Chapter 7

"I know I felt Love's face
Pressed on my neck, with moan of pity and grace,
Till both our heads were in his aureole."



The news of the duel spread with the proverbial rapidity of evil news.
At the doors of all the public houses, in every open shop, on every
private stoop, and at the street-corners, people were soon discussing
the event, with such additions and comments as their imaginations and
prejudices suggested. One party insisted that lawyer Semple was dead;
another, that it was the English officer; a third, that both died as
they were being carried from the ground.

Batavius, who had lingered to the last moment at the house which he was
building, heard the story from many a lip as he went home. He was
bitterly indignant at Katherine. He felt, indeed, as if his own
character for morality of every kind had been smirched by his intended
connection with her. And his Joanna! How wicked Katherine had been not
to remember that she had a sister whose spotless name would be tarnished
by her kinship! He was hot with haste and anger when he reached Van
Heemskirk's house.

Madam stood with Joanna on the front-stoop, looking anxiously down the
road. She was aware that Bram had called for his father, and she had
heard them leave the house together in unexplained haste. At first, the
incident did not trouble her much. Perhaps one of the valuable Norman
horses was sick, or there was an unexpected ship in, or an unusually
large order. Bram was a young man who relied greatly on his father. She
only worried because supper must be delayed an hour, and that delay
would also keep back the completion of that exquisite order in which it
was her habit to leave the house for the sabbath rest.

After some time had elapsed, she went upstairs, and began to lay out the
clean linen and the kirk clothes. Suddenly she noticed that it was
nearly dark; and, with a feeling of hurry and anxiety, she remembered
the delayed meal. Joanna was on the front-stoop watching for Batavius,
who was also unusually late; and, like many other loving women, she
could think of nothing good which might have detained him, but her heart
was full only of evil apprehensions.

"Where is Katherine?" That was the mother's first question, and she
called her through the house. From the closed best parlour, Katherine
came, white and weeping.

"What is the matter, then, that you are crying? And why into the dark
room go you?"

"Full of sorrow I am, mother, and I went to the room to pray to God; but
I cannot pray."

"'Full of sorrow.' Yes, for that Englishman you are full of sorrow. And
how can you pray when you are disobeying your good father? God will not