said: "My father was exhausted, so I am warming something to give him
strength before we go on."

"What! reduced to feed by the roadside like the Bohemians," said
Ghysbrecht, and his hand went into his purse; but it did not seem at
home there; it fumbled uncertainly, afraid too large a coin might stick
to a finger and come out.

At this moment who should come bounding up but Gerard. He had two straws
in his hand, and he threw himself down by the fire and relieved Margaret
of the cooking part: then suddenly recognizing the burgomaster, he
coloured all over. Ghysbrecht Van Swieten started and glared at him,
and took his hand out of his purse. "Oh!" said he bitterly, "I am
not wanted," and went slowly on, casting a long look of suspicion on
Margaret, and hostility on Gerard, that was not very intelligible.
However, there was something about it that Margaret could read enough
to blush at, and almost toss her head. Gerard only stared with surprise.
"By St. Bavon, I think the old miser grudges us three our quart
of soup," said he. When the young man put that interpretation on
Ghysbrecht's strange and meaning look, Margaret was greatly relieved,
and smiled gaily on the speaker.

Meanwhile Ghysbrecht plodded on, more wretched in his wealth than these
in their poverty. And the curious thing is, that the mule, the purple
housings, and one-half the coin in that plethoric purse, belonged not to
Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, but to that faded old man and that comely girl,
who sat by a roadside fire to be fed by a stranger. They did not know
this; but Ghysbrecht knew it, and carried in his heart a scorpion of
his own begetting; that scorpion is remorse--the remorse that, not
being penitence, is incurable, and ready for fresh misdeeds upon a fresh