“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.”