ddenly the domestic horizon cleared, and then they used
still to say it, because a habit is a habit, but they uttered it half
mechanically now, and added brightly and cheerfully, "But thanks to St.
Bavon and all the saints, there's Gerard."

Young Gerard was for many years of his life a son apart and he was going
into the Church, and the Church could always maintain her children by
hook or by crook in those days: no great hopes, because his family had
no interest with the great to get him a benefice, and the young man's
own habits were frivolous, and, indeed, such as our cloth merchant
would not have put up with in any one but a clerk that was to be. His
trivialities were reading and penmanship, and he was so wrapped up in
them that often he could hardly be got away to his meals. The day
was never long enough for him; and he carried ever a tinder-box and
brimstone matches, and begged ends of candles of the neighbours, which
he lighted at unreasonable hours--ay, even at eight of the clock at
night in winter, when the very burgomaster was abed. Endured at home,
his practices were encouraged by the monks of a neighbouring convent.
They had taught him penmanship, and continued to teach him until one day
they discovered, in the middle of a lesson, that he was teaching them.
They pointed this out to him in a merry way: he hung his head and
blushed: he had suspected as much himself, but mistrusted his judgment
in so delicate a matter. "But, my son," said an elderly monk, "how is
it that you, to whom God has given an eye so true, a hand so subtle yet
firm, and a heart to love these beautiful crafts, how is it you do not
colour as well as write? A scroll looks but barren unless a border of
fruit, and leaves, and rich arabesques surround the good words, and
charm the sense as those do the soul and understanding; to say nothing
of the pictures of holy men and women departed, with which the several
chapters should be adorned, and not alone the eye soothed with the brave
and sweetly blended colours, but the heart lifted by effigies of the
saints in glory. Answer me, my son."

At this Gerard was confused, and muttered that he had made several
trials at illuminating, but had not succeeded well; and thus the matter
rested.

Soon after this a fellow-enthusiast came on the scene in the unwonted
form of an old lady. Margaret, sister and survivor of the brothers Van
Eyck, left Flanders, and came to end her days in her native country. She