But the time came for parting and Denys, with a letter from Gerard to Margaret Brandt, reached Tergon, and found Eli and Catherine and gave them news of their son.  “Many a weary league we trode together,” said Denys.  “Never were truer comrades; never will be while earth shall last.  First I left my route a bit to be with him, then he his to be with me.  We talked of Sevenbergen and Tergon a thousand times, and of all in this house.  We had our troubles on the road, but battling them together made them light.  I saved his life from a bear, he mine in the Rhine; for he swims like a duck, and I like a hod o’ bricks; and we saved one another’s lives at an inn in Burgundy, where we two held a room for a good hour against seven cut-throats, and crippled one and slew two; and your son met the stoutest champion I ever countered, and spitted him like a sucking-pig, else I had not been here.  And at our sad parting, soldier though I be, these eyes did rain salt, scalding tears, and so did his, poor soul.  His last word to me was:  ‘Go, comfort Margaret!’ So here I be.  Mine to him was:  ’Think no more of Rome.  Make for Rhine, and down stream home.’”

Margaret Brandt had removed to Rotterdam, and there was no love lost between her and Catherine; but Gerard’s letter drew them to a reconciliation, and from that day Catherine treated Margaret as her own daughter, and made much of Gerard’s child when it was born.  Eli and his son Richart, now a wealthy merchant, decided that Gerard must be bidden return home on the instant, for they longed to see him, and since he was married to Margaret, it was useless for any further strife on the matter.

But Ghysbrecht, the burgomaster, knew by this time that Gerard had obtained the parchment relating to Peter Brandt’s lands, and was anxious that Gerard should not return.  Cornelis and Sybrandt were also against their brother, and willing to aid the burgomaster in any diabolical adventure.  So a letter was concocted and Margaret Van Eyck’s signature forged to it, and in this letter it was said that Margaret Brandt was dead.

In the meantime, Gerard had reached Rome.  The ship he sailed in was wrecked off the coast between Naples and Rome, and here Gerard was nearly drowned.  He and a Dominican friar clung to a mast when the ship had struck.

It was a terrible situation; one moment they saw nothing, and seemed down in a mere basin of watery hills; the next they caught glimpses of the shore speckled bright with people, who kept throwing up their arms to encourage them.

When they had tumbled along thus a long time, suddenly the friar said quietly:  “I touched the ground.”

“Impossible, father,” said Gerard.  “We are more than a hundred yards from shore.  Prythee, leave not our faithful mast.”