"They were Lutherans to begin wi', Joris."
"My Lysbet is the finest lady in the whole land: let her daughters walk
in her steps. That is what I want. But Neil can come here; I will make
him welcome, and a good girl is to be courted on her father's hearth.
Now, there is enough said, and also there is some one coming."
"It will be Neil and Bram;" and, as the words were spoken, the young men
entered.
"Again you are late, Bram;" and the father looked curiously in his son's
face. It was like looking back upon his own youth; for Bram Van
Heemskirk had all the physical traits of his father, his great size, his
commanding presence and winning address, his large eyes, his deep,
sonorous voice and slow speech. He was well dressed in light-coloured
broadcloth; but Neil Semple wore a coat and breeches of black velvet,
with a long satin vest, and fine small ruffles. He was tall and
swarthy, and had a pointed, rather sombre face. Without speaking much in
the way of conversation, he left an impression always of intellectual
adroitness,--a young man of whom people expected a successful career.
With the advent of Bram and Neil, the consultation ended. The elder,
grumbling at the chill and mist, wrapped himself in his plaid, and
leaning on his son's arm, cautiously picked his way home by the light of
a lantern. Bram drew his chair to the hearth, and sat silently waiting
for any question his father might wish to ask. But Van Heemskirk was not
inclined to talk. He put aside his pipe, nodded gravely to his son, and
went thoughtfully upstairs. At the closed door of his daughters' room,
he stood still a moment. There was a murmur of conversation within it,
and a ripple of quickly smothered laughter. How well his soul could see
the child, with her white, small hands over her mouth, and her bright
hair scattered upon the white pillow!
"Ach, mijn kind, mijn kind! Mijn liefste kind!" he whispered. "God
Almighty keep thee from sin and sorrow!"