night in winter, when the very burgomaster was abed. Endured at home,
his practices were encouraged by the monks of a neighbouring convent.
They had taught him penmanship, and continued to teach him until one day
they discovered, in the middle of a lesson, that he was teaching them.
They pointed this out to him in a merry way: he hung his head and
blushed: he had suspected as much himself, but mistrusted his judgment
in so delicate a matter. "But, my son," said an elderly monk, "how is
it that you, to whom God has given an eye so true, a hand so subtle yet
firm, and a heart to love these beautiful crafts, how is it you do not
colour as well as write? A scroll looks but barren unless a border of
fruit, and leaves, and rich arabesques surround the good words, and
charm the sense as those do the soul and understanding; to say nothing
of the pictures of holy men and women departed, with which the several
chapters should be adorned, and not alone the eye soothed with the brave
and sweetly blended colours, but the heart lifted by effigies of the
saints in glory. Answer me, my son."

At this Gerard was confused, and muttered that he had made several
trials at illuminating, but had not succeeded well; and thus the matter
rested.

Soon after this a fellow-enthusiast came on the scene in the unwonted
form of an old lady. Margaret, sister and survivor of the brothers Van
Eyck, left Flanders, and came to end her days in her native country. She
bought a small house near Tergou. In course of time she heard of Gerard,
and saw some of his handiwork: it pleased her so well that she sent her
female servant, Reicht Heynes, to ask him to come to her. This led to an
acquaintance: it could hardly be otherwise, for little Tergou had never
held so many as two zealots of this sort before. At first the old lady
damped Gerard's courage terribly. At each visit she fished out of holes