Sir, you can indeed oblige me, and that in a matter of the greatest
moment."

"If money it be, Captain, at once I may tell you, that I borrow not, and
I lend not."

"Sir, it is not money--in particular."

"So?"

"It is your daughter Katherine."

Then Joris stood up, and looked steadily at the suitor. His large,
amiable face had become in a moment hard and stern; and the light in his
eyes was like the cold, sharp light that falls from drawn steel.

"My daughter is not for you to name. Sir, it is a wrong to her, if you
speak her name."

"By my honour, it is not! Though I come of as good family as any in
England, and may not unreasonably hope to inherit its earldom, I do
assure you, sir, I sue as humbly for your daughter's hand as if she were
a princess."

"Your family! Talk not of it. King nor kaiser do I count better men than
my own fore-goers. Like to like, that is what I say. Your wife seek,
Captain, among your own women."

"I protest that I love your daughter. I wish above all things to make
her my wife."

"Many things men desire, that they come not near to. My daughter is to
another man promised."

"Look you, Councillor, that would be monstrous. Your daughter loves me."

Joris turned white to the lips. "It is not the truth," he answered in a
slow, husky voice.

"By the sun in heaven, it is the truth! Ask her."

"Then a great scoundrel are you, unfit with honest men to talk. Ho! Yes,
your sword pull from its scabbard. Strike. To the heart strike me. Less
wicked would be the deed than the thing you have done."

"In faith, sir, 'tis no crime to win a woman's love."

"No crime it would be to take the guilders from my purse, if my consent
was to it. But into my house to come, and while warm was yet my welcome,
with my bread and wine in your lips, to take my gold, a shame and a
crime would be. My daughter than gold is far more precious."

There was something very impressive in the angry sorrow of Joris. It
partook of his own magnitude. Standing in front of him, it was
impossible for Captain Hyde not to be sensible of the difference between
his own slight, nervous frame, and the fair, strong massiveness of Van
Heemskirk; and, in a dim way, he comprehended that this physical
difference was only the outward and visible sign of a mental and moral
one quite as positive and unchangeable.

Yet he persevered in his solicitation. With a slight impatience of
manner he said, "Do but hear me, sir. I have done nothing contrary to
the custom of people in my condition, and I assure you that with all my
soul I love your daughter."

"Love! So talk you. You see a girl beautiful, sweet, and innocent. Your
heart, greedy and covetous, wants her as it has wanted, doubtless, many
others. For yourself only you seek her. And what is it you ask then!
That _she_ should give up for you her father, mother, home, her own
faith, her own people, her own country,--the poor little one!--for a
cold, cheerless land among strangers, alone in the sorrows and pains
that to all women come. Love! In God's name, what know you of love?"

"No man can love her better."

"What say you? How, then, do I love her? I who carried her--_mijn witte
lammetje_--in these arms before yet she could say to me, 'Fader'!" His
wrath had been steadily growing, in spite of the mist in his eyes and
the tenderness in his voice; and suddenly striking the desk a ponderous
blow with his closed hand, he said with an unmistakable passion, "My
daughter you shall not have. God in heaven to himself take her ere such
sorrow come to her and me!"

[Illustration: "Sir, you are very uncivil"]

"Sir, you are very uncivil; but I am thankful to know so much of your
mind. And, to be plain with you, I am determined to marry your daughter
if I can compass the matter in any way. It is now, then, open war
between us; and so, sir, your servant."

"Stay. To me listen. Not one guilder will I give to my daughter, if"--

"To the devil with your guilders! Dirty money made in dirty traffic"--

"You lie!"

"Sir, you take an infamous advantage. You know, that, being Katherine's
father, I will not challenge you."

"_Christus!_!" roared Joris, "challenge me one hundred times. A fool I
would be to answer you. Life my God gave to me. Well, then, only my God
shall from me take it. See you these arms and hands? In them you will be
as the child of one year. Ere beyond my reason you move me, _go_!" and
he strode to the door and flung it open with a passion that made every
one in the store straighten themselves, and look curiously toward the
two men.

White with rage, and with his hand upon his sword-hilt, Captain Hyde
stamped his way through the crowded store to the dusty street. Then it
struck him that he had not asked the name of the man to whom Katharine
was promised. He swore at himself for the omission. Whether he knew him
or not, he was determined to fight him. In the meantime, the most
practical revenge was to try and see Katherine before her father had the
opportunity to give her any orders regarding him. Just then he met Neil
Semple, and he stopped and asked him the time.

"It will be the half hour after four, Captain. I am going home; shall I
have your company, sir?"

"I have not much leisure to-night. Make a thousand regrets to Madam
Semple and my aunt for me."

Neil's calm, complacent gravity was unendurable. He turned from him
abruptly, and, muttering passionate exclamations, went to the river-bank
for a boat. Often he had seen Katherine between five and six o'clock at
the foot of the Van Heemskirk garden; for it was then possible for her
to slip away while madam was busy about her house, and Joanna and
Batavius talking over their own affairs. And this evening he felt that
the very intensity of his desire must surely bring her to their
trysting-place behind the lilac hedge.

Whether he was right or wrong, he did not consider; for he was not one
of those potent men who have themselves in their own power. Nor had it
ever entered his mind that "love's strength standeth in love's
sacrifice," or that the only love worthy of the name refuses to blend
with anything that is low or vindictive or clandestine. And, even if he
had not loved Katherine, he would now have been determined to marry her.
Never before in all his life had he found an object so engrossing. Pride
and revenge were added to love, as motives; but who will say that love
was purer or stronger or sweeter for them?

In the meantime Joris was suffering as only such deep natures can
suffer. There are domestic fatalities which the wisest and tenderest of
parents seem impotent to contend with. Joris had certainly been alarmed
by Semple's warning; but in forbidding his daughter to visit Mrs.
Gordon, and in permitting the suit of Neil Semple, he thought he had
assured her safety. Through all the past weeks, he had seen no shadow on
her face. The fear had died out, and the hope had been slowly growing;
so that Captain Hyde's proposal, and his positive assertion that
Katherine loved him, had fallen upon the father's heart with the force
of a blow, and the terror of a shock. And the sting of the sorrow was
this,--that his child had deceived him. Certainly she had not spoken
false words, but truth can be outraged by silence quite as cruelly as by
speech.

After Hyde's departure, he shut the door of his office, walked to the
window, and stood there some minutes, clasping and unclasping his large
hands, like a man full of grief and perplexity. Ere long he remembered
his friend Semple. This trouble concerned him also, for Captain Hyde was
in a manner his guest; and, if he were informed of the marriage arranged
between Katherine and Neil Semple, he would doubtless feel himself bound
in honour to retire. Elder Semple had opened his house to Colonel
Gordon, his wife and nephew. For months they had lived in comfort under
his roof, and been made heartily welcome to the best of all he
possessed. Joris put himself in Hyde's place; and he was certain, that,
under the same circumstances, he would feel it disgraceful to interfere
with the love-affairs of his host's son.

He found Semple with his hat in his hand, giving his last orders before
leaving business for the day; but when Joris said, "There is trouble,
and your advice I want," he returned with him to the back of the store,
where, through half-opened shutters, the sunshine and the river-breeze
stole into an atmosphere laden with the aromas of tea and coffee and
West Indian produce.

In a few short, strong sentences, Joris put the case before Semple. The
latter stroked his right knee thoughtfully, and listened. But his first
words were not very comforting: "I must say, that it is maistly your own
fault, Joris. You hae given Neil but a half welcome, and you should hae
made a' things plain and positive to Katherine. Such skimble-skamble,
yea and nay kind o' ways willna do wi' women. Why didna you say to her,
out and out, 'I hae promised you to Neil Semple, my lassie. He'll mak'
you the best o' husbands; you'll marry him at the New Year, and you'll
get gold and plenishing and a' things suitable'?"

"So young she is yet, Elder."

"She has been o'er auld for you, Joris. Young! My certie! When girls are
auld enough for a lover, they are a match for any gray head. I'm a
thankfu' man that I wasna put in charge o' any o' them. You and your
household will hae to keep your e'en weel open, or there will be a
wedding to which nane o' us will get an invite. But there is little
good in mair words. Hame is the place we are baith needed in. I shall
hae to speak my mind to Neil, and likewise to Colonel Gordon; and you
canna put off your duty to your daughter an hour longer. Dear me! To
think, Joris, o' a man being able to sit wi' the councillors o' the
nation, and yet no match for a lassie o' seventeen!"

There are men who can talk their troubles away: Joris was not one of
them. He was silent when in sorrow or perplexity; silent, and ever
looking around for something to _do_ in the matter. As they walked
homewards, the elder talked, and Joris pondered, not what was said, but
the thoughts and purposes that were slowly forming in his own mind. He
was later than usual, and the tea and the cakes had passed their prime
condition; but, when Lysbet saw the trouble in his eyes, she thought
them not worth mentioning. Joanna and Batavius were discussing their new
house then building on the East River bank, and they had forgotten all
else. But Katherine fretted about her father's delay, and it was at her
Joris first looked. The veil had now been taken from his eyes; and he
noticed her pretty dress, her restless glances at the clock, her
ill-concealed impatience at the slow movement of the evening meal.

When it was over, Joanna and Batavius went out to walk, and Madame Van
Heemskirk rose to put away her silver and china. "So warm as it is!"
said Katherine. "Into the garden I am going, mother."

"Well, then, there are currants to pull. The dish take with you."

Joris rose then, and laying his hand on Katherine's shoulder said,
"There is something to talk about. Sit down, Lysbet; the door shut
close, and listen to me."

It was impossible to mistake the stern purpose on her husband's face,
and Lysbet silently obeyed the order.

"Katherine, Katrijntje, _mijn kind_, this afternoon there comes to the
store the young man, Captain Hyde. To thy father he said many ill words.
To him thou shalt never speak again. Thy promise give to me."

She sat silent, with dropped eyes, and cheeks as red as the pomegranate
flower at her breast.

"_Mijn kind_, speak to me."

"_O wee, O wee!_"

"_Mijn kind_, speak to me."

Weeping bitterly, she rose and went to her mother, and laid her head
upon Lysbet's shoulder.

"Look now, Joris. One must know the 'why' and the 'wherefore.' What mean
you? _Whish, mijn kindje_!"

"This I mean, Lysbet. No more meetings with the Englishman will I have.
No love secrets will I bear. Danger is with them; yes, and sin too."

"Joris, if he has spoken to you, then where is the secret?"

"Too late he spoke. When worked was his own selfish way, to tell me of
his triumph he comes. It is a shameful wrong. Forgive it? No, I will
not,--never!"

No one answered him; only Katherine's low weeping broke the silence,
and for a few moments Joris paced the room sorrowful and amazed. Then he
looked at Lysbet, and she rose and gave her place to him. He put his
arms around his darling, and kissed her fondly.

[Illustration: "Listen to me, thy father!"]

"_Mijn kindje_, listen to me thy father. It is for thy happy life here,
it is for thy eternal life, I speak to thee. This man for whom thou art
now weeping is not good for thee. He is not of thy faith, he is a
Lutheran; not of thy people, he is an Englishman; not of thy station, he
talks of his nobility; a gambler also, a man of fashion, of loose talk,
of principles still more loose. If with the hawk a singing-bird might
mate happily, then this English soldier thou might safely marry. _Mijn
beste kindje_, do I love thee?"

"My father!"

"Do I love thee?"

"Yes, yes."

"Dost thou, then, love me?"

She put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek against his, and
kissed him many times.

"Wilt thou go away and leave me, and leave thy mother, in our old age?
My heart thou would break. My gray hairs to the grave would go in
sorrow. Katrijntje, my dear, dear child, what for me, and for thy
mother, wilt thou do?"

"Thy wish--if I can."

Then he told her of the provision made for her future. He reminded her
of Neil's long affection, and of her satisfaction with it until Hyde had
wooed her from her love and her duty. And, remembering the elder's
reproach on his want of explicitness, he added, "To-morrow, about thy
own house, I will take the first step. Near my house it shall be; and
when I walk in my garden, in thy garden I will see thee, and only a
little fence shall be between us. And at the feast of St. Nicholas thou
shalt be married; for then thy sisters will be here, thy sisters Anna
and Cornelia. And money, plenty of money, I will give thee; and all that
is proper thy mother and thee shall buy. But no more, no more at all,
shalt thou see or speak to that bad man who has so beguiled thee."

At this remark Katherine sadly shook her head; and Lysbet's face so
plainly expressed caution, that Joris somewhat modified his last order,
"That is, little one, no more until the feast of St. Nicholas. Then thou
wilt be married and then it is good, if it is safe, to forgive all
wrongs, and to begin again with all the world in peace and good living.
Wilt thou these things promise me? me and thy mother?"

"Richard I must see once more. That is what I ask."

"_Richard!_ So far is it?"

She did not answer; and Joris rose, and looked at the girl's mother
inquiringly. Her face expressed assent; and he said reluctantly, "Well,
then, I will as easy make it as I can. Once more, and for one hour, thou
may see him. But I lay it on thee to tell him the truth, for this and
for all other time."

"_Now_ may I go? He is a-nigh. His boat I hear at the landing;" and she
stood up, intent, listening, with her fair head lifted, and her wet eyes
fixed on the distance.

"Well, be it so. Go."

With the words she slipped from the room; and Joris called Baltus to
bring him some hot coals, and began to fill his pipe. As he did so, he
watched Lysbet with some anxiety. She had offered him no sympathy, she
evinced no disposition to continue the conversation; and, though she
kept her face from him, he understood that all her movements expressed a
rebellious temper. In and out of the room she passed, very busy about
her own affairs, and apparently indifferent to his anxiety and sorrow.

At first Joris felt some natural anger at her attitude; but, as the
Virginia calmed and soothed him, he remembered that he had told her
nothing of his interview with Hyde, and that she might be feeling and
reasoning from a different standpoint from himself. Then the sweetness
of his nature was at once in the ascendant, and he said, "Lysbet, come
then, and talk with me about the child."

She turned the keys in her press slowly, and stood by it with them in
her hand. "What has been told thee, Joris, to-day? And who has spoken?
Tongues evil and envious, I am sure of that."

"Thou art wrong. The young man to me spoke himself. He said, 'I love
your daughter. I want to marry her.'"

"Well, then, he did no wrong. And as for Katrijntje, it is in nature
that a young girl should want a lover. It is in nature she should choose
the one she likes best. That is what I say."

"That is what I say, Lysbet. It is in nature, also, that we want too
much food and wine, too much sleep, too much pleasure, too little work.
It is in nature that our own way we want. It is in nature that the good
we hate, and the sin we love. My Lysbet, to us God gives his own good
grace, that the things that are in nature we might put below the reason
and the will."

"So hard that is, Joris."

"No, it is not; so far thou hast done the right way. When Katherine was
a babe, it was in nature that with the fire she wanted to make play. But
thou said, 'There is danger, my precious one;' and in thy arms thou
carried her out of the temptation. When older she grew, it was in nature
she said, 'I like not the school, and my Heidelberg is hard, and I
cannot learn it.' But thou answered, 'For thy good is the school, and go
thou every day; and for thy salvation is thy catechism, and I will see
that thou learn it well.' Now, then, it is in nature the child should
want this handsome stranger; but with me thou wilt certainly say, 'He is
not fit for thy happiness; he has not the true faith, he gambles, he
fights duels, he is a waster, he lives badly, he will take thee far from
thy own people and thy own home.'"

"Can the man help that he was born an Englishman and a Lutheran?"

"They have their own women. Look now, from the beginning it has been
like to like. Thou may see in the Holy Scriptures that, after Esau
married the Hittite woman, he sold his birthright, and became a wanderer
and a vagabond. And it is said that it was a 'grief of mind unto Isaac
and Rebekah.' I am sorry this day for Isaac and Rebekah. The heart of
the father is the same always."

"And the heart of the mother, also, Joris." She drew close to him, and
laid her arm across his broad shoulders; and he took his pipe from his
lips and turned his face to her. "Kind and wise art thou, my husband;
and whatever is thy wish, that is my wish too."

"A good woman thou art. And what pleasure would it be to thee if
Katherine was a countess, and went to the court, and bowed down to the
king and the queen? Thou would not see it; and, if thou spoke of it, thy
neighbours they would hate thee, and mock thee behind thy back, and say,
'How proud is Lysbet Van Heemskirk of her noble son-in-law that comes
never once to see her!' And dost thou believe he is an earl? Not I."

"That is where the mother's love is best, Joris. What my neighbours said
would be little care to me, if my Katherine was well and was happy. With
her sorrow would I buy my own pleasure? No; I would not so selfish be."

"Would I, Lysbet? Right am I, and I know I am right. And I think that
Neil Semple will be a very great person. Already, as a man of affairs,
he is much spoken of. He is handsome and of good morality. The elders
in the kirk look to such young men as Neil to fill their places when
they are no more in them. On the judge's bench he will sit down yet."

"A good young man he may be, but he is a very bad lover; that is the
truth. If a little less wise he could only be! A young girl likes some
foolish talk. It is what women understand. Little fond words, very
strong they are! Thou thyself said them to me."

"That is right. To Neil I will talk a little. A man must seek a good
wife with more heart than he seeks gold. Yes, yes; her price above
rubies is."

At the very moment Joris made this remark, the elder was speaking for
him. When he arrived at home, he found that his wife was out making
calls with Mrs. Gordon, so he had not the relief of a marital
conversation. He took his solitary tea, and fell into a nap, from which
he awoke in a querulous, uneasy temper. Neil was walking about the
terrace, and he joined him.

[Illustration: He took his solitary tea]

"You are stepping in a vera majestic way, Neil; what's in your thoughts,
I wonder?"

"I have a speech to make to-morrow, sir. My thoughts were on the law,
which has a certain majesty of its own."

"You'd better be thinking o' a speech you ought to make to-night, if you
care at a' aboot saving yoursel' wi' Katherine Van Heemskirk; and ma
certie it will be an extraordinar' case that is worth mair, even in the
way o' siller, than she is."

The elder was not in the habit of making unmeaning speeches, and Neil
was instantly alarmed. In his own way, he loved Katherine with all his
soul. "Yes," continued the old man, "you hae a rival, sir. Captain Hyde
asked Van Heemskirk for his daughter this afternoon, and an earldom in
prospect isna a poor bait."

"What a black scoundrel he must be!--to use your hospitality to steal
from your son the woman he loves."

"Tak' your time, Neil, and you won't lose your judgment. How was he to
ken that Katherine was your sweetheart? You made little o' the lassie,
vera little, I may say. Lawyer-like you may be, but nane could call you
lover-like. And while he and his are my guests, and in my house, I'll no
hae you fighting him. Tak' a word o' advice now,--I'll gie it without a
fee,--you are fond enough to plead for others, go and plead an hour for
yoursel'. Certie! When I was your age, I was aye noted for my persuading
way. Your father, sir, never left a spare corner for a rival. And I can
tell you this: a woman isna to be counted your ain, until you hae her
inside a wedding-ring."

"What did the councillor say?"

"To tell the truth, he said 'no,' a vera plain 'no,' too. You ken Van
Heemskirk's 'no' isn't a shilly-shallying kind o' a negative; but for a'
that, if I hae any skill in judging men, Richard Hyde isna one o' the
kind that tak's 'no' from either man or woman."

Neil was intensely angry, and his dark eyes glowed beneath their
dropped lids with a passionate hate. But he left his father with an
assumed coldness and calmness which made him mutter as he watched Neil
down the road, "I needna hae fashed mysel' to warn him against fighting.
He's a prudent lad. It's no right to fight, and it would be a matter for
a kirk session likewise; but _Bruce and Wallace_! was there ever a
Semple, before Neil, that keepit his hand off his weapon when his love
or his right was touched? And there's his mother out the night, of all
the nights in the year, and me wanting a word o' advice sae bad; not
that Janet has o'er much good sense, but whiles she can make an obsarve
that sets my ain wisdom in a right line o' thought. I wish to patience
she'd bide at home. She never kens when I may be needing her. And, now I
came to think o' things, it will be the warst o' all bad hours for Neil
to seek Katherine the night. She'll be fretting, and the mother pouting,
and the councillor in ane o' his particular Dutch touch-me-not tempers.
I do hope the lad will hae the uncommon sense to let folks cool, and
come to theirsel's a wee."

For the elder, judging his son by the impetuosity of his own youthful
temper, expected him to go directly to Van Heemskirk's house. But there
were qualities in Neil which his father forgot to take into
consideration, and their influence was to suggest to the young man how
inappropriate a visit to Katherine would be at that time. Indeed, he did
not much desire it. He was very angry with Katherine. He was sure that
she understood his entire devotion to her. He could not see any
necessity to set it forth as particularly as a legal contract, in
certain set phrases and with conventional ceremonies.

[Illustration: On the steps of the houses]

But his father's sarcastic advice annoyed him, and he wanted time to
fully consider his ways. He was no physical coward; he was a fine
swordsman, and he felt that it would be a real joy to stand with a drawn
rapier between himself and his rival. But what if revenge cost him too
much? What if he slew Hyde, and had to leave his love and his home, and
his fine business prospects? To win Katherine and to marry her, in the
face of the man whom he felt that he detested, would not that be the
best of all "satisfactions"?

He walked about the streets, discussing these points with himself, till
the shops all closed, and on the stoops of the houses in Maiden Lane and
Liberty Street there were merry parties of gossiping belles and beaux.
Then he returned to Broadway. Half a dozen gentlemen were standing
before the King's Arms Tavern, discussing some governmental statement in
the "Weekly Mercury;" but though they asked him to stop, and enlighten
them on some legal point, he excused himself for that night, and went
toward Van Heemskirk's. He had suddenly resolved upon a visit. Why
should he put off until the morrow what he might begin that night?

Still debating with himself, he came to a narrow road which ran to the
river, along the southern side of Van Heemskirk's house. It was only a
trodden path used by fishermen, and made by usage through the unenclosed
ground. But coming swiftly up it, as if to detain him, was Captain Hyde.
The two men looked at each other defiantly; and Neil said with a cold,
meaning emphasis,--

"At your service, sir."

"Mr. Semple, at your service,"--and touching his sword,--"to the very
hilt, sir."

"Sir, yours to the same extremity."

"As for the cause, Mr. Semple, here it is;" and he pushed aside his
embroidered coat in order to exhibit to Neil the bow of orange ribbon
beneath it.

"I will die it crimson in your blood," said Neil, passionately.

"In the meantime, I have the felicity of wearing it;" and with an
offensively deep salute, he terminated the interview.

[Illustration: Tail-piece]

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

VI.

"_Love and a crown no rivalship can bear.
Love, love! Thou sternly dost thy power maintain,
And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign_."

Neil's first emotion was not so much one of anger as of exultation. The
civilization of the Semples was scarce a century old; and behind them
were generations of fierce men, whose hands had been on their dirks for
a word or a look. "I shall have him at my sword's point;" that was what
he kept saying to himself as he turned from Hyde to Van Heemskirk's
house. The front-door stood open; and he walked through it to the
back-stoop, where Joris was smoking.

Katherine sat upon the steps of the stoop. Her head was in her hand, her
eyes red with weeping, her whole attitude one of desponding sorrow. But,
at this hour, Neil was indifferent to adverse circumstances. He was
moving in that exultation of spirit which may be simulated by the first
rapture of good wine, but which is only genuine when the soul takes
entire possession of the man, and makes him for some rare, short
interval lord of himself, and contemptuous of all fears and doubts and
difficulties. He never noticed that Joris was less kind than usual; but
touching Katherine, to arouse her attention, said, "Come with me down
the garden, my love."

She looked at him wonderingly. His words and manner were strange and
potent; and, although she had just been assuring herself that she would
resist his advances on every occasion, she rose at his request and gave
him her hand.

Then the tender thoughts which had lain so deep in his heart flew to his
lips, and he wooed her with a fervour and nobility as astonishing to
himself as to Katherine. He reminded her of all the sweet intercourse of
their happy lives, and of the fidelity with which he had loved her.
"When I was a lad ten years old, and saw you first in your mother's
arms, I called you then 'my little wife.' Oh, my Katherine, my sweet
Katherine! Who is there that can take you from me?"

"Neil, like a brother to me you have been. Like a dear brother, I love
you. But your wife to be! That is not the same. Ask me not that."

"Only that can satisfy me, Katherine. Do you think I will ever give you
up? Not while I live."

"No one will I marry. With my father and my mother I will stay."

"Yes, till you learn to love me as I love you, with the whole soul." He
drew her close to his side, and bent tenderly to her face.

"No, you shall not kiss me, Neil,--never again. No right have you,
Neil."

"You are to be my wife, Katherine?"

"That I have not said."

She drew herself from his embrace, and stood leaning against an
elm-tree, watchful of Neil, full of wonder at the sudden warmth of his
love, and half fearful of his influence over her.

"But you have known it, Katherine, ay, for many a year. No words could
make the troth-plight truer. From this hour, mine and only mine."

"Such things you shall not say."

"I will say them before all the world. Katherine, is it true that an
English soldier is wearing a bow of your ribbon? You must tell me."

"What mean you?"

"I will make my meaning plain. Is Captain Hyde wearing a bow of your
orange ribbon?"

"Can I tell?"

"Yes. Do not lie to me."

"A lie I would not speak."

"Did you give him one? an orange one?"

"Yes. A bow of my St. Nicholas ribbon I gave him."

"Why?"

"Me he loves, and him I love."

"And he wears it at his breast?"

"On his breast I have seen it. Neil, do not quarrel with him. Do not
look so angry. I fear you. My fault it is; all my fault, Neil. Only to
please me he wears it."

"You have more St. Nicholas ribbons?"

"That is so."

"Go and get me one. Get a bow, Katherine, and give it to me. I will
wait here for it."

"No, that I will not do. How false, how wicked I would be, if two lovers
my colours wore!"

"Katherine, I am in great earnest. A bow of that ribbon I must have. Get
one for me."

"My hands I would cut off first."

"Well, then, I will cut _my bow_ from Hyde's breast. I will, though I
cut his heart out with it."

He turned from her as he said the words, and, without speaking to Joris,
passed through the garden-gate to his own home. His mother and Mrs.
Gordon, and several young ladies and gentlemen were sitting on the
stoop, arranging for a turtle feast on the East River; and Neil's advent
was hailed with ejaculations of pleasure. He affected to listen for a
few minutes, and then excused himself upon the "assurance of having some
very important writing to attend to." But, as he passed the parlour
door, his father called him. The elder was casting up some kirk
accounts; but, as Neil answered the summons, he carefully put the
extinguisher on one candle, and turned his chair from the table in a way
which Neil understood as an invitation for his company.

[Illustration: "Katherine, I am in great earnest"]

A moment's reflection convinced Neil that it was his wisest plan to
accede. It was of the utmost importance that his father should be kept
absolutely ignorant of his quarrel with Hyde; for Neil was certain that,
if he suspected their intention to fight, he would invoke the aid of the
law to preserve peace, and such a course would infallibly subject him to
suspicions which would be worse than death to his proud spirit.

"Weel, Neil, my dear lad, you are early hame. Where were you the night?"

"I have just left Katherine, sir, having followed your advice in my
wooing. I wish I had done so earlier."

"Ay, ay; when a man is seventy years auld, he has read the book o' life,
'specially the chapter anent women, and he kens a' about them. A bonnie
lass expects to hae a kind o' worship; but the service is na unpleasant,
quite the contrary. Did you see Captain Hyde?"

"We met near Broadway, and exchanged civilities."

"A gude thing to exchange. When Gordon gets back frae Albany, I'll hae a
talk wi' him, and I'll get the captain sent there. In Albany there are
bonnie lasses and rich lasses in plenty for him to try his enchantments
on. There was talk o' sending him there months syne; it will be done ere
long, or my name isna Alexander Semple."

"I see you are casting up the kirk accounts. Can I help you, father?"

"I hae everything ready for the consistory. Neil, what is the gude o' us
speaking o' this and that, and thinking that we are deceiving each
other? I am vera anxious anent affairs between Captain Hyde and
yoursel'; and I'm 'feard you'll be coming to hot words, maybe to blows,
afore I manage to put twa hundred miles atween you. My lad, my ain dear
lad! You are the Joseph o' a' my sons; you are the joy o' your mother's
life. For our sake, keep a calm sough, and dinna let a fool provoke you
to break our hearts, and maybe send you into God's presence uncalled and
unblessed.

"Father, put yoursel' in my place. How would you feel toward Captain
Hyde?"

"Weel, I'll allow that I wouldna feel kindly. I dinna feel kindly to
him, even in my ain place."

"As you desire it, we will speak plainly to each other anent this
subject. You know his proud and hasty temper; you know also that I am
more like yourself than like Moses in the way of meekness. Now, if
Captain Hyde insults me, what course would you advise me to adopt?"

"I wouldna gie him the chance to insult you. I would keep oot o' his
way. There is naething unusual or discreditable in taking a journey to
Boston, to speir after the welfare o' your brother Alexander."

"Oh, indeed, sir, I cannot leave my affairs for an insolent and
ungrateful fool! I ask your advice for the ordinary way of life, not for
the way that cowardice or fear dictates. If without looking for him, or
avoiding him, we meet, and a quarrel is inevitable, what then, father?"

"Ay, weel, in that case, God prevent it! But in sic a strait, my lad, it
is better to gie the insult than to tak' it."

"You know what must follow?"

"Wha doesna ken? Blood, if not murder. Neil, you are a wise and prudent
lad; now, isna the sword o' the law sharper than the rapier o' honour?"

"Law has no remedy for the wrongs men of honour redress with the sword.
A man may call me every shameful name; but, unless I can show some
actual loss in money or money's worth, I have no redress. And suppose
that I tried it, and that after long sufferance and delays I got my
demands, pray, sir, tell me, how can offences which have flogged a man's
most sacred feelings be atoned for by something to put in the pocket?"

"Society, Neil"--

"Society, father, always convicts and punishes the man who takes an
insult _on view_, without waiting for his indictment or trial."

"There ought to be a law, Neil"--

"No law will administer itself, sir. The statute-book is a dead letter
when it conflicts with public opinion. There is not a week passes but
you may see that for yourself, father. If a man is insulted, he must
protect his honour; and he will do so until the law is able to protect
him better than his own strength."

"There is another way--a mair Christian way"--

"The world has not taken it yet; at any rate, I am very sure none of the
Semples have."

"You are, maybe, o'er sure, Neil. Deacon Van Vorst has said mair than my
natural man could thole, many a time, in the sessions and oot o' them;
but the dominie aye stood between us wi' his word, and we hae managed
so far to keep the peace, though a mair pig-headed, provoking,
pugnacious auld Dutchman never sat down on the dominie's left hand."

"Then, father, if Captain Hyde should quarrel with me, and if he should
challenge me, you advise me to refuse the challenge, and to send for the
dominie to settle the matter?"

"I didna say the like o' that, Neil. I am an auld man, and Van Vorst is
an aulder one. We'd be a bonnie picture wi' drawn swords in oor shaking
hands; though, for mysel', I may say that there wasna a better fencer in
Ayrshire, and _that_ the houses o' Lockerby and Lanark hae reason to
remember. And I wouldna hae the honour o' the Semples doubted; I'd fight
myself first. But I'm in a sair strait, Neil; and oh, my dear lad, what
will I say, when it's the Word o' the Lord on one hand, and the scaith
and scorn of a' men on the other? But I'll trust to your prudence, Neil,
and no begin to feel the weight o' a misery that may ne'er come my way.
All my life lang, when evils hae threatened me, I hae sought God's help;
and He has either averted them or turned them to my advantage."

"That is a good consolation, father."

"It is that; and I ken nae better plan for life than, when I rise up, to
gie mysel' to His direction, and, when I lay me down to sleep, to gie
mysel' to His care."

"In such comfortable assurance, sir, I think we may say good-night. I
have business early in the morning, and may not wait for your company,
if you will excuse me so far."

"Right; vera right, Neil. The dawn has gold in its hand. I used to be
an early worker mysel'; but I'm an auld man noo, and may claim some
privileges. Good-night, Neil, and a good-morning to follow it."

Neil then lit his candle; and, not forgetting that courteous salute
which the young then always rendered to honourable age, he went slowly
upstairs, feeling suddenly a great weariness and despair. If Katherine
had only been true to him! He was sure, then, that he could have fought
almost joyfully any pretender to her favour. But he was deserted by the
girl whom he had loved all her sweet life. He was betrayed by the man
who had shared the hospitality of his home, and in the cause of such
loss, compelled to hazard a life opening up with fair hopes of honour
and distinction.

In the calm of his own chamber, through the silent, solemn hours, when
the world was shut out of his life, Neil reviewed his position; but he
could find no honourable way out of his predicament. Physically, he was
as brave as brave could be; morally, he had none of that grander courage
which made Joris Van Heemskirk laugh to scorn the idea of yielding God's
gift of life at the demand of a passionate fool. He was quite sensible
that his first words to Captain Hyde that night had been intended to
provoke a quarrel, and he knew that he would be expected to redeem them
by a formal defiance. However, as the idea became familiar, it became
imperative; and at length it was with a fierce satisfaction that he
opened his desk and without hesitation wrote the decisive words:

[Illustration: "In the interim, at your service"]

To CAPTAIN RICHARD HYDE OF HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE: SIR: A person of the
character I bear cannot allow the treachery and dishonourable conduct of
which you have been guilty to pass without punishment. Convince me that
you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by meeting me
to-night as the sun drops in the wood on the Kalchhook Hill. Our seconds
can locate the spot; and that you may have no pretence to delay, I send
by bearer two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make choice.

In the interim, at your service,
NEIL SEMPLE.

He had already selected Adrian Beekman as his second. He was a young
man of wealth and good family, exceedingly anxious for social
distinction, and, moreover, so fastidiously honourable that Neil felt
himself in his hands to be beyond reproach. As he anticipated, Beekman
accepted the duty with alacrity, and, indeed, so promptly carried out
his principal's instructions, that he found Captain Hyde still sleeping
when he waited upon him. But Hyde was neither astonished nor annoyed. He
laughed lightly at "Mr. Semple's impatience of offence," and directed
Mr. Beekman to Captain Earle as his second; leaving the choice of swords
and of the ground entirely to his direction.

"A more civil, agreeable, handsome gentleman, impossible it would be to
find; and I think the hot haughty temper of Neil is to blame in this
affair," was Beekman's private comment. But he stood watchfully by his
principal's interests, and affected a gentlemanly disapproval of Captain
Hyde's behaviour.

And lightly as Hyde had taken the challenge, he was really more
disinclined to fight than Neil was. In his heart he knew that Semple had
a just cause of anger; "but then," he argued, "Neil is a proud, pompous
fellow, for whom I never assumed a friendship. His father's hospitality
I regret in any way to have abused; but who the deuce could have
suspected that Neil Semple was in love with the adorable Katherine? In
faith, I did not at the first, and now 'tis too late. I would not resign
the girl for my life; for I am sensible that life, if she is another's,
will be a very tedious thing to me."

All day Neil was busy in making his will, and in disposing of his
affairs. He knew himself well enough to be certain, that, if he struck
the first blow, he would not hesitate to strike the death blow, and that
nothing less than such conclusion would satisfy him. Hyde also
anticipated a deathly persistence of animosity in his opponent, and felt
equally the necessity for some definite arrangement of his business.
Unfortunately, it was in a very confused state. He owed many debts of
honour, and Cohen's bill was yet unsettled. He drank a cup of coffee,
wrote several important letters, and then went to Fraunce's, and had a
steak and a bottle of wine. During his meal his thoughts wandered
between Katherine and the Jew Cohen. After it he went straight to
Cohen's store.

It happened to be Saturday; and the shutters were closed, though the
door was slightly open, and Cohen was sitting with his granddaughter in
the cool shadows of the crowded place. Hyde was not in a ceremonious
mood, and he took no thought of it being the Jew's sabbath. He pushed
wider the door, and went clattering into their presence; and with an air
of pride and annoyance the Jew rose to meet him. At the same time, by a
quick look of intelligence, he dismissed Miriam; but she did not retreat
farther than within the deeper shadows of some curtains of stamped
Moorish leather, for she anticipated the immediate departure of the
intruder.

She was therefore astonished when her grandfather, after listening to a
few sentences, sat down, and entered into a lengthy conversation. And
her curiosity was also aroused; for, though Hyde had often been in the
store, she had never hitherto seen him in such a sober mood, it was also
remarkable that on the sabbath her grandfather should receive papers,
and a ring which she watched Hyde take from his finger; and there was,
beside, a solemn, a final air about the transaction which gave her the
feeling of some anticipated tragedy.

When at last they rose, Hyde extended his hand. "Cohen," he said, "few
men would have been as generous and, at this hour, as considerate as
you. I have judged from tradition, and misjudged you. Whether we meet
again or not, we part as friends."

"You have settled all things as a gentleman, Captain. May my white hairs
say a word to your heart this hour?" Hyde bowed; and he continued, in a
voice of serious benignity: "The words of the Holy One are to be
regarded, and not the words of men. Men call that 'honour' which He will
call murder. What excuse is there in your lips if you go this night into
His presence?"

There was no excuse in Hyde's lips, even for his mortal interrogator. He
merely bowed again, and slipped through the partially opened door into
the busy street. Then Cohen put clean linen upon his head and arm, and
went and stood with his face to the east, and recited, in low,
rhythmical sentences, the prayer called the "Assault." Miriam sat quiet
during his devotion but, when he returned to his place, she asked him
plainly, "What murder is there to be, grandfather?"

"It is a duel between Captain Hyde and another. It shall be called
murder at the last."

"The other, who is he?"

"The young man Semple."

"I am sorry. He is a courteous young man. I have heard you say so. I
have heard you speak well of him."

"O Miriam, what sin and sorrow thy sex ever bring to those who love it!
There are two young lives to be put in death peril for the smile of a
woman,--a very girl she is."

"Do I know her, grandfather?"

"She passes here often. The daughter of Van Heemskirk,--the little fair
one, the child."

"Oh, but now I am twice sorry! She has smiled at me often. We have even
spoken. The good old man, her father, will die; and her brother, he was
always like a watch-dog at her side."

"But not the angels in heaven can watch a woman. For a lover, be he good
or bad, she will put heaven behind her back, and stand on the brink of
perdition. Miriam, if thou should deceive me,--as thy mother did,--God
of Israel, may I not know it!"

"Though I die, I will not deceive you, grandfather."

"The Holy One hears thee, Miriam. Let Him be between us."

Then Cohen, with his hands on his staff, and his head in them, sat
meditating, perhaps praying; and the hot, silent moments went slowly
away. In them, Miriam was coming to a decision which at first alarmed
her, but which, as it grew familiar, grew also lawful and kind. She was
quite certain that her grandfather would not interfere between the
young men, and probably he had given Hyde his promise not to do so; but
she neither had received a charge, nor entered into any obligation, of
silence. A word to Van Heemskirk or to the Elder Semple would be
sufficient. Should she not say it? Her heart answered "yes," although
she did not clearly perceive how the warning was to be given.

Perhaps Cohen divined her purpose, and was not unfavourable to it; for
he suddenly rose, and, putting on his cap, said, "I am going to see my
kinsman John Cohen. At sunset, set wide the door; an hour after sunset I
will return."

As soon as he had gone, Miriam wrote to Van Heemskirk these words: "Good
sir,--This is a matter of life and death: so then, come at once, and I
will tell you. MIRIAM COHEN."

With the slip of paper in her hand, she stood within the door, watching
for some messenger she could trust. It was not many minutes before Van
Heemskirk's driver passed, leading his loaded wagon; and to him she gave
the note.

That day Joris had gone home earlier than usual, and Bram only was in
the store. But it was part of his duty to open and attend to orders, and
he supposed the strip of paper to refer to a barrel of flour or some
other household necessity.

Its actual message was so unusual and unlooked for, that it took him a
moment or two to realize the words; then, fearing it might be some
practical joke, he recalled the driver, and heard with amazement that
the Jew's granddaughter had herself given him the message. Assured of
this fact, he answered the summons for his father promptly. Miriam was
waiting just within the door; and, scarcely heeding his explanation, she
proceeded at once to give him such information as she possessed. Bram
was slow of thought and slow of speech. He stood gazing at the
beautiful, earnest girl, and felt all the fear and force of her words;
but for some moments he could not speak, nor decide on his first step.

[Illustration: "Why do you wait?"]

"Why do you wait?" pleaded Miriam. "At sunset, I tell you. It is now
near it. Oh, no thanks! Do not stop for them, but hasten to them at
once."

He obeyed like one in a dream; but, before he had reached Semple's
store, he had fully realized the actual situation. Semple was just
leaving business. He put his hand on him, and said, "Elder, no time have
you to lose. At sunset, Neil and that d---- English soldier a duel are to
fight."

"Eh? Where? Who told you?"

"On the Kalchhook Hill. Stay not for a moment's talk."

"Run for your father, Bram. Run, my lad. Get Van Gaasbeeck's light
wagon as you go, and ask your mother for a mattress. Dinna stand
glowering at me, but awa' with you. I'll tak' twa o' my ain lads and my
ain wagon, and be there instanter. God help me! God spare the lad!"

At that moment Neil and Hyde were on their road to the fatal spot. Neil
had been gathering anger all day; Hyde, a vague regret. The folly of
what they were going to do was clear to both; but Neil was dominated by
a fury of passion, which made the folly a revengeful joy. If there had
been any thought of an apology in Hyde's heart, he must have seen its
hopelessness in the white wrath of Neil's face, and the calm
deliberation with which he assumed and prepared for a fatal termination
of the affair.

The sun dropped as the seconds measured off the space and offered the
lot for the standing ground. Then Neil flung off his coat and waistcoat,
and stood with bared breast on the spot his second indicated. This
action had been performed in such a passion of hurry, that he was
compelled to watch Hyde's more calm and leisurely movements. He removed
his fine scarlet coat and handed it to Captain Earle, and would then
have taken his sword; but Beekman advanced to remove also his waistcoat.
The suspicion implied by this act roused the soldier's indignation. "Do
you take me to be a person of so little honour?" he passionately asked;
and then with his own hands he tore off the richly embroidered satin
garment, and by so doing exposed what perhaps some delicate feeling had
made him wish to conceal,--a bow of orange ribbon which he wore above
his heart.

The sight of it to Neil was like oil flung upon flame. He could scarcely
restrain himself until the word "_go_" gave him license to charge Hyde,
which he did with such impetuous rage, that it was evident he cared less
to preserve his own life, than to slay his enemy.

Hyde was an excellent swordsman, and had fought several duels; but he
was quite disconcerted by the deadly reality of Neil's attack. In the
second thrust, his foot got entangled in a tuft of grass; and, in
evading a lunge aimed at his heart, he fell on his right side.
Supporting himself, however, on his sword hand, he sprang backwards with
great dexterity, and thus escaped the probable death-blow. But, as he
was bleeding from a wound in the throat, his second interfered, and
proposed a reconciliation. Neil angrily refused to listen. He declared
that he "had not come to enact a farce;" and then, happening to glance
at the ribbon on Hyde's breast, he swore furiously, "He would make his
way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just
anger."

[Illustration: The swords of both men sprung from their hands]

Up to this point, there had been in Hyde's mind a latent disinclination
to slay Neil. After it, he flung away every kind memory; and the fight
was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until there ensued one of
those close locks which it was evident nothing but "the key of the body
could open." In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of both
men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with
the force. Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both,
bleeding and exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that
moment Van Heemskirk and Semple, with their attendants, reached the spot.

Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men,--Van
Heemskirk facing Hyde, and the elder his son. "Neil, you dear lad, you
born fool, gie me your weapon instanter, sir!" But there was no need to
say another word. Neil fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall
a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Hyde's breast; for Hyde
had also dropped fainting to the ground, bleeding from at least half a
dozen wounds. Then one of Semple's young men, who had probably defined
the cause of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made
as if he would pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson
in Hyde's blood.

But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away. "To touch it would be
the vilest theft," he said. "His own it is. With his life he has bought
it."

[Illustration: Tail-piece]

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

VII.

"_I know I felt Love's face
Pressed on my neck, with moan of pity and grace,
Till both our heads were in his aureole_."

The news of the duel spread with the proverbial rapidity of evil news.
At the doors of all the public houses, in every open shop, on every
private stoop, and at the street-corners, people were soon discussing
the event, with such additions and comments as their imaginations and
prejudices suggested. One party insisted that lawyer Semple was dead;
another, that it was the English officer; a third, that both died as
they were being carried from the ground.

Batavius, who had lingered to the last moment at the house which he was
building, heard the story from many a lip as he went home. He was
bitterly indignant at Katherine. He felt, indeed, as if his own
character for morality of every kind had been smirched by his intended
connection with her. And his Joanna! How wicked Katherine had been not
to remember that she had a sister whose spotless name would be tarnished
by her kinship! He was hot with haste and anger when he reached Van
Heemskirk's house.

Madam stood with Joanna on the front-stoop, looking anxiously down the
road. She was aware that Bram had called for his father, and she had
heard them leave the house together in unexplained haste. At first, the
incident did not trouble her much. Perhaps one of the valuable Norman
horses was sick, or there was an unexpected ship in, or an unusually
large order. Bram was a young man who relied greatly on his father. She
only worried because supper must be delayed an hour, and that delay
would also keep back the completion of that exquisite order in which it
was her habit to leave the house for the sabbath rest.

After some time had elapsed, she went upstairs, and began to lay out the
clean linen and the kirk clothes. Suddenly she noticed that it was
nearly dark; and, with a feeling of hurry and anxiety, she remembered
the delayed meal. Joanna was on the front-stoop watching for Batavius,
who was also unusually late; and, like many other loving women, she
could think of nothing good which might have detained him, but her heart
was full only of evil apprehensions.

"Where is Katherine?" That was the mother's first question, and she
called her through the house. From the closed best parlour, Katherine
came, white and weeping.

"What is the matter, then, that you are crying? And why into the dark
room go you?"

"Full of sorrow I am, mother, and I went to the room to pray to God; but
I cannot pray."

"'Full of sorrow.' Yes, for that Englishman you are full of sorrow. And
how can you pray when you are disobeying your good father? God will not
hear you."

The mother was not pitiless; but she was anxious and troubled, and
Katherine's grief irritated her at the moment. "Go and tell Dinorah to
bring in the tea. The work of the house must go on," she muttered. "And
I think, that it was Saturday night Joris might have remembered."

Then she went back to Joanna, and stood with her, looking through the
gray mist down the road, and feeling even the croaking of the frogs and
the hum of the insects to be an unusual provocation. Just as Dinorah
said, "The tea is served, madam," the large figure of Batavius loomed
through the gathering grayness; and the women waited for him. He came up
the steps without his usual greeting; and his face was so injured and
portentous that Joanna, with a little cry, put her arms around his neck.
He gently removed them.

"No time is this, Joanna, for embracing. A great disgrace has come to
the family; and I, who have always stood up for morality, must bear it
too."

"Disgrace! The word goes not with our name, Batavius; and what mean you,
then? In one word, speak."

But Batavius loved too well any story that was to be wondered over, to
give it in a word; though madam's manner snubbed him a little, and he
said, with less of the air of a wronged man,--

"Well, then, Neil Semple and Captain Hyde have fought a duel. That is
what comes of giving way to passion. I never fought a duel. No one
should make me. It is a fixed principle with me."

"But what? And how?"

"With swords they fought. Like two devils they fought, as if to pieces
they would cut each other."

"Poor Neil! His fault I am sure it was not."

"Joanna! Neil is nearly dead. If he had been in the right, he would not
be nearly dead. The Lord does not forsake a person who is in the right
way."

In the hall behind them Katherine stood. The pallor of her face, the
hopeless droop of her white shoulders and arms, were visible in its
gloomy shadows. Softly as a spirit she walked as she drew nearer to
them.

"And the Englishman? Is he hurt?"

"Killed. He has at least twenty wounds. Till morning he will not live.
It was the councillor himself who separated the men."

"My good Joris, it was like him."

For a moment Katherine's consciousness reeled. The roar of the ocean
which girds our life round was in her ears, the feeling of chill and
collapse at her heart. But with a supreme will she took possession of
herself. "Weak I will not be. All I will know. All I will suffer." And
with these thoughts she went back to the room, and took her place at the
table. In a few minutes the rest followed. Batavius did not speak to
her. It was also something of a cross to him that madam would not talk
of the event. He did not think that Katherine deserved to have her
ill-regulated feelings so far considered, and he had almost a sense of
personal injury in the restraint of the whole household.

He had anticipated madam's amazement and shock. He had felt a just
satisfaction in the suffering he was bringing to Katherine. He had
determined to point out to Joanna the difference between herself and her
sister, and the blessedness of her own lot in loving so respectably and
prudently as she had done. But nothing had happened as he expected. The
meal, instead of being pleasantly lengthened over such dreadful
intelligence, was hurried and silent. Katherine, instead of making
herself an image of wailing or unconscious remorse, sat like other
people at the table, and pretended to drink her tea.

It was some comfort that after it Joanna and he could walk in the
garden, and talk the affair thoroughly over. Katherine watched them
away, and then she fled to her room. For a few minutes she could let her
sorrow have way, and it would help her to bear the rest. And oh, how she
wept! She took from their hiding-place the few letters her lover had
written her, and she mourned over them as women mourn in such
extremities. She kissed the words with passionate love; she vowed, amid
her broken ejaculations of tenderness, to be faithful to him if he
lived, to be faithful to his memory if he died. She never thought of
Neil; or, if she did, it was with an anger that frightened her. In the
full tide of her anguish, Lysbet stood at the door. She heard the
inarticulate words of woe, and her heart ached for her child. She had
followed her to give her comfort, to weep with her; but she felt that
hour that Katherine was no more a child to be soothed with her mother's
kiss. She had become a woman, and a woman's sorrow had found her.

[Illustration: Oh, how she wept!]

It was near ten o'clock when Joris came home. His face was troubled, his
clothing disarranged and blood-stained; and Lysbet never remembered to
have seen him so completely exhausted. "Bram is with Neil," he said; "he
will not be home."

"And thou?"

"I helped them carry--the other. To the 'King's Arms' we took him. A
strong man was needed until their work the surgeons had done. I stayed;
that is all."

"Live will he?"

"His right lung is pierced clean through. A bad wound in the throat he
has. At death's door is he, from loss of the blood. But then, youth he
has, and a great spirit, and hope. I wish not for his death, my God
knows."

"Neil, what of him?"

"Unconscious he was when I left him at his home. I stayed not there. His
father and his mother were by his side; Bram also. Does Katherine know?"

"She knows."

"How then?"

"O Joris, if in her room thou could have heard her crying! My heart for
her aches, the sorrowful one!"

"See, then, that this lesson she miss not. It is a hard one, but learn
it she must. If thy love would pass it by, think this, for her good it
is. Many bitter things are in it. What unkind words will now be said!
Also, my share in the matter I must tell in the kirk session; and
Dominie de Ronde is not one slack in giving the reproof. With our own
people a disgrace it will be counted. Can I not hear Van Vleek grumble,
'Well, now, I hope Joris Van Heemskirk has had enough of his fine
English company;' and Elder Brouwer will say, 'He must marry his
daughter to an Englishman; and, see, what has come of it;' and that evil
old woman, Madam Van Corlaer, will shake her head and whisper, 'Yes,
neighbours, and depend upon it, the girl is of a light mind and bad
morals, and it is her fault; and I shall take care my nieces to her
speak no more.' So it will be; Katherine herself will find it so."

"The poor child! Sorry am I she ever went to Madam Semple's to see Mrs.
Gordon. If thy word I had taken, Joris!"

"If my word the elder also had taken. When first, he told me that his
house he would offer to the Gordons, I said to him, 'So foolish art
them! In the end, what does not fit will fight.' If to-night them could
have seen Mistress Gordon when she heard of her nephew's hurt. Without
one word of regret, without one word of thanks, and in a great passion,
she left the house. For Neil she cared not. 'He had been ever an envious
kill-joy. He had ever hated her dear Dick. He had ever been jealous of
any one handsomer than himself. He was a black dog in the manger; and
she hoped, with all her heart, that Dick had done for him.' Beside
herself with grief and passion she was, or the elder had not borne so
patiently her words."

"As her own son, she loved him."

"Yea, Lysbet; but _just_ one should be. Weary and sad am I to-night."

The next morning was the sabbath, and many painful questions suggested
themselves to Joris and Lysbet Van Heemskirk. Joris felt that he must
not take his seat among the deacons until he had been fully exonerated
of all blame of blood-guiltiness by the dominie and his elders and
deacons in full kirk session. Madam could hardly endure the thought of
the glances that would be thrown at her daughter, and the probable
slights she would receive. Batavius plainly showed an aversion to being
seen in Katherine's company. But these things did not seem to Joris a
sufficient reason for neglecting worship. He thought it best for people
to face the unpleasant consequences of wrong-doing; and he added, "In
trouble also, my dear ones, where should we go but into the house of the
good God?"

Katherine had not spoken during the discussion but, when it was over,
she said, "_Mijn vader, mijn moeder_, to-day I cannot go! For me have
some pity. The dominie I will speak to first; and what he says, I will
do."

"Between me and thy _moeder_ thou shalt be."

"Bear it I cannot. I shall fall down, I shall be ill; and there shall be
shame and fear, and the service to make stop, and then more wonder and
more talk, and the dominie angry also! At home I am the best."

"Well, then, so it shall be."

But Joris was stern to Katherine, and his anger added the last
bitterness to her grief. No one had said a word of reproach to her; but,
equally, no one had said a word of pity. Even Joanna was shy and cold,
for Batavius had made her feel that one's own sister may fall below
moral par and sympathy. "If either of the men die," he had said, "I
shall always consider Katherine guilty of murder; and nowhere in the
Holy Scriptures are we told to forgive murder, Joanna. And even while
the matter is uncertain, is it not right to be careful? Are we not told
to avoid even the appearance of evil?" So that, with this charge before
him, Batavius felt that countenancing Katherine in any way was not
keeping it.

And certainly the poor girl might well fear the disapproval of the
general public, when her own family made her feel her fault so keenly.
The kirk that morning would have been the pillory to her. She was
unspeakably grateful for the solitude of the house, for space and
silence, in which she could have the relief of unrestrained weeping.
About the middle of the morning, she heard Bram's footsteps. She divined
_why_ he had come home, and she shrank from meeting him until he removed
the clothing he had worn during the night's bloody vigil. Bram had not
thought of Katherine's staying from kirk; and when she confronted him,
so tear-stained and woe-begone, his heart was full of pity for her. "My
poor little Katherine!" he said; and she threw her arms around his neck,
and sobbed upon his breast as if her heart would break.

[Illustration: "O Bram! is he dead?"]

"_Mijn kleintje_, who has grieved thee?"

"O Bram! is he dead?"

"Who? Neil? I think he will get well once more."

"What care I for Neil? The wicked one! I wish that he might die. Yes,
that I do."

"Whish!--to say that is wrong."

"Bram! Bram! A little pity give me. It is the other one. Hast thou
heard?"

"How can he live? Look at that sorrow, dear one, and ask God to forgive
and help thee."

"No, I will not look at it. I will ask God every moment that he may get
well. Could I help that I should love him? So kind, so generous, is he!
Oh, my dear one, my dear one, would I had died for thee!"

Bram was much moved. Within the last twenty-four hours he had begun to
understand the temptation in which Katherine had been; begun to
understand that love never asks, 'What is thy name? Of what country art
thou? Who is thy father?' He felt that so long as he lived he must
remember Miriam Cohen as she stood talking to him in the shadowy store.
Beauty like hers was strange and wonderful to the young Dutchman. He
could not forget her large eyes, soft and brown as gazelle's; the warm
pallor and brilliant carnation of her complexion; her rosy, tender
mouth; her abundant black hair, fastened with large golden pins, studded
with jewels. He could not forget the grace of her figure, straight and
slim as a young palm-tree, clad in a plain dark garment, and a
neckerchief of white India silk falling away from her exquisite throat.
He did not yet know that he was in love; he only felt how sweet it was
to sit still and dream of the dim place, and the splendidly beautiful
girl standing among its piled-up furniture and its hanging draperies.
And this memory of Miriam made him very pitiful to Katherine.

"Every one is angry at me, Bram, even my father; and Batavius will not
sit on the chair at my side; and Joanna says a great disgrace I have
made for her. And thou? Wilt thou also scold me? I think I shall die of
grief."

"Scold thee, thou little one? That I will not. And those that are angry
with thee may be angry with me also. And if there is any comfort I can
get thee, tell thy brother Bram. He will count thee first, before all
others. How could they make thee weep? Cruel are they to do so. And as
for Batavius, mind him not. Not much I think of Batavius! If he says
this or that to thee, I will answer him."

"Bram! my Bram! my brother! There is one comfort for me,--if I knew that
he still lived; if one hope thou could give me!"

"What hope there is, I will go and see. Before they are back from kirk,
I will be back; and, if there is good news, I will be glad for thee."

Not half an hour was Bram away; and yet, to the miserable girl, how
grief and fear lengthened out the moments! She tried to prepare herself
for the worst; she tried to strengthen her soul even for the message of
death. But very rarely is any grief as bad as our own terror of it. When
Bram came back, it was with a word of hope on his lips.

"I have seen," he said, "who dost thou think?--the Jew Cohen. He of all
men, he has sat by Captain Hyde's side all night; and he has dressed the
wound the English surgeon declared 'beyond mortal skill.' And he said to
me, 'Three times, in the Persian desert, I have cured wounds still
worse, and the Holy One hath given me the power of healing; and, if He
wills, the young man shall recover.' That is what he said, Katherine."

"Forever I will love the Jew. Though he fail, I will love him. So kind
he is, even to those who have not spoken well, nor done well, to him."

"So kind, also, was the son of David to all of us. Now, then, go wash
thy face, and take comfort and courage."

"Bram, leave me not."

"There is Neil. We have been companions; and his father and his mother
are old, and need me."

"Also, I need thee. All the time they will make me to feel how wicked is
Katherine Van Heemskirk!"

At this moment the family returned from the morning service, and Bram
rather defiantly drew his sister to his side. Joris was not with them.
He had stopped at the "King's Arms" to ask if Captain Hyde was still
alive; for, in spite of everything, the young man's heroic cheerfulness
in the agony of the preceding night had deeply touched Joris. No one
spoke to Katherine; even her mother was annoyed and humiliated at the
social ordeal through which they had just passed, and she thought it
only reasonable that the erring girl should be made to share the trial.
Batavius, however, had much curiosity; and his first thought on seeing
Bram at home was, "Neil is of course dead, and Bram is of no further
use;" and, in the tone of one personally injured by such a fatality, he
ejaculated,--

"So it is the end, then. On the sabbath day Neil has gone. If it should
be the sabbath day in the other world,--which is likely,--it will be the
worse for Neil."

"What mean you?"

"Is not Neil Semple dead?"

"No. I think, also, that he will live."

"I am glad. It is good for Katherine."

"I see it not."

"Well, then, if he dies, is it not Katherine's fault?"

"Heaven and hell! No! Katherine is not to blame."

"All respectable and moral people will say so."

"Better for them not to say so. If I hear of it, then I will make them
say it to my face."

"Then? Well?"

"I have my hands and my feet, for them--to punish their tongues."

"And the kirk session?"

"Oh, I care not! What is the kirk session to my little Katherine?
Batavius, if man or woman you hear speak ill of her, tell them it is not
Katherine, but Bram Van Heemskirk, that will bring everything back to
them. What words I say, them I mean."

"Oh, yes! And mind this, Bram, the words I think, them words I will say,
whether you like them or like them not."

"As the wind you bluster,--on the sabbath day, also. In your ship I sail
not, Batavius. Good-by, then, Katherine; and if any are unkind to thee,
tell thy brother. For thou art right, and not wrong."

But, though Bram bravely championed his sister, he could not protect her
from those wicked innuendoes disseminated for the gratification of the
virtuous; nor from those malicious regrets of very good people over
rumours which they declare to "be incredible," and yet which,
nevertheless, they "unfortunately believe to be too true." The Scotch
have a national precept which says, "Never speak ill of the dead."
Would it not be much better to speak no ill of the living? Little could
it have mattered to Madam Bogardus or Madam Stuyvesant what a lot of
silly people said of them in Pearl Street or Maiden Lane, a century
after their death; but poor Katherine Van Heemskirk shivered and
sickened in the presence of averted eyes and uplifted shoulders, and in
that chill atmosphere of disapproval which separated her from the
sympathy and confidence of her old friends and acquaintances.

"It is thy punishment," said her mother, "bear it bravely and patiently.
In a little while, it will be forgot." But the weeks went on, and the
wounded men slowly fought death away from their pillows, and Katherine
did not recover the place in social estimation which she had lost
through the ungovernable tempers of her lovers. For, alas, there are few
social pleasures that have so much vital power as that of exploring the
faults of others, and comparing them with our own virtues!

But nothing ill lasts forever; and in three months Neil Semple was in
his office again, wan and worn with fever and suffering, and wearing his
sword arm in a sling, but still decidedly world-like and life-like. It
was characteristic of Neil that few, even of his intimates, cared to
talk of the duel to him, to make any observations on his absence, or any
inquiries about his health. But it was evident that public opinion was
in a large measure with him. Every young Provincial, who resented the
domineering spirit of the army, felt Hyde's punishment in the light of a
personal satisfaction. Beekman also had talked highly of the unbending
spirit and physical bravery of his principal; and though in the Middle
Kirk the affair was sure to be the subject of a reproof, and of a
suspension of its highest privileges, yet it was not difficult to feel
that sympathy often given to deeds publicly censured, but privately
admired. Joris remarked this spirit with a little astonishment and
dissent. He could not find in his heart any excuse for either Neil or
Hyde; and, when the elder enlarged with some acerbity upon the
requirements of honour among men, Joris offended him by replying,--

"Well, then, Elder, little I think of that 'honour' which runs not with
the laws of God and country."

"Let me tell you, Joris, the 'voice of the people is the voice of God,'
in a measure; and you may see with your ain een that it mair than
acquits Neil o' wrong-doing. Man, Joris! would you punish a fair
sword-fight wi' the hangman?"

"A better way there is. In the pillory I would stand these men of
honour, who of their own feelings think more than of the law of God. A
very quick end that punishment would put to a custom wicked and absurd."

"Weel, Joris, we'll hae no quarrel anent the question. You are a
Dutchman, and hae practical ideas o' things in general. Honour is a
virtue that canna be put in the Decalogue, like idolatry and murder and
theft."

"Say you the Decalogue? Its yea and nay are enough. Harder than any of
God's laws are the laws we make for ourselves. Little I think of their
justice and wisdom. If right was Neil, if wrong was Hyde, honour
punished both. A very foolish law is honour, I think."

"Here comes Neil, and we'll let the question fa' to the ground. There
are wiser men than either you or I on baith sides."

Joris nodded gravely, and turned to welcome the young man. More than
ever he liked him; for, apart from moral and prudential reasons, it was
easy for the father to forgive an unreasonable love for his Katharine.
Also, he was now more anxious for a marriage between Neil and his
daughter. It was indeed the best thing to fully restore her to the
social esteem of her own people; for by making her his wife, Neil would
most emphatically exonerate her from all blame in the quarrel. Just this
far, and no farther, had Neil's three months' suffering aided his
suit,--he had now the full approval of Joris, backed by the weight of
this social justification.

But, in spite of these advantages, he was really much farther away from
Katherine. The three months had been full of mental suffering to her,
and she blamed Neil entirely for it. She had heard from Bram the story
of the challenge and the fight; heard how patiently Hyde had parried
Neil's attack rather than return it, until Neil had so passionately
refused any satisfaction less than his life; heard, also, how even at
the point of death, fainting and falling, Hyde had tried to protect her
ribbon at his breast. She never wearied of talking with Bram on the
subject; she thought of it all day, dreamed of it all night.

And she knew much more about it than her parents or Joanna supposed.
Bram had easily fallen into the habit of calling at Cohen's to ask
after his patient. He would have gone for his sister's comfort alone,
but it was also a great pleasure to himself. At first he saw Miriam
often; and, when he did, life became a heavenly thing to Bram Van
Heemskirk. And though latterly it was always the Jew himself who
answered his questions, there was at least the hope that Miriam would be
in the store, and lift her eyes to him, or give him a smile or a few
words of greeting. Katherine very soon suspected how matters stood with
her brother, and gratitude led her to talk with him about the lovely
Jewess. Every day she listened with apparent interest to his
descriptions of Miriam, as he had seen her at various times; and every
day she felt more desirous to know the girl whom she was certain Bram
deeply loved.

But for some weeks after the duel she could not bear to leave the house.
It was only after both men were known to be recovering, that she
ventured to kirk; and her experience there was not one which tempted her
to try the streets and the stores. However, no interest is a living
interest in a community but politics; and these probably retain their
power because change is their element. People eventually got weary to
death of Neil Semple and Captain Hyde and Katherine Van Heemskirk. The
subject had been discussed in every possible light; and, when it was
known that neither of the men was going to die, gossipers felt as if
they had been somewhat defrauded, and the topic lost every touch of
speculation.

Also, far more important events had now the public attention. During the
previous March, the Stamp Act and the Quartering Act had passed both
houses of Parliament; and Virginia and Massachusetts, conscious of their
dangerous character, had roused the fears of the other Provinces; and a
convention of their delegates was appointed to meet during October in
New York. It was this important session which drew Neil Semple, with
scarcely healed wounds, from his chamber. The streets were noisy with
hawkers crying the detested Acts, and crowded with groups of
stern-looking men discussing them. And, with the prospect of soldiers
quartered in every home, women had a real grievance to talk over; and
Katherine Van Heemskirk's love-affair became an intrusion and a bore, if
any one was foolish enough to name it.

[Illustration: The streets were noisy with hawkers]

It was during this time of excitement that Katherine said one morning,
at breakfast, "Bram wait one minute for me. I am going to do an errand
or two for my mother.

"It is a bad time, Katherine, you have chosen," said Batavius. "Full of
men are the streets, excited men too, and of swaggering British
soldiers, whom it would be a great pleasure to tie up in a halter. The
British I hate,--bullying curs, everyone of them!"

"Well, I know that you hate the British, Batavius. You say so every
hour."

"Katherine!"

"That is so, Joanna."

Madam looked annoyed. Joris rose, and said, "Come then, Katherine, thou
shalt go with me and with Bram both. Batavius need not then fear for
thee."

His voice was so tender that Katherine felt an unusual happiness and
exultation; and she was also young enough to be glad to see the familiar
streets again, and to feel the pulse of their vivid life make her heart
beat quicker.

At Kip's store, Bram left her. She had felt so free and unremarked, that
she said, "Wait not for me, Bram. By myself I will go home. Or perhaps I
might call upon Miriam Cohen. What dost thou think?" And Bram's large,
handsome face flushed like a girl's with pleasure, as he answered, "That
I would like, and there thou could rest until the dinner-hour. As I go
home, I could call for thee."

So, after selecting the goods her mother needed at Kip's, Katherine was
going up Pearl Street, when she heard herself called in a familiar and
urgent voice. At the same moment a door was flung open; and Mrs. Gordon,
running down the few steps, put her hand upon the girl's shoulder.

"Oh, my dear, this is a piece of good fortune past belief! Come into my
lodgings. Oh, indeed you shall! I will have no excuse. Surely you owe
Dick and me some reward after the pangs we have suffered for you."

She was leading Katherine into the house as she spoke; and Katherine had
not the will, and therefore not the power, to oppose her. She placed the
girl by her side on the sofa; she took her hands, and, with a genuine
grief and love, told her all that "poor Dick" had suffered and was still
suffering for her sake.

"It was the most unprovoked challenge, my dear; and Neil Semple behaved
like a savage, I assure you. When Dick was bleeding from half a dozen
wounds, a gentleman would have been satisfied, and accepted the
mediation of the seconds; but Neil, in his blind passion, broke the code
to pieces. A man who can do nothing but be in a rage is a ridiculous and
offensive animal. Have you seen him since his recovery? For I hear that
he has crawled out of his bed again."

"Him I have not seen."

"Gracious powers, miss! Is that all you say, 'Him I have not seen'? Make
me patient with so insensible a creature! Here am I almost distracted
with my three months' anxiety and poor Dick, so gone as to be past
knowledge, breaking his true heart for a sight of you; and you answer me
as if I had asked, 'Pray, have you seen the newspaper to-day?'"

Then Katherine covered her face, and sobbed with a hopelessness and
abandon that equally fretted Mrs. Gordon. "I wish I knew one corner of
this world inaccessible to lovers," she cried. "Of all creatures, they
are the most ridiculous and unreasonable. Now, what are you crying for,
child?"

"If I could only see Richard,--only see him for one moment!"

"That is exactly what I am going to propose. He will get better when he
has seen you. I will call a coach, and we will go at once."

"Alas! Go I dare not. My father and my mother!"

"And Dick,--what of Dick, poor Dick, who is dying for you?" She went to
the door, and gave the order for a coach. "Your lover, Katherine. Child,
have you no heart? Shall I tell Dick you would not come with me?"

"Be not so cruel to me. That you have seen me at all, why need you say?"

"Oh! indeed, miss, do not imagine yourself the only person who values
the truth. Dick always asks me, 'Have you seen her?' 'Tis my humour to
be truthful, and I am always swayed by my inclination. I shall feel it
to be my duty to inform him how indifferent you are. Katherine, put on
your bonnet again. Here also are my veil and cloak. No one will perceive
that it is you. It is the part of humanity, I assure you. Do so much for
a poor soul who is at the grave's mouth."

"My father, I promised him"--

"O child! have six penny worth of common feeling about you. The man is
dying for your sake. If he were your enemy, instead of your true lover,
you might pity him so much. Do you not wish to see Dick?"

"My life for his life I would give."

"Words, words, my dear. It is not your life he wants. He asks only ten
minutes of your time. And if you desire to see him, give yourself the
pleasure. There is nothing more silly than to be too wise to be happy."

While thus alternately urging and persuading Katherine, the coach came,
the disguise was assumed, and the two drove rapidly to the "King's
Arms." Hyde was lying upon a couch which had been drawn close to the
window. But in order to secure as much quiet as possible, he had been
placed in one of the rooms at the rear of the tavern,--a large, airy
room, looking into the beautiful garden which stretched away backward as
far as the river. He had been in extremity. He was yet too weak to
stand, too weak to endure long the strain of company or books or papers.

He heard his aunt's voice and footfall, and felt, as he always did, a
vague pleasure in her advent. Whatever of life came into his chamber of
suffering came through her. She brought him daily such intelligences as
she thought conducive to his recovery; and it must be acknowledged that
it was not always her "humour to be truthful." For Hyde had so craved
news of Katherine, that she believed he would die wanting it; and she
had therefore fallen, without one conscientious scruple, into the
reporter's temptation,--inventing the things which ought to have taken
place, and did not. "For, in faith, Nigel," she said to her husband, in
excuse, "those who have nothing to tell must tell lies."

[Illustration: Katherine was close to his side]

Her reports had been ingenious and diversified. "She had seen Katherine
at one of the windows,--the very picture of distraction." "She had been
told that Katherine was breaking her heart about him;" also, "that Elder
Semple and Councillor Van Heemskirk had quarrelled because Katharine
had refused to see Neil, and the elder blamed Van Heemskirk for not
compelling her obedience." Whenever Hyde had been unusually depressed or
unusually nervous, Mrs. Gordon had always had some such comforting
fiction ready. Now, here was the real Katherine. Her very presence, her
smiles, her tears, her words, would be a consolation so far beyond all
hope, that the girl by her side seemed a kind of miracle to her.

She was far more than a miracle to Hyde. As the door opened, he slowly
turned his head. When he saw _who_ was really there, he uttered a low
cry of joy,--a cry pitiful in its shrill weakness. In a moment Katherine
was close to his side. This was no time for coyness, and she was too
tender and true a woman to feel or to affect it. She kissed his hands
and face, and whispered on his lips the sweetest words of love and
fidelity. Hyde was in a rapture. His joyful soul made his pale face
luminous. He lay still, speechless, motionless, watching and listening
to her.

Mrs. Gordon had removed Katherine's veil and cloak, and considerately
withdrawn to a mirror at the extremity of the room, where she appeared
to be altogether occupied with her own ringlets. But, indeed, it was
with Katherine and Hyde one of those supreme hours when love conquers
every other feeling. Before the whole world they would have avowed their
affection, their pity, and their truth.

Hyde could speak little, but there was no need of speech. Had he not
nearly died for her? Was not his very helplessness a plea beyond the
power of words? She had only to look at the white shadow of humanity
holding her hand, and remember the gay, gallant, handsome soldier who
had wooed her under the water-beeches, to feel that all the love of her
life was too little to repay his devotion. And so quickly, so quickly,
went the happy moments! Ere Katherine had half said, "I love thee," Mrs.
Gordon reminded her that it was near the noon; "and I have an excellent
plan," she continued; "you can leave my veil and cloak in the coach, and
I will leave you at the first convenient place near your home. A

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