a well of self-deception, and what comes up must be immortal truth,
mustn't it? Now, in the first place, no son of Adam ever reads his own
heart at all, except by the habit acquired, and the light gained, from
some years perusal of other hearts; and even then, with his acquired
sagacity and reflected light, he can but spell and decipher his own
heart, not read it fluently. Half way to Sevenbergen Gerard looked into
his own heart, and asked it why he was going to Sevenbergen. His heart
replied without a moment's hesitation, "We are going out of curiosity
to know why she jilted us, and to show her it has not broken our hearts,
and that we are quite content with our honours and our benefice in
prospectu, and don't want her nor ally of her fickle sex."

He soon found out Peter Brandt's cottage; and there sat a girl in the
doorway, plying her needle, and a stalwart figure leaned on a long bow
and talked to her. Gerard felt an unaccountable pang at the sight of
him. However, the man turned out to be past fifty years of age, an old
soldier, whom Gerard remembered to have seen shoot at the butts with
admirable force and skill. Another minute and the youth stood before
them. Margaret looked up and dropped her work, and uttered a faint cry,
and was white and red by turns. But these signs of emotion were swiftly
dismissed, and she turned far more chill and indifferent than she would
if she had not betrayed this agitation.

"What! is it you, Master Gerard? What on earth brings you here, I
wonder?"

"I was passing by and saw you; so I thought I would give you good day,
and ask after your father."

"My father is well. He will be here anon."