The mortgage shall be
foreclosed, Jan, on your wedding-day. I am sorry for your father,
Jan. His creditors, Jan--you have overlooked just one. I am sorry
for him, Jan. Prison has always been his dread. I am sorry even for
you, my young friend. You will have to begin life over again.
Burgomaster Allart is in the hollow of my hand. I have but to say the
word, your ship is mine. I wish you joy of your bride, my young
friend. You must love her very dearly--you will be paying a high
price for her."
It was Nicholas Snyders' grin that maddened Jan. He sought for
something that, thrown straight at the wicked mouth, should silence
it, and by chance his hand lighted on the pedlar's silver flask. In
the same instance Nicholas Snyders' hand had closed upon it also. The
grin had died away.
"Sit down," commanded Nicholas Snyders. "Let us talk further." And
there was that in his voice that compelled the younger man's
obedience.
"You wonder, Jan, why I seek always anger and hatred. I wonder at
times myself. Why do generous thoughts never come to me, as to other
men! Listen, Jan; I am in a whimsical mood. Such things cannot be,
but it is a whim of mine to think it might have been. Sell me your
soul, Jan, sell me your soul, that I, too, may taste this love and
gladness that I hear about.
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