and thankfully: "Oh, Margery! if only that
were true!"

So soon as we three were left together, my aunt went to the heart of the
matter at once, saying frankly to what end she had come hither, that she
knew all that Ann had suffered through Herdegen, and how well she
had taken it, and that she had now set her mind on wedding with the
Magister.

And whereas Ann here broke in with a resolute "And that I will!" my
aunt put it to her that she must be off with one or ever she took on
the other lover. Herdegen had come before Master Peter, and the first
question therefor was as to how matters stood with him.

At this Ann humbly besought her to ask nothing concerning him; if my
aunt loved her she would forbear from touching on the scarce-healed
wound. So much as this she said, though with pain and grief; but her
friend was not to be moved, but cried: "And do I not thank Master
Ulsenius when he thrusts his probe to the heart of my evil, when he
cuts or burns it? Have you not gladly approved his saying that the leech
should never despair so long as the sick man's heart still throbs?
Well then, your trouble with Herdegen is sick and sore and lies right
deep...."

But Ann broke in again, crying: "No, no, noble lady, the heart of that
matter has ceased to beat. It is dead and gone for ever!"

"Is it so?" said my aunt coolly. "Still, look it close in the face. Old
Im Hoff--I have read the letter-commands your lover to give you up and
do his bidding. Yet, child, does he take good care not to write this
to you. Finding it over hard to say it himself, he leaves the task to
Margery. And as for that letter; a Lenten jest I called it yestereve;
and so it is verily! Read it once more. Why, it is as dripping with love
as a garment drips when it is fished out of a pool! While he is trying
to shut the door on you he clasps you to his heart. Peradventure his
love never glowed so hotly, and he was never so strongly drawn to you as
when he wrote this paltry stuff to burst the sacred bands which bind you
together. Are you so dull as not to feel this?"

"Nay, I see it right well," cried Ann eagerly, "I knew it when I first
read the letter. But that is the very point! Must not a lover who can
barter away his love for filthy lucre be base indeed? If when he ceased
to be true he had likewise ceased to love, if the fickle Fortunatus had
wearied of his sweetheart--then I could far more easily forgive."

"And do you tell me that your heart ever