# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 1/A good fight - Part 7

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A Good Fight.
BY CHARLES READE.
CHAPTER XIII.
When a man misbehaves, the effect is curious on a girl who loves him sincerely. It makes her pity him. This, to some of us males, seems anything but logical. The fault is in our own eye, the logic is too swift for us. The girl argues thus:—“How unhappy, how vexed, poor * * * must be; him to misbehave!”
Margaret was full of this sweet womanly pity, when, to her great surprise, scarce an hour and a half after he left her, Gerard came running back to her with the fragments of a picture in his hand, and panting with anger and grief.
“There, Margaret! see! see! the wretches! Look at their spite! They have cut your portrait to pieces.”
Margaret looked. And, sure enough, some malicious hand had cut her portrait into five pieces. She was a good girl, but she was not ice; she turned red to her very forehead.
“Who did it?”
“Nay, I know not. I dared not ask; for I should hate the hand that did it, ay, till my dying day. My poor Margaret! The beasts! the ruffians! Six months’ work cut out of my life, and nothing to show for it now. See, they have hacked through your very face—the sweet face that everyone loves who knows it. O, heartless, merciless vipers!”
“Never mind, Gerard,” said Margaret, panting. “Since this is how they treat you for my sake—you rob him of my portrait, do you! Well, then I give him the original.”
“O, Margaret!”
“Yes, Gerard; since they are so cruel, I will be the kinder: forgive me for refusing you. I will be your wife—to-morrow, if it is your pleasure.”
CHAPTER XIV.
The banns of marriage had to be read three times, as with us; but they were read on ​week-days, and the young couple easily persuaded the curé to do the three readings in twenty-four hours: he was new to the place, and their looks spoke volumes in their favour. They were cried on Monday at matins and at vespers; and, to their great delight, nobody from Tergou was in the church. The next morning they were both there palpitating with anxiety, when, to their horror, a stranger stood up and forbade the banns, on the score that the parties were not of age, and their parents not consenting.
Outside the church door, Margaret and Gerard held a trembling and almost despairing consultation; but, before they could settle anything, the man who had done them so ill a turn approached, and gave them to understand that he was very sorry to interfere; that his inclination was to further the happiness of the young: but that in point of fact his only means of getting a living was by forbidding banns: what then? The young people give me a crown, and I undo my work handsomely; tell the curé I was misinformed; and all goes smoothly.
“A crown? I will give you a golden angel to do this,” said Gerard, eagerly. The man consented as eagerly, and went with Gerard to the curé, and told him he had made a ridiculous mistake, which a sight of the parties had rectified. On this the curé agreed to marry the young couple next day at ten: and the professional obstructor of bliss went home with Gerard’s angel. Like most of these very clever knaves, he was a fool, and proceeded to drink his angel at a certain hostelry in Tergou, where was a green devoted to archery and the common sports of the day. There, being drunk, he bragged of his day’s exploit; and who should be there, imbibing every word, but a great frequenter of the sport, the ne’er-do-weel Sybrandt. Sybrandt ran home to tell his father; his father was not at home; he was gone to Rotterdam to buy cloth of the merchants. Catching his elder brother’s eye, he made him a signal to come out, and told him what he had heard.
There are black sheep in nearly every large family: and these two were Gerard’s black brothers. Idleness is vitiating: waiting for the death of those we ought to love is vitiating: and these two one-idead curs were ready to tear any one to death that should interfere with that miserable inheritance, which was their thought by day and their dream by night. Their parents’ parsimony was a virtue; it was accompanied by industry, and its motive was love of their offspring: but in these perverse and selfish hearts that homely virtue was perverted into avarice, than which no more fruitful source of crimes is to be found in nature.
They put their heads together, and agreed not to tell their mother, whose sentiments were so uncertain, but to go first to the Burgomaster. They were cunning enough to see that he was averse to the match, though they could not divine why.
Ghysbrecht Van Swieten saw through them at once; but he took care not to let them see through him. He heard their story; and, putting on magisterial dignity and coldness, he said:
“Since the father of the family is not here, his duty devolves on me, who am the father of the town. I know your father’s mind; leave all to me: and, above all, tell no woman a word of all this, least of all the women that are in your own house: for chattering tongues mar the wisest counsels.”
So he dismissed them a little superciliously: he was ashamed of his confederates.
On their return home they found their brother Gerard seated on a low stool at their mother’s knee: she was caressing his hair with her hand, speaking very kindly to him, and promising to take his part with his father and thwart his love no more. The main cause of this change of mind was one that the reader will comprehend, if he has ever known a woman of this kind. It was this. She it was who in a moment of female irritation had cut Margaret’s picture to pieces. She had watched the effect with some misgivings, and had seen Gerard turn pale as death, and sit motionless like a bereaved creature, with the pieces in his hands, and his eyes fixed on them till tears came and blinded them. Then she was terrified at what she had done; and next her heart smote her bitterly; and she wept sore apart: but, being what she was, dared not own it, but said to herself, “I’ll not say a word, but I’ll make it up to him.” And her bowels yearned over her son, and her feeble violence died a natural death, and she was transferring her fatal alliance to Gerard when the two black sheep came in. Gerard knew nothing of the immediate cause; on the contrary, her kindness made this novice ashamed of a suspicion he had for a moment entertained that she was the depredator; and he kissed her again and again, and went to bed happy as a prince to think his mother was his mother once more at the very crisis of his fate.
The next morning, at ten o’clock, Gerard and Margaret were in the church at Sevenbergen—he radiant with joy, she with blushes. Peter was also there, and Martin Wittenhaagen, but no other friend. Secresy was everything. Margaret had declined Italy. She could not leave her father; he was too learned and too helpless. But it was settled they should retire into Flanders for a few weeks until the storm should be blown over at Tergou. The curé did not keep them waiting long, though it seemed an age. Presently he stood at the altar, and called them to him. They went hand in hand, the happiest in Holland. The curé opened his book.
But ere he had uttered a single word of the sacred rite, a harsh voice cried “Forbear!” And the constables of Tergou came up the aisle and seized Gerard in the name of the law. Martin’s long knife flashed out directly.
“Forbear, man!” cried the Priest. “What! draw your weapon in a church! And you who interrupt this holy sacrament—what means this impiety?”
“There is no impiety, father,” said the Burgomaster’s servant respectfully. “This young man would marry against his father’s will, and his father has prayed our Burgomaster to deal with ​Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/144 ​Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/145 ​Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/146