"And what will it be when you marry?" cried Catherine. "Gerard can
paint, Gerard can write, but what can you do to keep a woman, ye lazy
loon? Nought but wait for your father's shoon. Oh we can see why you and
Sybrandt would not have the poor boy to marry. You are afraid he will
come to us for a share of our substance. And say that he does, and say
that we give it him, it isn't yourn we part from, and mayhap never will
be."

On these occasions Gerard smiled slily, and picked up heart, and
temporary confusion fell on Catherine's unfortunate allies. But at last,
after more than six months of irritation, came the climax. The father
told the son before the whole family he had ordered the burgomaster
to imprison him in the Stadthouse rather than let him marry Margaret.
Gerard turned pale with anger at this, but by a great effort held his
peace. His father went on to say, "And a priest you shall be before the
year is out, nilly-willy."

"Is it so?" cried Gerard. "Then, hear me, all. By God and St. Bavon I
swear I will never be a priest while Margaret lives. Since force is to
decide it, and not love and duty, try force, father; but force shall not
serve you, for the day I see the burgomaster come for me, I leave Tergou
for ever, and Holland too, and my father's house, where it seems I have
been valued all these years, not for myself, but for what is to be got
out of me."

And he flung out of the room white with anger and desperation.

"There!" cried Catherine, "that comes of driving young folks too hard.
But men are crueller than tigers, even to their own flesh and blood.