“Then, brother, in that case what hinders that we should ask Him Who can tell you?” said Brant, calmly.

Dirk understood what he meant at once.  “It is a wise thought, and a good one, cousin.  I have the Holy Book; first let us pray, and then we can seek wisdom there.”

“You are rich, indeed,” answered Brant; “sometime you must tell me how and where you came by it.”

“Here in Leyden, if one can afford to pay for them, such goods are not hard to get,” said Dirk; “what is hard is to keep them safely, for to be found with a Bible in your pocket is to carry your own death-warrant.”

Brant nodded.  “Is it safe to show it here?” he asked.

“As safe as anywhere, cousin; the window is shuttered, the door is, or will be, locked, but who can say that he is safe this side of the stake in a land where the rats and mice carry news and the wind bears witness?  Come, I will show you were I keep it,” and going to the mantelpiece he took down a candle-stick, a quaint brass, ornamented on its massive oblong base with two copper snails, and lit the candle.  “Do you like the piece?” he asked; “it is my own design, which I cast and filed out in my spare hours,” and he gazed at the holder with the affection of an artist.  Then without waiting for an answer, he led the way to the door of his sitting-room and paused.

“What is it?” asked Brant.

“I thought I heard a sound, that is all, but doubtless the old vrouw moves upon the stairs.  Turn the key, cousin, so, now come on.”

They entered the sleeping chamber, and having glanced round and made sure that it was empty, and the window shut, Dirk went to the head of the bed, which was formed of oak-panels, the centre one carved with a magnificent coat-of-arms, fellow to that in the fireplace of the sitting-room.  At this panel Dirk began to work, till presently it slid aside, revealing a hollow, out of which he took a book bound in boards covered with leather.  Then, having closed the panel, the two young men returned to the sitting-room, and placed the volume upon the oak table beneath the chandelier.

“First let us pray,” said Brant.

It seems curious, does it not, that two young men as a finale to a dinner party, and a gambling match at which the stakes had not been low; young men who like others had their weaknesses, for one of them, at any rate, could drink too much wine at times, and both being human doubtless had further sins to bear, should suggest kneeling side by side to offer prayers to their Maker before they studied the Scriptures?  But then in those strange days prayer, now so common (and so neglected) an exercise, was an actual luxury.  To these poor hunted men and women it was a joy to be able to kneel and offer thanks and petitions to God, believing themselves to be safe from the sword of those who worshipped otherwise.  Thus it came about that, religion being forbidden, was to them a very real and earnest thing, a thing to be indulged in at every opportunity with solemn and grateful hearts.  So there, beneath the light of the guttering candles, they knelt side by side while Brant, speaking for both of them, offered up a prayer—­a sight touching enough and in its way beautiful.