"This young man would marry against his father's will, and
his father has prayed our burgomaster to deal with him according to the
law. Let him deny it if he can."
"Is this so, young man?"
Gerard hung his head.
"We take him to Rotterdam to abide the sentence of the Duke."
At this Margaret uttered a cry of despair, and the young creatures, who
were so happy a moment ago, fell to sobbing in one another's arms so
piteously, that the instruments of oppression drew back a step and were
ashamed; but one of them that was good-natured stepped up under pretence
of separating them, and whispered to Margaret:
"Rotterdam? it is a lie. We but take him to our Stadthouse."
They took him away on horseback, on the road to Rotterdam; and, after a
dozen halts, and by sly detours, to Tergou. Just outside the town they
were met by a rude vehicle covered with canvas. Gerard was put into
this, and about five in the evening was secretly conveyed into the
prison of the Stadthouse. He was taken up several flights of stairs
and thrust into a small room lighted only by a narrow window, with a
vertical iron bar. The whole furniture was a huge oak chest.
Imprisonment in that age was one of the highroads to death. It is
horrible in its mildest form; but in those days it implied cold,
unbroken solitude, torture, starvation, and often poison. Gerard felt he
was in the hands of an enemy.
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