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diff --git a/5754-0.txt b/5754-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d90e2f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/5754-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17389 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lysbeth, by H. Rider Haggard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Lysbeth + A Tale Of The Dutch + +Author: H. Rider Haggard + +Release Date: August 27, 2002 [eBook #5754] +[Most recently updated: June 4, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYSBETH *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +Lysbeth + +A Tale Of The Dutch + +by H. Rider Haggard + +1901 + + +Contents + + DEDICATION + AUTHOR’S NOTE + + BOOK THE FIRST THE SOWING + CHAPTER I. THE WOLF AND THE BADGER + CHAPTER II. SHE WHO BUYS—PAYS + CHAPTER III. MONTALVO WINS A TRICK + CHAPTER IV. THREE WAKINGS + CHAPTER V. THE DREAM OF DIRK + CHAPTER VI. THE BETROTHAL OF LYSBETH + CHAPTER VII. HENDRIK BRANT HAS A VISITOR + CHAPTER VIII. THE MARE’S STABLE + + BOOK THE SECOND THE RIPENING + CHAPTER IX. ADRIAN, FOY, AND MARTIN THE RED + CHAPTER X. ADRIAN GOES OUT HAWKING + CHAPTER XI. ADRIAN RESCUES BEAUTY IN DISTRESS + CHAPTER XII. THE SUMMONS + CHAPTER XIII. MOTHER’S GIFTS ARE GOOD GIFTS + CHAPTER XIV. SWORD SILENCE RECEIVES THE SECRET + CHAPTER XV. SEÑOR RAMIRO + CHAPTER XVI. THE MASTER + CHAPTER XVII. BETROTHED + CHAPTER XVIII. FOY SEES A VISION + CHAPTER XIX. THE FRAY IN THE SHOT TOWER + CHAPTER XX. IN THE GEVANGENHUIS + CHAPTER XXI. HOW MARTIN TURNED COWARD + CHAPTER XXII. A MEETING AND A PARTING + + BOOK THE THIRD THE HARVESTING + CHAPTER XXIII. FATHER AND SON + CHAPTER XXIV. MARTHA PREACHES A SERMON AND TELLS A SECRET + CHAPTER XXV. THE RED MILL + CHAPTER XXVI. THE BRIDEGROOM AND THE BRIDE + CHAPTER XXVII. WHAT ELSA SAW IN THE MOONLIGHT + CHAPTER XXVIII. ATONEMENT + CHAPTER XXIX. ADRIAN COMES HOME AGAIN + CHAPTER XXX. TWO SCENES + + + + +DEDICATION + + +_In token of the earnest reverence of a man of a later generation for +his character, and for that life work whereof we inherit the fruits +to-day, this tale of the times he shaped is dedicated to the memory of +one of the greatest and most noble-hearted beings that the world has +known; the immortal William, called the Silent, of Nassau._ + + + + +AUTHOR’S NOTE + + +There are, roughly, two ways of writing an historical romance—the first +to choose some notable and leading characters of the time to be +treated, and by the help of history attempt to picture them as they +were; the other, to make a study of that time and history with the +country in which it was enacted, and from it to deduce the necessary +characters. + +In the case of “Lysbeth” the author has attempted this second method. +By an example of the trials, adventures, and victories of a burgher +family of the generation of Philip II. and William the Silent, he +strives to set before readers of to-day something of the life of those +who lived through perhaps the most fearful tyranny that the western +world has known. How did they live, one wonders; how is it that they +did not die of very terror, those of them who escaped the scaffold, the +famine and the pestilence? + +This and another—Why were such things suffered to be?—seem problems +worth consideration, especially by the young, who are so apt to take +everything for granted, including their own religious freedom and +personal security. How often, indeed, do any living folk give a +grateful thought to the forefathers who won for us these advantages, +and many others with them? + +The writer has sometimes heard travellers in the Netherlands express +surprise that even in an age of almost universal decoration its noble +churches are suffered to remain smeared with melancholy whitewash. +Could they look backward through the centuries and behold with the +mind’s eye certain scenes that have taken place within these very +temples and about their walls, they would marvel no longer. Here we are +beginning to forget the smart at the price of which we bought +deliverance from the bitter yoke of priest and king, but yonder the +sword bit deeper and smote more often. Perhaps that is why in Holland +they still love whitewash, which to them may be a symbol, a perpetual +protest; and remembering stories that have been handed down as +heirlooms to this day, frown at the sight of even the most modest +sacerdotal vestment. Those who are acquainted with the facts of their +history and deliverance will scarcely wonder at the prejudice. + + + + +LYSBETH +A TALE OF THE DUTCH + + + + +BOOK THE FIRST +THE SOWING + + + + +CHAPTER I +THE WOLF AND THE BADGER + + +The time was in or about the year 1544, when the Emperor Charles V. +ruled the Netherlands, and our scene the city of Leyden. + +Any one who has visited this pleasant town knows that it lies in the +midst of wide, flat meadows, and is intersected by many canals filled +with Rhine water. But now, as it was winter, near to Christmas indeed, +the meadows and the quaint gabled roofs of the city lay buried beneath +a dazzling sheet of snow, while, instead of boats and barges, skaters +glided up and down the frozen surface of the canals, which were swept +for their convenience. Outside the walls of the town, not far from the +Morsch poort, or gate, the surface of the broad moat which surrounded +them presented a sight as gay as it was charming. Just here one of the +branches of the Rhine ran into this moat, and down it came the +pleasure-seekers in sledges, on skates, or afoot. They were dressed, +most of them, in their best attire, for the day was a holiday set apart +for a kind of skating carnival, with sleighing matches, such games as +curling, and other amusements. + +Among these merry folk might have been seen a young lady of two or +three and twenty years of age, dressed in a coat of dark green cloth +trimmed with fur, and close-fitting at the waist. This coat opened in +front, showing a broidered woollen skirt, but over the bust it was +tightly buttoned and surmounted by a stiff ruff of Brussels lace. Upon +her head she wore a high-crowned beaver hat, to which the nodding +ostrich feather was fastened by a jewelled ornament of sufficient value +to show that she was a person of some means. In fact, this lady was the +only child of a sea captain and shipowner named Carolus van Hout, who, +whilst still a middle-aged man, had died about a year before, leaving +her heiress to a very considerable fortune. This circumstance, with the +added advantages of a very pretty face, in which were set two deep and +thoughtful grey eyes, and a figure more graceful than was common among +the Netherlander women, caused Lysbeth van Hout to be much sought after +and admired, especially by the marriageable bachelors of Leyden. + +On this occasion, however, she was unescorted except by a serving woman +somewhat older than herself, a native of Brussels, Greta by name, who +in appearance was as attractive as in manner she was suspiciously +discreet. + +As Lysbeth skated down the canal towards the moat many of the good +burghers of Leyden took off their caps to her, especially the young +burghers, one or two of whom had hopes that she would choose them to be +her cavalier for this day’s fete. Some of the elders, also, asked her +if she would care to join their parties, thinking that, as she was an +orphan without near male relations, she might be glad of their +protection in times when it was wise for beautiful young women to be +protected. With this excuse and that, however, she escaped from them +all, for Lysbeth had already made her own arrangements. + +At that date there was living in Leyden a young man of four or five and +twenty, named Dirk van Goorl, a distant cousin of her own. Dirk was a +native of the little town of Alkmaar, and the second son of one of its +leading citizens, a brass founder by trade. As in the natural course of +events the Alkmaar business would descend to his elder brother, their +father appointed him to a Leyden firm, in which, after eight or nine +years of hard work, he had become a junior partner. While he was still +living, Lysbeth’s father had taken a liking to the lad, with the result +that he grew intimate at the house which, from the first, was open to +him as a kinsman. After the death of Carolus van Hout, Dirk had +continued to visit there, especially on Sundays, when he was duly and +ceremoniously received by Lysbeth’s aunt, a childless widow named Clara +van Ziel, who acted as her guardian. Thus, by degrees, favoured with +such ample opportunity, a strong affection had sprung up between these +two young people, although as yet they were not affianced, nor indeed +had either of them said a word of open love to the other. + +This abstinence may seem strange, but some explanation of their +self-restraint was to be found in Dirk’s character. In mind he was +patient, very deliberate in forming his purposes, and very sure in +carrying them out. He felt impulses like other men, but he did not give +way to them. For two years or more he had loved Lysbeth, but being +somewhat slow at reading the ways of women he was not quite certain +that she loved him, and above everything on earth he dreaded a rebuff. +Moreover he knew her to be an heiress, and as his own means were still +humble, and his expectations from his father small, he did not feel +justified in asking her in marriage until his position was more +assured. Had the Captain Carolus still been living the case would have +been different, for then he could have gone to him. But he was dead, +and Dirk’s fine and sensitive nature recoiled from the thought that it +might be said of him that he had taken advantage of the inexperience of +a kinswoman in order to win her fortune. Also deep down in his mind he +had a sincerer and quite secret reason for reticence, whereof more in +its proper place. + +Thus matters stood between these two. To-day, however, though only with +diffidence and after some encouragement from the lady, he had asked +leave to be his cousin’s cavalier at the ice fete, and when she +consented, readily enough, appointed the moat as their place of +meeting. This was somewhat less than Lysbeth expected, for she wished +his escort through the town. But, when she hinted as much, Dirk +explained that he would not be able to leave the works before three +o’clock, as the metal for a large bell had been run into the casting, +and he must watch it while it cooled. + +So, followed only by her maid, Greta, Lysbeth glided lightly as a bird +down the ice path on to the moat, and across it, through the narrow +cut, to the frozen mere beyond, where the sports were to be held and +the races run. There the scene was very beautiful. + +Behind her lay the roofs of Leyden, pointed, picturesque, and covered +with sheets of snow, while above them towered the bulk of the two great +churches of St. Peter and St. Pancras, and standing on a mound known as +the Burg, the round tower which is supposed to have been built by the +Romans. In front stretched the flat expanse of white meadows, broken +here and there by windmills with narrow waists and thin tall sails, and +in the distance, by the church towers of other towns and villages. + +Immediately before her, in strange contrast to this lifeless landscape, +lay the peopled mere, fringed around with dead reeds standing so still +in the frosty air that they might have been painted things. On this +mere half the population of Leyden seemed to be gathered; at least +there were thousands of them, shouting, laughing, and skimming to and +fro in their bright garments like flocks of gay-plumaged birds. Among +them, drawn by horses with bells tied to their harness, glided many +sledges of wickerwork and wood mounted upon iron runners, their +fore-ends fashioned to quaint shapes, such as the heads of dogs or +bulls, or Tritons. Then there were vendors of cakes and sweetmeats, +vendors of spirits also, who did a good trade on this cold day. Beggars +too were numerous, and among them deformities, who, nowadays, would be +hidden in charitable homes, slid about in wooden boxes, which they +pushed along with crutches. Lastly many loafers had gathered there with +stools for fine ladies to sit on while the skates were bound to their +pretty feet, and chapmen with these articles for sale and straps +wherewith to fasten them. To complete the picture the huge red ball of +the sun was sinking to the west, and opposite to it the pale full moon +began already to gather light and life. + +The scene seemed so charming and so happy that Lysbeth, who was young, +and now that she had recovered from the shock of her beloved father’s +death, light-hearted, ceased her forward movement and poised herself +upon her skates to watch it for a space. While she stood thus a little +apart, a woman came towards her from the throng, not as though she were +seeking her, but aimlessly, much as a child’s toy-boat is driven by +light, contrary winds upon the summer surface of a pond. + +She was a remarkable-looking woman of about thirty-five years of age, +tall and bony in make, with deep-set eyes, light grey of colour, that +seemed now to flash fiercely and now to waver, as though in memory of +some great dread. From beneath a coarse woollen cap a wisp of grizzled +hair fell across the forehead, where it lay like the forelock of a +horse. Indeed, the high cheekbones, scarred as though by burns, +wide-spread nostrils and prominent white teeth, whence the lips had +strangely sunk away, gave the whole countenance a more or less equine +look which this falling lock seemed to heighten. For the rest the woman +was poorly and not too plentifully clad in a gown of black woollen, +torn and stained as though with long use and journeys, while on her +feet she wore wooden clogs, to which were strapped skates that were not +fellows, one being much longer than the other. + +Opposite to Lysbeth this strange, gaunt person stopped, contemplating +her with a dreamy eye. Presently she seemed to recognise her, for she +said in a quick, low voice, the voice of one who lives in terror of +being overheard:— + +“That’s a pretty dress of yours, Van Hout’s daughter. Oh, yes, I know +you; your father used to play with me when I was a child, and once he +kissed me on the ice at just such a fete as this. Think of it! Kissed +me, Martha the Mare,” and she laughed hoarsely, and went on: “Yes, +well-warmed and well-fed, and, without doubt, waiting for a gallant to +kiss you”; here she turned and waved her hand towards the people—“all +well-warmed and well-fed, and all with lovers and husbands and children +to kiss. But I tell you, Van Hout’s daughter, as I have dared to creep +from my hiding hole in the great lake to tell all of them who will +listen, that unless they cast out the cursed Spaniard, a day shall come +when the folk of Leyden must perish by thousands of hunger behind those +walls. Yes, yes, unless they cast out the cursed Spaniard and his +Inquisition. Oh, I know him, I know him, for did they not make me carry +my own husband to the stake upon my back? And have you heard why, Van +Hout’s daughter? Because what I had suffered in their torture-dens had +made my face—yes, mine that once was so beautiful—like the face of a +horse, and they said that ‘a horse ought to be ridden.’” + +Now, while this poor excited creature, one of a whole class of such +people who in those sad days might be found wandering about the +Netherlands crazy with their griefs and sufferings, and living only for +revenge, poured out these broken sentences, Lysbeth, terrified, shrank +back before her. As she shrank the other followed, till presently +Lysbeth saw her expression of rage and hate change to one of terror. In +another instant, muttering something about a request for alms which she +did not wait to receive, the woman had wheeled round and fled away as +fast as her skates would carry her—which was very fast indeed. + +Turning about to find what had frightened her, Lysbeth saw standing on +the bank of the mere, so close that she must have overheard every word, +but behind the screen of a leafless bush, a tall, forbidding-looking +woman, who held in her hand some broidered caps which apparently she +was offering for sale. These caps she began to slowly fold up and place +one by one in a hide satchel that was hung about her shoulders. All +this while she was watching Lysbeth with her keen black eyes, except +when from time to time she took them off her to follow the flight of +that person who had called herself the Mare. + +“You keep ill company, lady,” said the cap-seller in a harsh voice. + +“It was none of my seeking,” answered Lysbeth, astonished into making a +reply. + +“So much the better for you, lady, although she seemed to know you and +to know also that you would listen to her song. Unless my eyes deceived +me, which is not often, that woman is an evil-doer and a worker of +magic like her dead husband Van Muyden; a heretic, a blasphemer of the +Holy Church, a traitor to our Lord the Emperor, and one,” she added +with a snarl, “with a price upon her head that before night will, I +hope, be in Black Meg’s pocket.” Then, walking with long firm steps +towards a fat man who seemed to be waiting for her, the tall, +black-eyed pedlar passed with him into the throng, where Lysbeth lost +sight of them. + +Lysbeth watched them go, and shivered. To her knowledge she had never +seen this woman before, but she knew enough of the times they lived in +to be sure that she was a spy of the priests. Already there were such +creatures moving about in every gathering, yes, and in many a private +place, who were paid to obtain evidence against suspected heretics. +Whether they won it by fair means or by foul mattered not, provided +they could find something, and it need be little indeed, to justify the +Inquisition in getting to its work. + +As for the other woman, the Mare, doubtless she was one of those wicked +outcasts, accursed by God and man, who were called heretics; people who +said dreadful things about the Pope and the Church and God’s priests, +having been misled and stirred up thereto by a certain fiend in human +form named Luther. Lysbeth shuddered at the thought and crossed +herself, for in those days she was an excellent Catholic. Yet the +wanderer said that she had known her father, so that she must be as +well born as herself—and then that dreadful story—no, she could not +bear to think of it. But of course heretics deserved all these things; +of that there could be no doubt whatever, for had not her father +confessor told her that thus alone might their souls be saved from the +grasp of the Evil One? + +The thought was comforting, still Lysbeth felt upset, and not a little +rejoiced when she saw Dirk van Goorl skating towards her accompanied by +another young man, also a cousin of her own on her mother’s side who +was destined in days to come to earn himself an immortal renown—young +Pieter van de Werff. The two took off their bonnets to her, Dirk van +Goorl revealing in the act a head of fair hair beneath which his steady +blue eyes shone in a rather thick-set, self-contained face. Lysbeth’s +temper, always somewhat quick, was ruffled, and she showed it in her +manner. + +“I thought, cousins, that we were to meet at three, and the kirk clock +yonder has just chimed half-past,” she said, addressing them both, but +looking—not too sweetly—at Dirk van Goorl. + +“That’s right, cousin,” answered Pieter, a pleasant-faced and alert +young man, “look at _him_, scold _him_, for he is to blame. Ever since +a quarter past two have I—I who must drive a sledge in the great race +and am backed to win—been waiting outside that factory in the snow, +but, upon my honour, he did not appear until seven minutes since. Yes, +we have done the whole distance in seven minutes, and I call that very +good skating.” + +“I thought as much,” said Lysbeth. “Dirk can only keep an appointment +with a church bell or a stadhuis chandelier.” + +“It was not my fault,” broke in Dirk in his slow voice; “I have my +business to attend. I promised to wait until the metal had cooled +sufficiently, and hot bronze takes no account of ice-parties and sledge +races.” + +“So I suppose that you stopped to blow on it, cousin. Well, the result +is that, being quite unescorted, I have been obliged to listen to +things which I did not wish to hear.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Dirk, taking fire at once. + +Then she told them something of what the woman who called herself the +Mare had said to her, adding, “Doubtless the poor creature is a heretic +and deserves all that has happened to her. But it is dreadfully sad, +and I came here to enjoy myself, not to be sad.” + +Between the two young men there passed a glance which was full of +meaning. But it was Dirk who spoke. The other, more cautious, remained +silent. + +“Why do you say that, Cousin Lysbeth?” he asked in a new voice, a voice +thick and eager. “Why do you say that she deserves all that can happen +to her? I have heard of this poor creature who is called Mother Martha, +or the Mare, although I have never seen her myself. She was noble-born, +much better born than any of us three, and very fair—once they called +her the Lily of Brussels—when she was the Vrouw van Muyden, and she has +suffered dreadfully, for one reason only, because she and hers did not +worship God as you worship Him.” + +“As we worship Him,” broke in Van de Werff with a cough. + +“No,” answered Dirk sullenly, “as our Cousin Lysbeth van Hout worships +Him. For that reason only they killed her husband and her little son, +and drove her mad, so that she lives among the reeds of the Haarlemer +Meer like a beast in its den; yes, they, the Spaniards and their +Spanish priests, as I daresay that they will kill us also.” + +“Don’t you think that it is getting rather cold standing here?” +interrupted Pieter van de Werff before she could answer. “Look, the +sledge races are just beginning. Come, cousin, give me your hand,” and, +taking Lysbeth by the arm, he skated off into the throng, followed at a +distance by Dirk and the serving-maid, Greta. + +“Cousin,” he whispered as he went, “this is not my place, it is Dirk’s +place, but I pray you as you love him—I beg your pardon—as you esteem a +worthy relative—do not enter into a religious argument with him here in +public, where even the ice and sky are two great ears. It is not safe, +little cousin, I swear to you that it is not safe.” + +In the centre of the mere the great event of the day, the sledge races, +were now in progress. As the competitors were many these must be run in +heats, the winners of each heat standing on one side to compete in the +final contest. Now these victors had a pretty prerogative not unlike +that accorded to certain dancers in the cotillion of modern days. Each +driver of a sledge was bound to carry a passenger in the little car in +front of him, his own place being on the seat behind, whence he +directed the horse by means of reins supported upon a guide-rod so +fashioned that it lifted them above the head of the traveller in the +car. This passenger he could select from among the number of ladies who +were present at the games; unless, indeed, the gentleman in charge of +her chose to deny him in set form; namely, by stepping forward and +saying in the appointed phrase, “No, for this happy hour she is mine.” + +Among the winners of these heats was a certain Spanish officer, the +Count Don Juan de Montalvo, who, as it chanced, in the absence on leave +of his captain, was at that date the commander of the garrison at +Leyden. He was a man still young, only about thirty indeed, reported to +be of noble birth, and handsome in the usual Castilian fashion. That is +to say, he was tall, of a graceful figure, dark-eyed, strong-featured, +with a somewhat humorous expression, and of very good if exaggerated +address. As he had but recently come to Leyden, very little was known +about this attractive cavalier beyond that he was well spoken of by the +priests and, according to report, a favourite with the Emperor. Also +the ladies admired him much. + +For the rest everything about him was handsome like his person, as +might be expected in the case of a man reputed to be as rich as he was +noble. Thus his sledge was shaped and coloured to resemble a great +black wolf rearing itself up to charge. The wooden head was covered in +wolf skin and adorned by eyes of yellow glass and great fangs of ivory. +Round the neck also ran a gilded collar hung with a silver shield, +whereon were painted the arms of its owner, a knight striking the +chains from off a captive Christian saint, and the motto of the +Montalvos, “Trust to God and me.” His black horse, too, of the best +breed, imported from Spain, glittered in harness decorated with +gilding, and bore a splendid plume of dyed feathers rising from the +head-band. + +Lysbeth happened to be standing near to the spot where this gallant had +halted after his first victory. She was in the company of Dirk van +Goorl alone—for as he was the driver of one of the competing sledges, +her other cousin, Pieter van de Werff, had now been summoned away. +Having nothing else to do at the moment, she approached and not +unnaturally admired this brilliant equipage, although in truth it was +the sledge and the horse rather than their driver which attracted her +attention. As for the Count himself she knew him slightly, having been +introduced to and danced a measure with him at a festival given by a +grandee of the town. On that occasion he was courteous to her in the +Spanish fashion, rather too courteous, she thought, but as this was the +manner of Castilian dons when dealing with burgher maidens she paid no +more attention to the matter. + +The Captain Montalvo saw Lysbeth among the throng and recognised her, +for he lifted his plumed hat and bowed to her with just that touch of +condescension which in those days a Spaniard showed when greeting one +whom he considered his inferior. In the sixteenth century it was +understood that all the world were the inferiors to those whom God had +granted to be born in Spain, the English who rated themselves at a +valuation of their own—and were careful to announce the fact—alone +excepted. + +An hour or so later, after the last heat had been run, a steward of the +ceremonies called aloud to the remaining competitors to select their +passengers and prepare for the final contest. Accordingly each Jehu, +leaving his horse in charge of an attendant, stepped up to some young +lady who evidently was waiting for him, and led her by the hand to his +sledge. While Lysbeth was watching this ceremony with amusement—for +these selections were always understood to show a strong preference on +behalf of the chooser for the chosen—she was astonished to hear a +well-trained voice addressing her, and on looking up to see Don Juan de +Montalvo bowing almost to the ice. + +“Señora,” he said in Castilian, a tongue which Lysbeth understood well +enough, although she only spoke it when obliged, “unless my ears +deceived me, I heard you admiring my horse and sledge. Now, with the +permission of your cavalier,” and he bowed courteously to Dirk, “I name +you as my passenger for the great race, knowing that you will bring me +fortune. Have I your leave, Señor?” + +Now if there was a people on earth whom Dirk van Goorl hated, the +Spaniards were that people, and if there lived a cavalier who he would +prefer should not take his cousin Lysbeth for a lonely drive, that +cavalier was the Count Juan de Montalvo. But as a young man, Dirk was +singularly diffident and so easily confused that on the spur of the +moment it was quite possible for a person of address to make him say +what he did not mean. Thus, on the present occasion, when he saw this +courtly Spaniard bowing low to him, a humble Dutch tradesman, he was +overwhelmed, and mumbled in reply, “Certainly, certainly.” + +If a glance could have withered him, without doubt Dirk would +immediately have been shrivelled to nothing. To say that Lysbeth was +angry is too little, for in truth she was absolutely furious. She did +not like this Spaniard, and hated the idea of a long interview with him +alone. Moreover, she knew that among her fellow townspeople there was a +great desire that the Count should not win this race, which in its own +fashion was the event of the year, whereas, if she appeared as his +companion it would be supposed that she was anxious for his success. +Lastly—and this was the chiefest sore—although in theory the +competitors had a right to ask any one to whom they took a fancy to +travel in their sledges, in practise they only sought the company of +young women with whom they were on the best of terms, and who were +already warned of their intention. + +In an instant these thoughts flashed through her mind, but all she did +was to murmur something about the Heer van Goorl—— + +“Has already given his consent, like an unselfish gentleman,” broke in +Captain Juan tendering her his hand. + +Now, without absolutely making a scene, which then, as to-day, ladies +considered an ill-bred thing to do, there was no escape, since half +Leyden gathered at these “sledge choosings,” and many eyes were on her +and the Count. Therefore, because she must, Lysbeth took the proferred +hand, and was led to the sledge, catching, as she passed to it through +the throng, more than one sour look from the men and more than one +exclamation of surprise, real or affected, on the lips of the ladies of +her acquaintance. These manifestations, however, put her upon her +mettle. So determining that at least she would not look sullen or +ridiculous, she began to enter into the spirit of the adventure, and +smiled graciously while the Captain Montalvo wrapped a magnificent +apron of wolf skins about her knees. + +When all was ready her charioteer took the reins and settled himself +upon the little seat behind the sleigh, which was then led into line by +a soldier servant. + +“Where is the course, Señor?” Lysbeth asked, hoping that it would be a +short one. + +But in this she was to be disappointed, for he answered: + +“Up to the little Quarkel Mere, round the island in the middle of it, +and back to this spot, something over a league in all. Now, Señora, +speak to me no more at present, but hold fast and have no fear, for at +least I drive well, and my horse is sure-footed and roughed for ice. +This is a race that I would give a hundred gold pieces to win, since +your countrymen, who contend against me, have sworn that I shall lose +it, and I tell you at once, Señora, that grey horse will press me +hard.” + +Following the direction of his glance, Lysbeth’s eye lit upon the next +sledge. It was small, fashioned and painted to resemble a grey badger, +that silent, stubborn, and, if molested, savage brute, which will not +loose its grip until the head is hacked from off its body. The horse, +which matched it well in colour, was of Flemish breed; rather a +raw-boned animal, with strong quarters and an ugly head, but renowned +in Leyden for its courage and staying power. What interested Lysbeth +most, however, was to discover that the charioteer was none other than +Pieter van de Werff, though now when she thought of it, she remembered +he had told her that his sledge was named the Badger. In his choice of +passenger she noted, too, not without a smile, that he showed his +cautious character, disdainful of any immediate glory, so long as the +end in view could be attained. For there in the sleigh sat no fine +young lady, decked out in brave attire, who might be supposed to look +at him with tender eyes, but a little fair-haired mate aged nine, who +was in fact his sister. As he explained afterwards, the rules provided +that a lady passenger must be carried, but said nothing of her age and +weight. + +Now the competitors, eight of them, were in a line, and coming forward, +the master of the course, in a voice that every one might hear, called +out the conditions of the race and the prize for which it was to be +run, a splendid glass goblet engraved with the cross-keys, the Arms of +Leyden. This done, after asking if all were ready, he dropped a little +flag, whereon the horses were loosed and away they went. + +Before a minute had passed, forgetting all her doubts and annoyances, +Lysbeth was lost in the glorious excitement of the moment. Like birds +in the heavens, cleaving the keen, crisp air, they sped forward over +the smooth ice. The gay throng vanished, the dead reeds and stark +bushes seemed to fly away from them. The only sounds in their ears were +the rushing of the wind, the swish of the iron runners, and the hollow +tapping of the hooves of their galloping horses. Certain sledges drew +ahead in the first burst, but the Wolf and the Badger were not among +these. The Count de Montalvo was holding in his black stallion, and as +yet the grey Flemish gelding looped along with a constrained and +awkward stride. When, passing from the little mere, they entered the +straight of the canal, these two were respectively fourth and fifth. Up +the course they sped, through a deserted snow-clad country, past the +church of the village of Alkemaade. Now, half a mile or more away +appeared the Quarkel Mere, and in the centre of it the island which +they must turn. They reached it, they were round it, and when their +faces were once more set homewards, Lysbeth noted that the Wolf and the +Badger were third and fourth in the race, some one having dropped +behind. Half a mile more and they were second and third; another half +mile and they were first and second with perhaps a mile to go. Then the +fight began. + +Yard by yard the speed increased, and yard by yard the black stallion +drew ahead. Now in front of them lay a furlong or more of bad ice +encumbered with lumps of frozen snow that had not been cleared away, +which caused the sleigh to shake and jump as it struck. Lysbeth looked +round. + +“The Badger is coming up,” she said. + +Montalvo heard, and for the first time laid his whip upon the haunches +of his horse, which answered gallantly. But still the Badger came up. +The grey was the stronger beast, and had begun to put out his strength. +Presently his ugly head was behind them, for Lysbeth felt the breath +from his nostrils blowing on her, and saw their steam. Then it was +past, for the steam blew back into her face; yes, and she could see the +eager eyes of the child in the grey sledge. Now they were neck and +neck, and the rough ice was done with. Six hundred yards away, not +more, lay the goal, and all about them, outside the line of the course, +were swift skaters travelling so fast that their heads were bent +forward and down to within three feet of the ice. + +Van de Werff called to his horse, and the grey began to gain. Montalvo +lashed the stallion, and once more they passed him. But the black was +failing, and he saw it, for Lysbeth heard him curse in Spanish. Then of +a sudden, after a cunning glance at his adversary, the Count pulled +upon the right rein, and a shrill voice rose upon the air, the voice of +the little girl in the other sledge. + +“Take care, brother,” it cried, “he will overthrow us.” + +True enough, in another moment the black would have struck the grey +sideways. Lysbeth saw Van de Werff rise from his seat and throw his +weight backward, dragging the grey on to his haunches. By an inch—not +more—the Wolf sleigh missed the gelding. Indeed, one runner of it +struck his hoof, and the high wood work of the side brushed and cut his +nostril. + +“A foul, a foul!” yelled the skaters, and it was over. Once more they +were speeding forward, but now the black had a lead of at least ten +yards, for the grey must find his stride again. They were in the +straight; the course was lined with hundreds of witnesses, and from the +throats of every one of them arose a great cry, or rather two cries. + +“The Spaniard, the Spaniard wins!” said the first cry that was answered +by another and a deeper roar. + +“No, Hollander, the Hollander! The Hollander comes up!” + +Then in the midst of the fierce excitement—bred of the excitement +perhaps—some curious spell fell upon the mind of Lysbeth. The race, its +details, its objects, its surroundings faded away; these physical +things were gone, and in place of them was present a dream, a spiritual +interpretation such as the omens and influences of the times she lived +in might well inspire. What did she seem to see? + +She saw the Spaniard and the Hollander striving for victory, but not a +victory of horses. She saw the black Spanish Wolf, at first triumphant, +outmatch the Netherland Badger. Still, the Badger, the dogged Dutch +badger, held on. + +Who would win? The fierce beast or the patient beast? Who would be the +master in this fight? There was death in it. Look, the whole snow was +red, the roofs of Leyden were red, and red the heavens; in the deep +hues of the sunset they seemed bathed in blood, while about her the +shouts of the backers and factions transformed themselves into a fierce +cry as of battling peoples. All voices mingled in that cry—voices of +hope, of agony, and of despair; but she could not interpret them. +Something told her that the interpretation and the issue were in the +mind of God alone. + +Perhaps she swooned, perhaps she slept and dreamed this dream; perhaps +the sharp rushing air overcame her. At the least Lysbeth’s eyes closed +and her mind gave way. When they opened and it returned again their +sledge was rushing past the winning post. But in front of it travelled +another sledge, drawn by a gaunt grey horse, which galloped so hard +that its belly seemed to lie upon the ice, a horse driven by a young +man whose face was set like steel and whose lips were as the lips of a +trap. + +Could that be the face of her cousin Pieter van de Werff, and, if so, +what passion had stamped that strange seal thereon? She turned herself +in her seat and looked at him who drove her. + +Was this a man, or was it a spirit escaped from doom? Blessed Mother of +Christ! what a countenance! The eyeballs starting and upturned, nothing +but the white of them to be seen; the lips curled, and, between, two +lines of shining fangs; the lifted points of the mustachios touching +the high cheekbones. No—no, it was neither a spirit nor a man, she knew +now what it was; it was the very type and incarnation of the Spanish +Wolf. + +Once more she seemed to faint, while in her ears there rang the +cry—“The Hollander! Outstayed! Outstayed! Conquered is the accursed +Spaniard!” + +Then Lysbeth knew that it was over, and again the faintness overpowered +her. + + + + +CHAPTER II +SHE WHO BUYS—PAYS + + +When Lysbeth’s mind recovered from its confusion she found herself +still in the sledge and beyond the borders of the crowd that was +engaged in rapturously congratulating the winner. Drawn up alongside of +the Wolf was another sleigh of plain make, and harnessed to it a heavy +Flemish horse. This vehicle was driven by a Spanish soldier, with whom +sat a second soldier apparently of the rank of sergeant. There was no +one else near; already people in the Netherlands had learnt to keep +their distance from Spanish soldiers. + +“If your Excellency would come now,” the sergeant was saying, “this +little matter can be settled without any further trouble.” + +“Where is she?” asked Montalvo. + +“Not more than a mile or so away, near the place called Steene Veld.” + +“Tie her up in the snow to wait till to-morrow morning. My horse is +tired and it may save us trouble,” he began, then added, after glancing +back at the crowd behind him and next at Lysbeth, “no, I will come.” + +Perhaps the Count did not wish to listen to condolences on his defeat, +or perhaps he desired to prolong the _tête-à-tête_ with his fair +passenger. At any rate, without further hesitation, he struck his weary +horse with the whip, causing it to amble forward somewhat stiffly but +at a good pace. + +“Where are we going, Señor?” asked Lysbeth anxiously. “The race is over +and I must seek my friends.” + +“Your friends are engaged in congratulating the victor, lady,” he +answered in his suave and courteous voice, “and I cannot leave you +alone upon the ice. Do not trouble; this is only a little matter of +business which will scarcely take a quarter of an hour,” and once more +he struck the horse urging it to a better speed. + +Lysbeth thought of remonstrating, she thought even of springing from +the sledge, but in the end she did neither. To seem to continue the +drive with her cavalier would, she determined, look more natural and +less absurd than to attempt a violent escape from him. She was certain +that he would not put her down merely at her request; something in his +manner told her so, and though she had no longing for his company it +was better than being made ridiculous before half the inhabitants of +Leyden. Moreover, the position was no fault of hers; it was the fault +of Dirk van Goorl, who should have been present to take her from the +sledge. + +As they drove along the frozen moat Montalvo leant forward and began to +chat about the race, expressing regret at having lost it, but using no +angry or bitter words. Could this be the man, wondered Lysbeth as she +listened, whom she had seen deliberately attempt to overthrow his +adversary in a foul heedless of dishonour or of who might be killed by +the shock? Could this be the man whose face just now had looked like +the face of a devil? Had these things happened, indeed, or was it not +possible that her fancy, confused with the excitement and the speed at +which they were travelling, had deceived her? Certainly it seemed to +have been overcome at last, for she could not remember the actual +finish of the race, or how they got clear of the shouting crowd. + +While she was still wondering thus, replying from time to time to +Montalvo in monosyllables, the sledge in front of them turned the +corner of one of the eastern bastions and came to a halt. The place +where it stopped was desolate and lonely, for the town being in a state +of peace no guard was mounted on the wall, nor could any living soul be +found upon the snowy waste that lay beyond the moat. At first, indeed, +Lysbeth was able to see nobody at all, for by now the sun had gone down +and her eyes were not accustomed to the increasing light of the moon. +Presently, however, she caught sight of a knot of people standing on +the ice in a recess or little bay of the moat, and half hidden by a +fringe of dead reeds. + +Montalvo saw also, and halted his horse within three paces of them. The +people were five in number, three Spanish soldiers and two women. +Lysbeth looked, and with difficulty stifled a cry of surprise and fear, +for she knew the women. The tall, dark person, with lowering eyes, was +none other than the cap-seller and Spanish spy, Black Meg. And she who +crouched there upon the ice, her arms bound behind her, her grizzled +locks, torn loose by some rough hand, trailing on the snow—surely it +was the woman who called herself the Mare, and who that very afternoon +spoke to her, saying that she had known her father, and cursing the +Spaniards and their Inquisition. What were they doing here? Instantly +an answer leapt into her mind, for she remembered Black Meg’s +words—that there was a price upon this heretic’s head which before +nightfall would be in her pocket. And why was there a square hole cut +in the ice immediately in front of the captive? Could it be—no, that +was too horrible. + +“Well, officer,” broke in Montalvo, addressing the sergeant in a quiet, +wearied voice, “what is all this about? Set out your case.” + +“Excellency,” replied the man, “it is a very simple matter. This +creature here, so that woman is ready to take oath,” and he pointed to +Black Meg, “is a notorious heretic who has already been condemned to +death by the Holy Office, and whose husband, a learned man who painted +pictures and studied the stars, was burnt on a charge of witchcraft and +heresy, two years ago at Brussels. But she managed to escape the stake, +and since then has lived as a vagrant, hiding in the islands of the +Haarlemer Meer, and, it is suspected, working murder and robbery on any +of Spanish blood whom she can catch. Now she has been caught herself +and identified, and, of course, the sentence being in full force +against her, can be dealt with at once on your Excellency’s command. +Indeed, it would not have been necessary that you should be troubled +about the thing at all had it not been that this worthy woman,” and +again he pointed to Black Meg, “who was the one who waylaid her, pulled +her down and held her till we came, requires your certificate in order +that she may claim the reward from the Treasurer of the Holy +Inquisition. Therefore, you will be asked to certify that this is, +indeed, the notorious heretic commonly known as Martha the Mare, but +whose other name I forget, after which, if you will please to withdraw, +we will see to the rest.” + +“You mean that she will be taken to the prison to be dealt with by the +Holy Office?” queried Montalvo. + +“Not exactly, Excellency,” answered the sergeant with a discreet smile +and a cough. “The prison, I am told, is quite full, but she may start +for the prison and—there seems to be a hole in the ice into which, +since Satan leads the footsteps of such people astray, this heretic +might chance to fall—or throw herself.” + +“What is the evidence?” asked Montalvo. + +Then Black Meg stood forward, and, with the rapidity and unction of a +spy, poured out her tale. She identified the woman with one whom she +had known who was sentenced to death by the Inquisition and escaped, +and, after giving other evidence, ended by repeating the conversation +which she had overheard between the accused and Lysbeth that afternoon. + +“You accompanied me in a fortunate hour, Señora van Hout,” said the +captain gaily, “for now, to satisfy myself, as I wish to be just, and +do not trust these paid hags,” and he nodded towards Black Meg, “I must +ask you upon your oath before God whether or no you confirm that +woman’s tale, and whether or no this very ugly person named the Mare +called down curses upon my people and the Holy Office? Answer, and +quickly, if you please, Señora, for it grows cold here and my horse is +beginning to shiver.” + +Then, for the first time, the Mare raised her head, dragging at her +hair, which had become frozen to the ice, until she tore it free. + +“Lysbeth van Hout,” she cried in shrill, piercing tones, “would you, to +please your Spanish lover, bring your father’s playmate to her death? +The Spanish horse is cold and cannot stay, but the poor Netherland +Mare—ah! she may be thrust beneath the blue ice and bide there till her +bones rot at the bottom of the moat. You have sought the Spaniards, +you, whose blood should have warned you against them, and I tell you +that it shall cost you dear; but if you say this word they seek, then +it shall cost you everything, not only the body, but the spirit also. +Woe to you, Lysbeth van Hout, if you cut me off before my work is done. +I fear not death, nay I welcome it, but I tell you I have work to do +before I die.” + +Now, in an agony of mind, Lysbeth turned and looked at Montalvo. + +The Count was a man of keen perceptions, and understood it all. Leaning +forward, his arm resting on the back of the sledge, as though to +contemplate the prisoner, he whispered into Lysbeth’s ear, so low that +no one else could hear his words. + +“Señora,” he said, “I have no wishes in this matter. I do not desire to +drown that poor mad woman, but if you confirm the spy’s story, drown +she must. At present I am not satisfied, so everything turns upon your +evidence. I do not know what passed between you this afternoon, and +personally I do not care, only, if you should chance to have no clear +recollection of the matter alleged, I must make one or two little +stipulations—very little ones. Let me see, they are—that you will spend +the rest of this evening’s fete in my company. Further, that whenever I +choose to call upon you, your door will be open to me, though I must +remind you that, on three occasions already, when I have wished to pay +my respects, it has been shut.” + +Lysbeth heard and understood. If she would save this woman’s life she +must expose herself to the attentions of the Spaniard, which she +desired least of anything in the world. More, speaking upon her oath in +the presence of God, she must utter a dreadful lie, she who as yet had +never lied. For thirty seconds or more she thought, staring round her +with anguished eyes, while the scene they fell on sank into her soul in +such fashion that never till her death’s day did she forget its aspect. + +The Mare spoke no more, she only knelt searching her face with a stern +and wondering glance. A little to the right stood Black Meg, glaring at +her sullenly, for the blood-money was in danger. Behind the prisoner +were two of the soldiers, one patting his hand to his face to hide a +yawn, while the other beat his breast to warm himself. The third +soldier, who was placed somewhat in front, stirred the surface of the +hole with the shaft of his halbert to break up the thin film of ice +which was forming over it, while Montalvo himself, still leaning +sideways and forwards, watched her eyes with an amused and cynical +expression. And over all, over the desolate snows and gabled roofs of +the town behind; over the smooth blue ice, the martyr and the +murderers; over the gay sledge and the fur-wrapped girl who sat within +it, fell the calm light of the moon through a silence broken only by +the beating of her heart, and now and again by the sigh of a frost-wind +breathing among the rushes. + +“Well, Señora,” asked Montalvo, “if you have sufficiently reflected +shall I administer the oath in the form provided?” + +“Administer it,” she said hoarsely. + +So, descending from the sledge, he stood in front of Lysbeth, and, +lifting his cap, repeated the oath to her, an oath strong enough to +blast her soul if she swore to it with false intent. + +“In the name of God the Son and of His Blessed Mother, you swear?” he +asked. + +“I swear,” she answered. + +“Good, Señora. Now listen to me. Did you meet that woman this +afternoon?” + +“Yes, I met her on the ice.” + +“And did she in your hearing utter curses upon the Government and the +Holy Church, and call upon you to assist in driving the Spaniards from +the land, as this spy, whom I believe is called Black Meg, has borne +witness?” + +“No,” said Lysbeth. + +“I am afraid that is not quite enough, Señora; I may have misquoted the +exact words. Did the woman say anything of the sort?” + +For one second Lysbeth hesitated. Then she caught sight of the victim’s +watching, speculative eyes, and remembered that this crazed and broken +creature once had been a child whom her father had kissed and played +with, and that the crime of which she was accused was that she had +escaped from death at the stake. + +“The water is cold to die in!” the Mare said, in a meditative voice, as +though she were thinking aloud. + +“Then why did you run away from the warm fire, heretic witch?” jeered +Black Meg. + +Now Lysbeth hesitated no longer, but again answered in a monosyllable, +“No.” + +“Then what did she do or say, Señora?” + +“She said she had known my father who used to play with her when she +was a child, and begged for alms, that is all. Then that woman came up, +and she ran away, whereon the woman said there was a price upon her +head, and that she meant to have the money.” + +“It is a lie,” screamed Black Meg in fierce, strident tones. + +“If that person will not be silent, silence her,” said Montalvo, +addressing the sergeant. “I am satisfied,” he went on, “that there is +no evidence at all against the prisoner except the story of a spy, who +says she believes her to be a vagrant heretic of bad character who +escaped from the stake several years ago in the neighbourhood of +Brussels, whither it is scarcely worth while to send to inquire about +the matter. So that charge may drop. There remains the question as to +whether or no the prisoner uttered certain words this afternoon, which, +if she did utter them, are undoubtedly worthy of the death that, under +my authority as acting commandant of this town, I have power to +inflict. This question I foresaw, and that is why I asked the Señora, +to whom the woman is alleged to have spoken the words, to accompany me +here to give evidence. She has done so, and her evidence on oath as +against the statement of a spy woman not on oath, is that no such words +were spoken. This being so, as the Señora is a good Catholic whom I +have no reason to disbelieve, I order the release of the prisoner, whom +for my part I take for nothing more than a crazy and harmless +wanderer.” + +“At least you will detain her till I can prove that she is the heretic +who escaped from the stake near Brussels,” shouted Black Meg. + +“I will do nothing of the sort; the prison here is over-full already. +Untie her arms and let her go.” + +The soldiers obeyed, wondering somewhat, and the Mare scrambled to her +feet. For a moment she stood looking at her deliverer. Then crying, “We +shall meet again, Lysbeth van Hout!” suddenly she turned and sped up a +dyke at extraordinary speed. In a few seconds there was nothing to be +seen of her but a black spot upon the white landscape, and presently +she had vanished altogether. + +“Gallop as you will, Mare, I shall catch you yet,” screamed Black Meg +after her. “And you too, my pretty little liar, who have cheated me out +of a dozen florins. Wait till you are up before the Inquisition as a +heretic—for that’s where you’ll end. No fine Spanish lover will save +you then. So you have gone to the Spanish, have you, and thrown over +your fat-faced burgher; well, you will have enough of Spaniards before +you have done with them, I can tell you.” + +Twice had Montalvo tried to stop this flood of furious eloquence, which +had become personal and might prove prejudicial to his interests, but +without avail. Now he adopted other measures. + +“Seize her,” he shouted to two of the soldiers; “that’s it; now hold +her under water in that hole till I tell you to let her up again.” + +They obeyed, but it took all three of them to carry out the order, for +Black Meg fought and bit like a wild cat, until at last she was thrust +into the icy moat head downwards. When at length she was released, +soaked and shivering, she crept off silently enough, but the look of +fury which she cast at Montalvo and Lysbeth drew from the captain a +remark that perhaps it would have been as well to have kept her under +water two minutes longer. + +“Now, sergeant,” he added, in a genial voice, “it is a cold night, and +this has been a troublesome business for a feast-day, so here’s +something for you and your watch to warm yourselves with when you go +off duty,” and he handed him what in those days was a very handsome +present. “By the way,” he said, as the men saluted him gratefully, +“perhaps you will do me a favour. It is only to take this black horse +of mine to his stable and harness that grey trooper nag to the sledge +instead, as I wish to go the round of the moat, and my beast is tired.” + +Again the men saluted and set to work to change the horses, whereon +Lysbeth, guessing her cavalier’s purpose, turned as though to fly away, +for her skates were still upon her feet. But he was watching. + +“Señora,” he said in a quiet voice, “I think that you gave me the +promise of your company for the rest of this evening, and I am +certain,” he added with a slight bow, “that you are a lady whom nothing +would induce to tell an untruth. Had I not been sure of that I should +scarcely have accepted your evidence so readily just now.” + +Lysbeth winced visibly. “I thought, Señor, that you were going to +return to the fete.” + +“I do not remember saying so, Señora, and as a matter of fact I have +pickets to visit. Do not be afraid, the drive is charming in this +moonlight, and afterwards perhaps you will extend your hospitality so +far as to ask me to supper at your house.” + +Still she hesitated, dismay written on her face. + +“Jufvrouw Lysbeth,” he said in an altered voice, “in my country we have +a homely proverb which says, ‘she who buys, pays.’ You have bought +and—the goods have been delivered. Do you understand? Ah! allow me to +have the pleasure of arranging those furs. I knew that you were the +soul of honour, and were but—shall we say teasing me? Otherwise, had +you really wished to go, of course you would have skated away just now +while you had the opportunity. That is why I gave it you, as naturally +I should not desire to detain you against your will.” + +Lysbeth heard and was aghast, for this man’s cleverness overwhelmed +her. At every step he contrived to put her in the wrong; moreover she +was crushed by the sense that he had justice on his side. She _had_ +bought and she _must_ pay. Why had she bought? Not for any advantage of +her own, but from an impulse of human pity—to save a fellow creature’s +life. And why should she have perjured herself so deeply in order to +save that life? She was a Catholic and had no sympathy with such +people. Probably this person was an Anabaptist, one of that dreadful +sect which practised nameless immoralities, and ran stripped through +the streets crying that they were “the naked Truth.” Was it then +because the creature had declared that she had known her father in her +childhood? To some extent yes, but was not there more behind? Had she +not been influenced by the woman’s invocation about the Spaniards, of +which the true meaning came home to her during that dreadful sledge +race; at the moment, indeed, when she saw the Satanic look upon the +face of Montalvo? It seemed to her that this was so, though at the time +she had not understood it; it seemed to her that she was not a free +agent; that some force pushed her forward which she could neither +control nor understand. + +Moreover—and this was the worst of it—she felt that little good could +come of her sacrifice, or that if good came, at least it would not be +to her or hers. Now she was as a fish in a net, though why it was worth +this brilliant Spaniard’s while to snare her she could not understand, +for she forgot that she was beautiful and a woman of property. Well, to +save the blood of another she had bought, and in her own blood and +happiness, or in that of those dear to her, assuredly she must pay, +however cruel and unjust might be the price. + +Such were the thoughts that passed through Lysbeth’s mind as the strong +Flemish gelding lumbered forward, dragging the sledge at the same +steady pace over rough ice and smooth. And all the while Montalvo +behind her was chatting pleasantly about this matter and that; telling +her of the orange groves in Spain, of the Court of the Emperor Charles, +of adventures in the French wars, and many other things, to which +conversation she made such answer as courtesy demanded and no more. +What would Dirk think, she was wondering, and her cousin, Pieter van de +Werff, whose good opinion she valued, and all the gossips of Leyden? +She only prayed that they might not have missed her, or at least that +they took it for granted that she had gone home. + +On this point, however, she was soon destined to be undeceived, for +presently, trudging over the snow-covered ice and carrying his useless +skates in his hand, they met a young man whom she knew as Dirk’s fellow +apprentice. On seeing them he stopped in front of the sledge in such a +position that the horse, a steady and a patient animal, pulled up of +its own accord. + +“Is the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout there?” he asked anxiously. + +“Yes,” she replied, but before she could say more Montalvo broke in, +inquiring what might be the matter. + +“Nothing,” he answered, “except that she was lost and Dirk van Goorl, +my friend, send me to look for her this way while he took the other.” + +“Indeed. Then, noble sir, perhaps you will find the Heer Dirk van Goorl +and tell him that the Señora, his cousin, is merely enjoying an evening +drive, and that if he comes to her house in an hour’s time he will find +her safe and sound, and with her myself, the Count Juan de Montalvo, +whom she has honoured with an invitation to supper.” + +Then, before the astonished messenger could answer; before, indeed, +Lysbeth could offer any explanation of his words, Montalvo lashed up +the horse and left him standing on the moat bewildered, his cap off and +scratching his head. + +After this they proceeded on a journey which seemed to Lysbeth almost +interminable. When the circuit of the walls was finished, Montalvo +halted at one of the shut gates, and, calling to the guard within, +summoned them to open. This caused delay and investigation, for at +first the sergeant of the guard would not believe that it was his +acting commandant who spoke without. + +“Pardon, Excellency,” he said when he had inspected him with a lantern, +“but I did not think that you would be going the rounds with a lady in +your sledge,” and holding up the light the man took a long look at +Lysbeth, grinning visibly as he recognised her. + +“Ah, he is a gay bird, the captain, a very gay bird, and it’s a pretty +Dutch dickey he is teaching to pipe now,” she heard him call to a +comrade as he closed the heavy gates behind their sleigh. + +Then followed more visits to other military posts in the town, and with +each visit a further explanation. All this while the Count Montalvo +uttered no word beyond those of ordinary compliment, and ventured on no +act of familiarity; his conversation and demeanour indeed remaining +perfectly courteous and respectful. So far as it went this was +satisfactory, but at length there came a moment when Lysbeth felt that +she could bear the position no longer. + +“Señor,” she said briefly, “take me home; I grow faint.” + +“With hunger doubtless,” he interrupted; “well, by heaven! so do I. +But, my dear lady, as you are aware, duty must be attended to, and, +after all, you may have found some interest in accompanying me on a +tour of the pickets at night. I know your people speak roughly of us +Spanish soldiers, but I hope that after this you will be able to bear +testimony to their discipline. Although it is a fete day you will be my +witness that we have not found a man off duty or the worse for drink. +Here, you,” he called to a soldier who stood up to salute him, “follow +me to the house of the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout, where I sup, and lead +this sledge back to my quarters.” + + + + +CHAPTER III +MONTALVO WINS A TRICK + + +Turning up the Bree Straat, then as now perhaps the finest in the town +of Leyden, Montalvo halted his horse before a substantial house fronted +with three round-headed gables, of which the largest—that over the +entrance in the middle—was shaped into two windows with balconies. This +was Lysbeth’s house which had been left to her by her father, where, +until such time as she should please to marry, she dwelt with her aunt, +Clara van Ziel. The soldier whom he had summoned having run to the +horse’s head, Montalvo leapt from his driver’s seat to assist the lady +to alight. At the moment Lysbeth was occupied with wild ideas of swift +escape, but even if she could make up her mind to try it there was an +obstacle which her thoughtful cavalier had foreseen. + +“Jufvrouw van Hout,” he said as he pulled up, “do you remember that you +are still wearing skates?” + +It was true, though in her agitation she had forgotten all about them, +and the fact put sudden flight out of the question. She could not +struggle into her own house walking on the sides of her feet like the +tame seal which old fisherman Hans had brought from northern seas. It +would be too ridiculous, and the servants would certainly tell the +story all about the town. Better for a while longer to put up with the +company of this odious Spaniard than to become a laughing stock in an +attempt to fly. Besides, even if she found herself on the other side of +it, could she shut the door in his face? Would her promise let her, and +would he consent? + +“Yes,” she answered briefly, “I will call my servant.” + +Then for the first time the Count became complimentary in a dignified +Spanish manner. + +“Let no base-born menial hold the foot which it is an honour for an +hidalgo of Spain to touch. I am your servant,” he said, and resting one +knee on the snow-covered step he waited. + +Again there was nothing to be done, so Lysbeth must needs thrust out +her foot from which very delicately and carefully he unstrapped the +skate. + +“What Jack can bear Jill must put up with,” muttered Lysbeth to herself +as she advanced the other foot. Just at that moment, however, the door +behind them began to open. + +“She who buys,” murmured Montalvo as he commenced on the second set of +straps. Then the door swung wide, and the voice of Dirk van Goorl was +heard saying in a tone of relief: + +“Yes, sure enough it is she, Tante Clara, and some one is taking off +her boots.” + +“Skates, Señor, skates,” interrupted Montalvo, glancing backward over +his shoulder, then added in a whisper as he bent once more to his task, +“ahem—_pays_. You will introduce me, is it not so? I think it will be +less awkward for you.” + +So, as flight was impossible, for he held her by the foot, and an +instinct told her that, especially to the man she loved, the only thing +to do was to make light of the affair, Lysbeth said— + +“Dirk, Cousin Dirk, I think you know—this is—the Honourable Captain the +Count Juan de Montalvo.” + +“Ah! it is the Señor van Goorl,” said Montalvo, pulling off the skate +and rising from his knee, which, from his excess of courtesy, was now +wet through. “Señor, allow me to return to you, safe and sound, the +fair lady of whom I have robbed you for a while.” + +“For a while, captain,” blurted Dirk; “why, from first to last, she has +been gone nearly four hours, and a fine state we have been in about +her.” + +“That will all be explained presently, Señor—at supper, to which the +Jufvrouw has been so courteous as to ask me,” then, aside and below his +breath, again the ominous word of reminder—“_pays_.” “Most happily, +your cousin’s presence was the means of saving a fellow-creature’s +life. But, as I have said, the tale is long. Señor—permit,” and in +another second Lysbeth found herself walking down her own hall upon the +arm of the Spaniard, while Dirk, her aunt, and some guests followed +obediently behind. + +Now Montalvo knew that his difficulties were over for that evening at +any rate, since he had crossed the threshold and was a guest. + +Half unconsciously Lysbeth guided him to the balconied _sit-kamer_ on +the first floor, which in our day would answer to the drawing-room. +Here several other of her friends were gathered, for it had been +arranged that the ice-festival should end with a supper as rich as the +house could give. To these, too, she must introduce her cavalier, who +bowed courteously to each in turn. Then she escaped, but, as she passed +him, distinctly, she could swear, did she see his lips shape themselves +to the hateful word—“_pays_.” + +When she reached her chamber, so great was Lysbeth’s wrath and +indignation that almost she choked with it, till again reason came to +her aid, and with reason a desire to carry the thing off as well as +might be. So she told her maid Greta to robe her in her best garment, +and to hang about her neck the famous collar of pearls which her father +had brought from the East, that was the talk and envy of half the women +in Leyden. On her head, too, she placed the cap of lovely lace which +had been a wedding gift to her mother by her grandmother, the old dame +who wove it. Then she added such golden ornaments as it was customary +for women of her class to wear, and descended to the gathering room. + +Meanwhile Montalvo had not been idle. Taking Dirk aside, and pleading +his travel-worn condition, he had prayed him to lead him to some room +where he might order his dress and person. Dirk complied, though with +an ill grace, but so pleasant did Montalvo make himself during those +few minutes, that before he ushered him back to the company in some way +Dirk found himself convinced that this particular Spaniard was not, as +the saying went, “as black as his mustachios.” He felt almost sure too, +although he had not yet found time to tell him the details of it, that +there was some excellent reason to account for his having carried off +the adorable Lysbeth during an entire afternoon and evening. + +It is true that there still remained the strange circumstance of the +attempted foul of his cousin Van de Werff’s sledge in the great race, +but, after all, why should there not be some explanation of this also? +It had happened, if it did happen, at quite a distance from the winning +post, when there were few people to see what passed. Indeed, now that +he came to think of it, the only real evidence on the matter was that +of his cousin, the little girl passenger, since Van de Werff himself +had brought no actual accusation against his opponent. + +Shortly after they returned to the company it was announced that supper +had been served, whereon ensued a pause. It was broken by Montalvo, +who, stepping forward, offered his hand to Lysbeth, saying in a voice +that all could hear: + +“Lady, my companion of the race, permit the humblest representative of +the greatest monarch in the world to have an honour which doubtless +that monarch would be glad to claim.” + +That settled the matter, for as the acting commandant of the Spanish +garrison of Leyden had chosen to refer to his official position, it was +impossible to question his right of precedence over a number of folk, +who, although prominent in their way, were but unennobled Netherlander +burghers. + +Lysbeth, indeed, did find courage to point to a rather flurried and +spasmodic lady with grey hair who was fanning herself as though the +season were July, and wondering whether the cook would come up to the +grand Spaniard’s expectations, and to murmur “My aunt.” But she got no +further, for the Count instantly added in a low voice— + +“Doubtless comes next in the direct line, but unless my education has +been neglected, the heiress of the house who is of age goes before the +collateral—however aged.” + +By this time they were through the door, so it was useless to argue the +point further, and again Lysbeth felt herself overmatched and +submitted. In another minute they had passed down the stairs, entered +the dining hall, and were seated side by side at the head of the long +table, of which the foot was occupied presently by Dirk van Goorl and +her aunt, who was also his cousin, the widow Clara van Ziel. + +There was a silence while the domestics began their service, of which +Montalvo took opportunity to study the room, the table and the guests. +It was a fine room panelled with German oak, and lighted sufficiently, +if not brilliantly, by two hanging brass chandeliers of the famous +Flemish workmanship, in each of which were fixed eighteen of the best +candles, while on the sideboards were branch candlesticks, also of +worked brass. The light thus provided was supplemented by that from the +great fire of peat and old ships’ timber which burned in a wide +blue-tiled fire-place, half way down the chamber, throwing its +reflections upon many a flagon and bowl of cunningly hammered silver +that adorned the table and the sideboards. + +The company was of the same character as the furniture, handsome and +solid; people of means, every man and woman of them, accumulated by +themselves or their fathers, in the exercise of the honest and +profitable trade whereof at this time the Netherlands had a practical +monopoly. + +“I have made no mistake,” thought Montalvo to himself, as he surveyed +the room and its occupants. “My little neighbour’s necklace alone is +worth more cash than ever I had the handling of, and the plate would +add up handsomely. Well, before very long I hope to be in a position to +make its inventory.” Then, having first crossed himself devoutly, he +fell to upon a supper that was well worth his attention, even in a land +noted for the luxury of its food and wines and the superb appetites of +those who consumed them. + +It must not be supposed, however, that the gallant captain allowed +eating to strangle conversation. On the contrary, finding that his +hostess was in no talkative mood, he addressed himself to his fellow +guests, chatting with them pleasantly upon every convenient subject. +Among these guests was none other than Pieter van de Werff, his +conqueror in that afternoon’s conquest, upon whose watchful and +suspicious reserve he brought all his batteries to bear. + +First he congratulated Pieter and lamented his own ill-luck, and this +with great earnestness, for as a matter of fact he had lost much more +money on the event than he could afford to pay. Then he praised the +grey horse and asked if he was for sale, offering his own black in part +exchange. + +“A good nag,” he said, “but one that I do not wish to conceal has his +faults, which must be taken into consideration if it comes to the point +of putting a price upon him. For instance, Mynheer van de Werff, you +may have noticed the dreadful position in which the brute put me +towards the end of the race. There are certain things that this horse +always shies at, and one of them is a red cloak. Now I don’t know if +you saw that a girl in a red cloak suddenly appeared on the bank. In an +instant the beast was round and you may imagine what my feelings were, +being in charge of your fair kinswoman, for I thought to a certainty +that we should be over. What is more, it quite spoilt my chance of the +race, for after he has shied like that, the black turns sulky, and +won’t let himself go.” + +When Lysbeth heard this amazing explanation, remembering the facts, she +gasped. And yet now that she came to think of it, a girl in a red cloak +did appear near them at the moment, and the horse _did_ whip round as +though it had shied violently. Was it possible, she wondered, that the +captain had not really intended to foul the Badger sledge? + +Meanwhile Van de Werff was answering in his slow voice. Apparently he +accepted Montalvo’s explanation; at least he said that he, too, saw the +red-cloaked girl, and was glad that nothing serious had come of the +mischance. As regarded the proposed deal, he should be most happy to go +into it upon the lines mentioned, as the grey, although a very good +horse, was aged, and he thought the barb one of the most beautiful +animals that he had ever seen. At this point, as he had not the +slightest intention of parting with his valuable charger, at any rate +on such terms, Montalvo changed the subject. + +At length, when men, and, for the matter of that, women, too, had well +eaten, and the beautiful tall Flemish glasses not for the first time +were replenished with the best Rhenish or Spanish wines, Montalvo, +taking advantage of a pause in the conversation, rose and said that he +wished to claim the privilege of a stranger among them and propose a +toast, namely, the health of his late adversary, Pieter van de Werff. + +At this the audience applauded, for they were all very proud of the +young man’s success, and some of them had won money over him. Still +more did they applaud, being great judges of culinary matters, when the +Spaniard began his speech by an elegant tribute to the surpassing +excellence of the supper. Rarely, he assured them, and especially did +he assure the honourable widow Van Ziel (who blushed all over with +pleasure at his compliments, and fanned herself with such vigour that +she upset Dirk’s wine over his new tunic, cut in the Brussels style), +the fame of whose skill in such matters had travelled so far as The +Hague, for he had heard of it there himself—rarely even in the Courts +of Kings and Emperors, or at the tables of Popes and Archbishops, had +he eaten food so exquisitely cooked, or drunk wines of a better +vintage. + +Then, passing on to the subject of his speech, Van de Werff, he toasted +him and his horse and his little sister and his sledge, in really +well-chosen and appropriate terms, not by any means overdoing it, for +he confessed frankly that his defeat was a bitter disappointment to +him, especially as every solder in the camp had expected him to win +and—he was afraid—backed him for more than they could afford. Also, +incidentally, so that every one might be well acquainted with it, he +retold the story of the girl with the red cloak. Next, suddenly +dropping his voice and adopting a quieter manner, he addressed himself +to the Aunt Clara and the “well-beloved Heer Dirk,” saying that he owed +them both an apology, which he must take this opportunity to make, for +having detained the lady at his right during so unreasonable a time +that afternoon. When, however, they had heard the facts they would, he +was sure, blame him no longer, especially if he told them that this +breach of good manners had been the means of saving a human life. + +Immediately after the race, he explained, one of his sergeants had +found him out to tell him that a woman, suspected of certain crimes +against life and property and believed to be a notorious escaped witch +or heretic, had been captured, asking for reasons which he need not +trouble them with, that he would deal with the case at once. This woman +also, so said the man, had been heard that very afternoon to make use +of the most horrible, the most traitorous and blaspheming language to a +lady of Leyden, the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout, indeed; as was deposed +by a certain spy named Black Meg, who had overheard the conversation. + +Now, went on Montalvo, as he knew well, every man and woman in that +room would share his horror of traitorous and blasphemous heretics—here +most of the company crossed themselves, especially those who were +already secret adherents of the New Religion. Still, even heretics had +a right to a fair trial; at least he, who although a soldier by +profession, was a man who honestly detested unnecessary bloodshed, held +that opinion. Also long experience taught him great mistrust of the +evidence of informers, who had a money interest in the conviction of +the accused. Lastly, it did not seem well to him that the name of a +young and noble lady should be mixed up in such a business. As they +knew under the recent edicts, his powers in these cases were absolute; +indeed, in his official capacity he was ordered at once to consign any +suspected of Anabaptism or other forms of heresy to be dealt with by +the appointed courts, and in the case of people who had escaped, to +cause them, on satisfactory proof of their identity, to be executed +instantly without further trial. Under these circumstances, fearing +that did the lady knew his purpose she might take fright, he had, he +confessed, resorted to artifice, as he was very anxious both for her +sake and in the interest of justice that she should bear testimony in +the matter. So he asked her to accompany him on a short drive while he +attended to a business affair; a request to which she had graciously +assented. + +“Friends,” he went on in a still more solemn voice, “the rest of my +story is short. Indeed I do congratulate myself on the decision that I +took, for when confronted with the prisoner our young and honourable +hostess was able upon oath to refute the story of the spy with the +result that I in my turn was to save an unfortunate, and, as I believe, +a half-crazed creature from an immediate and a cruel death. Is it not +so, lady?” and helpless in the net of circumstance, not knowing indeed +what else to do, Lysbeth bowed her head in assent. + +“I think,” concluded Montalvo, “that after this explanation, what may +have appeared to be a breach of manners will be forgiven. I have only +one other word to add. My position is peculiar; I am an official here, +and I speak boldly among friends taking the risk that any of you +present will use what I say against me, which for my part I do not +believe. Although there is no better Catholic and no truer Spaniard in +the Netherlands, I have been accused of showing too great a sympathy +with your people, and of dealing too leniently with those who have +incurred the displeasure of our Holy Church. In the cause of right and +justice I am willing to bear such aspersions; still this is a +slanderous world, a world in which truth does not always prevail. +Therefore, although I have told you nothing but the bare facts, I do +suggest in the interests of your hostess—in my own humble interest who +might be misrepresented, and I may add in the interest of every one +present at this board—that it will perhaps be well that the details of +the story which I have had the honour of telling you should not be +spread about—that they should in fact find a grave within these walls. +Friends, do you agree?” + +Then moved by a common impulse, and by a common if a secret fear, with +the single exception of Lysbeth, every person present, yes, even the +cautious and far-seeing young Van de Werff, echoed “We agree.” + +“Friends,” said Montalvo, “those simple words carry to my mind +conviction deep as any vow however solemn; deep, if that were possible, +as did the oath of your hostess, upon the faith of which I felt myself +justified in acquitting the poor creature who was alleged to be an +escaped heretic.” Then with a courteous and all-embracing bow Montalvo +sat down. + +“What a good man! What a delightful man!” murmured Aunt Clara to Dirk +in the buzz of conversation which ensued. + +“Yes, yes, cousin, but——” + +“And what discrimination he has, what taste! Did you notice what he +said about the cooking?” + +“I heard something, but——” + +“It is true that folk have told me that my capon stewed in milk, such +as we had to-night—Why, lad, what is the matter with your doublet? You +fidget me by continually rubbing at it.” + +“You have upset the red wine over it, that is all,” answered Dirk, +sulkily. “It is spoiled.” + +“And little loss either; to tell you the truth, Dirk, I never saw a +coat worse cut. You young men should learn in the matter of clothes +from the Spanish gentlemen. Look at his Excellency, the Count Montalvo, +for instance——” + +“See here, aunt,” broke in Dirk with suppressed fury, “I think I have +heard enough about Spaniards and the Captain Montalvo for one night. +First of all he spirits off Lysbeth and is absent with her for four +hours; then he invites himself to supper and places himself at the head +of the table with her, setting me down to the dullest meal I ever ate +at the other end——” + +“Cousin Dirk,” said Aunt Clara with dignity, “your temper has got the +better of your manners. Certainly you might learn courtesy as well as +dress, even from so humble a person as a Spanish hidalgo and +commander.” Then she rose from the table, adding—“Come, Lysbeth, if you +are ready, let us leave these gentlemen to their wine.” + +After the ladies had gone the supper went on merrily. In those days, +nearly everybody drank too much liquor, at any rate at feasts, and this +company was no exception. Even Montalvo, his game being won and the +strain on his nerves relaxed, partook pretty freely, and began to talk +in proportion to his potations. Still, so clever was the man that in +his cups he yet showed a method, for his conversation revealed a +sympathy with Netherlander grievances and a tolerance of view in +religious matters rarely displayed by a Spaniard. + +From such questions they drifted into a military discussion, and +Montalvo, challenged by Van de Werff, who, as it happened, had not +drunk too much wine, explained how, were he officer in command, he +would defend Leyden from attack by an overwhelming force. Very soon Van +de Werff saw that he was a capable soldier who had studied his +profession, and being himself a capable civilian with a thirst for +knowledge pressed the argument from point to point. + +“And suppose,” he asked at length, “that the city were starving and +still untaken, so that its inhabitants must either fall into the hands +of the enemy or burn the place over their heads, what would you do +then?” + +“Then, Mynheer, if I were a small man I should yield to the clamour of +the starving folk and surrender——” + +“And if you were a big man, captain?” + +“If I were a big man—ah! if I were a big man, why then—I should cut the +dykes and let the sea beat once more against the walls of Leyden. An +army cannot live in salt water, Mynheer.” + +“That would drown out the farmers and ruin the land for twenty years.” + +“Quite so, Mynheer, but when the corn has to be saved, who thinks of +spoiling the straw?” + +“I follow you, Señor, your proverb is good, although I have never heard +it.” + +“Many good things come from Spain, Mynheer, including this red wine. +One more glass with you, for, if you will allow me to say it, you are a +man worth meeting over a beaker—or a blade.” + +“I hope that you will always retain the same opinion of me,” answered +Van de Werff as he drank, “at the trencher or in the trenches.” + +Then Pieter went home, and before he slept that night made careful +notes of all the Spaniard’s suggested military dispositions, both of +attackers and attacked, writing underneath them the proverb about the +corn and the straw. There existed no real reason why he should have +done so, as he was only a civilian engaged in business, but Pieter van +de Werff chanced to be a provident young man who knew many things might +happen which could not precisely be foreseen. As it fell out in after +years, a time came when he was able to put Montalvo’s advice to good +use. All readers of the history of the Netherlands know how the +Burgomaster Pieter van de Werff saved Leyden from the Spanish. + +As for Dirk van Goorl, he sought his lodging rather tipsy, and +arm-in-arm with none other than Captain the Count Don Juan de Montalvo. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +THREE WAKINGS + + +There were three persons in Leyden whose reflections when they awoke on +the morning after the sledge race are not without interest, at any rate +to the student of their history. First there was Dirk van Goorl, whose +work made an early riser of him—to say nothing of a splitting headache +which on this morning called him into consciousness just as the clock +in the bell tower was chiming half-past four. Now there are few things +more depressing than to be awakened by a bad headache at half-past four +in the black frost of a winter dawn. Yet as Dirk lay and thought a +conviction took hold of him that his depression was not due entirely to +the headache or to the cold. + +One by one he recalled the events of yesterday. First he had been late +for his appointment with Lysbeth, which evidently vexed her. Then the +Captain Montalvo had swooped down and carried her away, as a hawk bears +off a chicken under the very eyes of the hen-wife, while he—donkey that +he was—could find no words in which to protest. Next, thinking it his +duty to back the sledge wherein Lysbeth rode, although it was driven by +a Spaniard, he had lost ten florins on that event, which, being a +thrifty young man, did not at all please him. The rest of the fete he +had spent hunting for Lysbeth, who mysteriously vanished with the +Spaniard, an unentertaining and even an anxious pastime. Then came the +supper, when once more the Count swooped down on Lysbeth, leaving him +to escort his Cousin Clara, whom he considered an old fool and +disliked, and who, having spoilt his new jacket by spilling wine over +it, ended by abusing his taste in dress. Nor was that all—he had drunk +a great deal more strong wine than was wise, for to this his head +certified. Lastly he had walked home arm in arm with his lady-snatching +Spaniard, and by Heaven! yes, he had sworn eternal friendship with him +on the doorstep. + +Well, there was no doubt that the Count was an uncommonly good +fellow—for a Spaniard. As for that story of the foul he had explained +it quite satisfactorily, and he had taken his beating like a gentleman. +Could anything be nicer or in better feeling than his allusions to +Cousin Pieter in his after-supper speech? Also, and this was a graver +matter, the man had shown that he was tolerant and kindly by the way in +which he dealt with the poor creature called the Mare, a woman whose +history Dirk knew well; one whose sufferings had made of her a crazy +and rash-tongued wanderer, who, so it was rumoured, could use a knife. + +In fact, for the truth may as well be told at once, Dirk was a +Lutheran, having been admitted to that community two years before. To +be a Lutheran in those days, that is in the Netherlands, meant, it need +scarcely be explained, that you walked the world with a halter round +your neck and a vision of the rack and the stake before your eyes; +circumstances under which religion became a more earnest and serious +thing than most people find it in this century. Still even at that date +the dreadful penalties attaching to the crime did not prevent many of +the burgher and lower classes from worshipping God in their own +fashion. Indeed, if the truth had been known, of those who were present +at Lysbeth’s supper on the previous night more than half, including +Pieter van de Werff, were adherents of the New Faith. + +To dismiss religious considerations, however, Dirk could have wished +that this kindly natured Spaniard was not quite so good-looking or +quite so appreciative of the excellent points of the young Leyden +ladies, and especially of Lysbeth’s, with whose sterling character, he +now remembered, Montalvo had assured him he was much impressed. What he +feared was that this regard might be reciprocal. After all a Spanish +hidalgo in command of the garrison was a distinguished person, and, +alas! Lysbeth also was a Catholic. Dirk loved Lysbeth; he loved her +with that patient sincerity which was characteristic of his race and +his own temperament, but in addition to and above the reasons that have +been given already it was this fact of the difference of religion which +hitherto had built a wall between them. Of course she was unaware of +anything of the sort. She did not know even that he belonged to the New +Faith, and without the permission of the elders of his sect, he would +not dare to tell her, for the lives of men and of their families could +not be confided lightly to the hazard of a girl’s discretion. + +Herein lay the real reason why, although Dirk was so devoted to +Lysbeth, and although he imagined that she was not indifferent to him, +as yet no word had passed between them of love or marriage. How could +he who was a Lutheran ask a Catholic to become his wife without telling +her the truth? And if he told her the truth, and she consented to take +the risk, how could he drag her into that dreadful net? Supposing even +that she kept to her own faith, which of course she would be at liberty +to do, although equally, of course, he was bound to try to convert her, +their children, if they had any, must be brought up in his beliefs. +Then, sooner or later, might come the informer, that dreadful informer +whose shadow already lay heavy upon thousands of homes in the +Netherlands, and after the informer the officer, and after the officer +the priest, and after the priest the judge, and after the judge—the +executioner and the stake. + +In this case, what would happen to Lysbeth? She might prove herself +innocent of the horrible crime of heresy, if by that time she was +innocent, but what would life become to the loving young woman whose +husband and children, perhaps, had been haled off to the slaughter +chambers of the Papal Inquisition? This was the true first cause why +Dirk had remained silent, even when he was sorely tempted to speak; +yes, although his instinct told him that his silence had been +misinterpreted and set down to over-caution, or indifference, or to +unnecessary scruples. + +The next to wake up that morning was Lysbeth, who, if she was not +troubled with headache resulting from indulgence—and in that day women +of her class sometimes suffered from it—had pains of her own to +overcome. When sifted and classified these pains resolved themselves +into a sense of fiery indignation against Dirk van Goorl. Dirk had been +late for his appointment, alleging some ridiculous excuse about the +cooling of a bell, as though she cared whether the bell were hot or +cold, with the result that she had been thrown into the company of that +dreadful Martha the Mare. After the Mare—aggravated by Black Meg—came +the Spaniard. Here again Dirk had shown contemptible indifference and +insufficiency, for he allowed her to be forced into the Wolf sledge +against her will. Nay, he had actually consented to the thing. Next, in +a fateful sequence followed all the other incidents of that hideous +carnival; the race, the foul, if it was a foul; the dreadful nightmare +vision called into her mind by the look upon Montalvo’s face; the trial +of the Mare, her own unpremeditated but indelible perjury; the lonely +drive with the man who compelled her to it; the exhibition of herself +before all the world as his willing companion; and the feast in which +he appeared as her cavalier, and was accepted of the simple company +almost as an angel entertained by chance. + +What did he mean? Doubtless, for on that point she could scarcely be +mistaken, he meant to make love to her, for had he not in practice said +as much? And now—this was the terrible thing—she was in his power, +since if he chose to do so, without doubt he could prove that she had +sworn a false oath for her own purposes. Also that lie weighed upon her +mind, although it had been spoken in a good cause; if it was good to +save a wretched fanatic from the fate which, were the truth known, +without doubt her crime deserved. + +Of course, the Spaniard was a bad man, if an attractive one, and he had +behaved wickedly, if with grace and breeding; but who expected anything +else from a Spaniard, who only acted after his kind and for his own +ends? It was Dirk—Dirk—that was to blame, not so much—and here again +came the rub—for his awkwardness and mistakes of yesterday, as for his +general conduct. Why had he not spoken to her before, and put her +beyond the reach of such accidents as these to which a woman of her +position and substance must necessarily be exposed? The saints knew +that she had given him opportunity enough. She had gone as far as a +maiden might, and not for all the Dirks on earth would she go one inch +further. Why had she ever come to care for his foolish face? Why had +she refused So-and-so, and So-and-so and So-and-so—all of them +honourable men—with the result that now no other bachelor ever came +near her, comprehending that she was under bond to her cousin? In the +past she had persuaded herself that it was because of something she +felt but could not see, of a hidden nobility of character which after +all was not very evident upon the surface, that she loved Dirk van +Goorl. But where was this something, this nobility? Surely a man who +was a man ought to play his part, and not leave her in this false +position, especially as there could be no question of means. She would +not have come to him empty-handed, very far from it, indeed. Oh! were +it not for the unlucky fact that she still happened to care about +him—to her sorrow—never, never would she speak to him again. + +The last of our three friends to awake on this particular morning, +between nine and ten o’clock, indeed, when Dirk had been already two +hours at his factory and Lysbeth was buying provisions in the market +place, was that accomplished and excellent officer, Captain the Count +Juan de Montalvo. For a few seconds after his dark eyes opened he +stared at the ceiling collecting his thoughts. Then, sitting up in bed, +he burst into a prolonged roar of laughter. Really the whole thing was +too funny for any man of humour to contemplate without being moved to +merriment. That gaby, Dirk van Goorl; the furiously indignant but +helpless Lysbeth; the solemn, fat-headed fools of Netherlanders at the +supper, and the fashion in which he had played his own tune on the +whole pack of them as though they were the strings of a fiddle—oh! it +was delicious. + +As the reader by this time may have guessed, Montalvo was not the +typical Spaniard of romance, and, indeed, of history. He was not gloomy +and stern; he was not even particularly vengeful or bloodthirsty. On +the contrary, he was a clever and utterly unprincipled man with a sense +of humour and a gift of _bonhomie_ which made him popular in all +places. Moreover, he was brave, a good soldier; in a certain sense +sympathetic, and, strange to say, no bigot. Indeed, which seems to have +been a rare thing in those days, his religious views were so enlarged +that he had none at all. His conduct, therefore, if from time to time +it was affected by passing spasms of acute superstition, was totally +uninfluenced by any settled spiritual hopes or fears, a condition +which, he found, gave him great advantages in life. In fact, had it +suited his purpose, Montalvo was prepared, at a moment’s notice, to +become Lutheran or Calvinist, or Mahomedan, or Mystic, or even +Anabaptist; on the principle, he would explain, that it is easy for the +artist to paint any picture he likes upon a blank canvas. + +And yet this curious pliancy of mind, this lack of conviction, this +absolute want of moral sense, which ought to have given the Count such +great advantages in his conflict with the world, were, in reality, the +main source of his weakness. Fortune had made a soldier of the man, and +he filled the part as he would have filled any part. But nature +intended him for a play-actor, and from day to day he posed and mimed +and mouthed through life in this character or in that, though never in +his own character, principally because he had none. Still, far down in +Montalvo’s being there was something solid and genuine, and that +something not good but bad. It was very rarely on view; the hand of +circumstance must plunge deep to find it, but it dwelt there; the +strong, cruel Spanish spirit which would sacrifice anything to save, or +even to advance, itself. It was this spirit that Lysbeth had seen +looking out of his eyes on the yesterday, which, when he knew that the +race was lost, had prompted him to try to kill his adversary, although +he killed himself and her in the attempt. Nor did she see it then for +the last time, for twice more at least in her life she was destined to +meet and tremble at its power. + +In short, although Montalvo was a man who really disliked cruelty, he +could upon occasion be cruel to the last degree; although he +appreciated friends, and desired to have them, he could be the foulest +of traitors. Although without a cause he would do no hurt to a living +thing, yet if that cause were sufficient he would cheerfully consign a +whole cityful to death. No, not cheerfully, he would have regretted +their end very much, and often afterwards might have thought of it with +sympathy and even sorrow. This was where he differed from the majority +of his countrymen in that age, who would have done the same thing, and +more brutally, from honest principle, and for the rest of their lives +rejoiced at the memory of the deed. + +Montalvo had his ruling passion; it was not war, it was not women; it +was money. But here again he did not care about the money for itself, +since he was no miser, and being the most inveterate of gamblers never +saved a single stiver. He wanted it to spend and to stake upon the +dice. Thus again, in variance to the taste of most of his countrymen, +he cared little for the other sex; he did not even like their society, +and as for their passion and the rest he thought it something of a +bore. But he did care intensely for their admiration, so much so that +if no better game were at hand, he would take enormous trouble to +fascinate even a serving maid or a fish girl. Wherever he went it was +his ambition to be reported the man the most admired of the fair in +that city, and to attain this end he offered himself upon the altar of +numerous love affairs which did not amuse him in the least. Of course, +the indulgence of this vanity meant expense, since the fair require +money and presents, and he who pursues them should be well dressed and +horsed and able to do things in the very finest style. Also their +relatives must be entertained, and when they were entertained impressed +with the sense that they had the honour to be guests of a grandee of +Spain. + +Now that of a grandee has never been a cheap profession; indeed, as +many a pauper peer knows to-day, rank without resources is a terrific +burden. Montalvo had the rank, for he was a well-born man, whose sole +heritage was an ancient tower built by some warlike ancestor in a +position admirably suited to the purpose of the said ancestor, namely, +the pillage of travellers through a neighbouring mountain pass. When, +however, travellers ceased to use that pass, or for other reasons +robbery became no longer productive, the revenues of the Montalvo +family declined till at the present date they were practically nil. +Thus it came about that the status of the last representative of this +ancient stock was that of a soldier of fortune of the common type, +endowed, unfortunately for himself, with grand ideas, a gambler’s fatal +fire, expensive tastes, and more than the usual pride of race. + +Although, perhaps, he had never defined them very clearly, even to +himself, Juan de Montalvo had two aims in life: first to indulge his +every freak and fancy to the full, and next—but this was secondary and +somewhat nebulous—to re-establish the fortunes of his family. In +themselves they were quite legitimate aims, and in those times, when +fishers of troubled waters generally caught something, and when men of +ability and character might force their way to splendid positions, +there was no reason why they should not have led him to success. Yet so +far, at any rate, in spite of many opportunities, he had not succeeded +although he was now a man of more than thirty. The causes of his +failures were various, but at the bottom of them lay his lack of +stability and genuineness. + +A man who is always playing a part amuses every one but convinces +nobody. Montalvo convinced nobody. When he discoursed on the mysteries +of religion with priests, even priests who in those days for the most +part were stupid, felt that they assisted in a mere intellectual +exercise. When his theme was war his audience guessed that his object +was probably love. When love was his song an inconvenient instinct was +apt to assure the lady immediately concerned that it was love of self +and not of her. They were all more or less mistaken, but, as usual, the +women went nearest to the mark. Montalvo’s real aim was self, but he +spelt it, Money. Money in large sums was what he wanted, and what in +this way or that he meant to win. + +Now even in the sixteenth century fortunes did not lie to the hand of +every adventurer. Military pay was small, and not easily recoverable; +loot was hard to come by, and quickly spent. Even the ransom of a rich +prisoner or two soon disappeared in the payment of such debts of honour +as could not be avoided. Of course there remained the possibility of +wealthy marriage, which in a country like the Netherlands, that was +full of rich heiresses, was not difficult to a high-born, handsome, and +agreeable man of the ruling Spanish caste. Indeed, after many chances +and changes the time had come at length when Montalvo must either marry +or be ruined. For his station his debts, especially his gaming debts, +were enormous, and creditors met him at every turn. Unfortunately for +him, also, some of these creditors were persons who had the ear of +people in authority. So at last it came about that an intimation +reached him that this scandal must be abated, or he must go back to +Spain, a country which, as it happened, he did not in the least wish to +visit. In short, the sorry hour of reckoning, that hour which overtakes +all procrastinators, had arrived, and marriage, wealthy marriage, was +the only way wherewith it could be defied. It was a sad alternative to +a man who for his own very excellent reasons did not wish to marry, but +this had to be faced. + +Thus it came about that, as the only suitable _partie_ in Leyden, the +Count Montalvo had sought out the well-favoured and well-endowed +Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout to be his companion in the great sledge race, +and taken so much trouble to ensure to himself a friendly reception at +her house. + +So far, things went well, and, what was more, the opening of the chase +had proved distinctly entertaining. Also, the society of the place, +after his appropriation of her at a public festival and their long +moonlight _tête-à-tête_, which by now must be common gossip’s talk, +would be quite prepared for any amount of attention which he might see +fit to pay to Lysbeth. Indeed, why should he not pay attention to an +unaffianced woman whose rank was lower if her means were greater than +his own? Of course, he knew that her name had been coupled with that of +Dirk van Goorl. He was perfectly aware also that these two young people +were attached to each other, for as they walked home together on the +previous night Dirk, possibly for motives of his own, had favoured him +with a semi-intoxicated confidence to that effect. But as they were not +affianced what did that matter? Indeed, had they been affianced, what +would it matter? Still, Dirk van Goorl was an obstacle, and, therefore, +although he seemed to be a good fellow, and he was sorry for him, Dirk +van Goorl must be got out of the way, since he was convinced that +Lysbeth was one of those stubborn-natured creatures who would probably +decline to marry himself until this young Leyden lout had vanished. And +yet he did not wish to be mixed up with duels, if for no other reason +because in a duel the unexpected may always happen, and that would be a +poor end. Certainly also he did not wish to be mixed up with murder; +first, because he intensely disliked the idea of killing anybody, +unless he was driven to it; and secondly, because murder has a nasty +way of coming out. One could never be quite sure in what light the +despatching of a young Netherlander of respectable family and fortune +would be looked at by those in authority. + +Also, there was another thing to be considered. If this young man died +it was impossible to know exactly how Lysbeth would take his death. +Thus she might elect to refuse to marry or decide to mourn him for four +or five years, which for all practical purposes would be just as bad. +And yet while Dirk lived how could he possibly persuade her to transfer +her affections to himself? It seemed, therefore, that Dirk ought to +decease. For quite a quarter of an hour Montalvo thought the matter +over, and then, just as he had given it up and determined to leave +things to chance, for a while at least, inspiration came, a splendid, a +heaven-sent inspiration. + +Dirk must not die, Dirk must live, but his continued existence must be +the price of the hand of Lysbeth van Hout. If she was half as fond of +the man as he believed, it was probable that she would be delighted to +marry anybody else in order to save his precious neck, for that was +just the kind of sentimental idiocy of which nine women out of ten +really enjoyed the indulgence. Moreover, this scheme had other merits; +it did every one a good turn. Dirk would be saved from extinction for +which he should be grateful: Lysbeth, besides earning the honour of an +alliance, perhaps only temporary, with himself, would be able to go +through life wrapped in a heavenly glow of virtue arising from the +impression that she had really done something very fine and tragic, +while he, Montalvo, under Providence, the humble purveyor of these +blessings, would also benefit to some small extent. + +The difficulty was: How could the situation be created? How could the +interesting Dirk be brought to a pass that would give the lady an +opportunity of exercising her finer feelings on his behalf? If only he +were a heretic now! Well, by the Pope why shouldn’t he be a heretic? If +ever a fellow had the heretical cut this fellow had; flat-faced, +sanctimonious-looking, and with a fancy for dark-coloured stockings—he +had observed that all heretics, male and female, wore dark-coloured +stockings, perhaps by way of mortifying the flesh. He could think of +only one thing against it, the young man had drunk too much last night. +But there were certain breeds of heretics who did not mind drinking too +much. Also the best could slip sometimes, for, as he had learned from +the old Castilian priest who taught him Latin, _humanum est_, etc. + +This, then, was the summary of his reflections. (1) That to save the +situation, within three months or so he must be united in holy +matrimony with Lysbeth van Hout. (2) That if it proved impossible to +remove the young man, Dirk van Goorl, from his path by overmatching him +in the lady’s affections, or by playing on her jealousy (Query: Could a +woman be egged into becoming jealous of that flounder of a fellow and +into marrying some one else out of pique?), stronger measures must be +adopted. (3) That such stronger measures should consist of inducing the +lady to save her lover from death by uniting herself in marriage with +one who for her sake would do violence to his conscience and manipulate +the business. (4) That this plan would be best put into execution by +proving the lover to be a heretic, but if unhappily this could not be +proved because he was not, still he must figure in that capacity for +this occasion only. (5) That meanwhile it would be well to cultivate +the society of Mynheer van Goorl as much as possible, first because he +was a person with whom, under the circumstances, he, Montalvo, would +naturally wish to become intimate, and secondly, because he was quite +certain to be an individual with cash to lend. + +Now, these researches after heretics invariably cost money, for they +involved the services of spies. Obviously, therefore, friend Dirk, the +Dutch Flounder, was a man to provide the butter in which he was going +to be fried. Why, if any Hollander had a spark of humour he would see +the joke of it himself—and Montalvo ended his reflections as he had +begun them, with a merry peal of laughter, after which he rose and ate +a most excellent breakfast. + +It was about half-past five o’clock that afternoon before the Captain +and Acting-Commandant Montalvo returned from some duty to which he had +been attending, for it may be explained that he was a zealous officer +and a master of detail. As he entered his lodgings the soldier who +acted as his servant, a man selected for silence and discretion, +saluted and stood at attention. + +“Is the woman here?” he asked. + +“Excellency, she is here, though I had difficulty enough in persuading +her to come, for I found her in bed and out of humour.” + +“Peace to your difficulties. Where is she?” + +“In the small inner room, Excellency.” + +“Good, then see that no one disturbs us, and—stay, when she goes out +follow her and note her movements till you trace her home.” + +The man saluted, and Montalvo passed upstairs into the inner room, +carefully shutting both doors behind him. The place was unlighted, but +through the large stone-mullioned window the rays of the full moon +poured brightly, and by them, seated in a straight-backed chair, +Montalvo saw a draped form. There was something forbidding, something +almost unnatural, in the aspect of this sombre form perched thus upon a +chair in expectant silence. It reminded him—for he had a touch of +inconvenient imagination—of an evil bird squatted upon the bough of a +dead tree awaiting the dawn that it might go forth to devour some +appointed prey. + +“Is that you, Mother Meg?” he asked in tones from which most of the +jocosity had vanished. “Quite like old times at The Hague—isn’t it?” + +The moonlit figure turned its head, for he could see the light shine +upon the whites of the eyes. + +“Who else, Excellency,” said a voice hoarse and thick with rheum, a +voice like the croak of a crow, “though it is little thanks to your +Excellency. Those must be strong who can bathe in Rhine water through a +hole in the ice and take no hurt.” + +“Don’t scold, woman,” he answered, “I have no time for it. If you were +ducked yesterday, it served you right for losing your cursed temper. +Could you not see that I had my own game to play, and you were spoiling +it? Must I be flouted before my men, and listen while you warn a lady +with whom I wish to stand well against me?” + +“You generally have a game to play, Excellency, but when it ends in my +being first robbed and then nearly drowned beneath the ice—well, that +is a game which Black Meg does not forget.” + +“Hush, mother, you are not the only person with a memory. What was the +reward? Twelve florins? Well, you shall have them, and five more; +that’s good pay for a lick of cold water. Are you satisfied?” + +“No, Excellency. I wanted the life, that heretic’s life. I wanted to +baste her while she burned, or to tread her down while she was buried. +I have a grudge against the woman because I know, yes, because I know,” +she repeated fiercely, “that if I do not kill her she will try to kill +me. Her husband and her young son were burnt, upon my evidence mostly, +but this is the third time she has escaped me.” + +“Patience, mother, patience, and I dare say that everything will come +right in the end. You have bagged two of the family—Papa heretic and +Young Hopeful. Really you should not grumble if the third takes a +little hunting, or wonder that in the meanwhile you are not popular +with Mama. Now, listen. You know the young woman whom it was necessary +that I should humour yesterday. She is rich, is she not?” + +“Yes, I know her, and I knew her father. He left her house, furniture, +jewellery, and thirty thousand crowns, which are placed out at good +interest. A nice fortune for a gallant who wants money, but it will be +Dirk van Goorl’s, not yours.” + +“Ah! that is just the point. Now what do you know about Dirk van +Goorl?” + +“A respectable, hard-working burgher, son of well-to-do parents, +brass-workers who live at Alkmaar. Honest, but not very clever; the +kind of man who grows rich, becomes a Burgomaster, founds a hospital +for the poor, and has a fine monument put up to his memory.” + +“Mother, the cold water has dulled your wits. When I ask you about a +man I want to learn what you know _against_ him.” + +“Naturally, Excellency, naturally, but against this one I can tell you +nothing. He has no lovers, he does not gamble, he does not drink except +a glass after dinner. He works in his factory all day, goes to bed +early, rises early, and calls on the Jufvrouw van Hout on Sundays; that +is all.” + +“Where does he attend Mass?” + +“At the Groote Kerke once a week, but he does not take the Sacrament or +go to confession.” + +“That sounds bad, mother, very bad. You don’t mean to say that he is a +heretic?” + +“Probably he is, Excellency; most of them are about here.” + +“Dear me, how very shocking. Do you know, I should not like that +excellent young woman, a good Catholic too, like you and me, mother, to +become mixed up with one of these dreadful heretics, who might expose +her to all sorts of dangers. For, mother, who can touch pitch and not +be defiled?” + +“You waste time, Excellency,” replied his visitor with a snort. “What +do you want?” + +“Well, in the interests of this young lady, I want to prove that this +man _is_ a heretic, and it has struck me that—as one accustomed to this +sort of thing—you might be able to find the evidence.” + +“Indeed, Excellency, and has it struck you what my face would look like +after I had thrust my head into a wasp’s nest for your amusement? Do +you know what it means to me if I go peering about among the heretics +of Leyden? Well, I will tell you; it means that I should be killed. +They are a strong lot, and a determined lot, and so long as you leave +them alone they will leave you alone, but if you interfere with them, +why then it is good night. Oh! yes, I know all about the law and the +priests and the edicts and the Emperor. But the Emperor cannot burn a +whole people, and though I hate them, I tell you,” she added, standing +up suddenly and speaking in a fierce, convinced voice, “that in the end +the law and the edicts and the priests will get the worst of this +fight. Yes, these Hollanders will beat them all and cut the throats of +you Spaniards, and thrust those of you who are left alive out of their +country, and spit upon your memories and worship God in their own +fashion, and be proud and free, when you are dogs gnawing the bones of +your greatness; dogs kicked back into your kennels to rot there. Those +are not my own words,” said Meg in a changed voice as she sat down +again. “They are the words of that devil, Martha the Mare, which she +spoke in my hearing when we had her on the rack, but somehow I think +that they will come true, and that is why I always remember them.” + +“Indeed, her ladyship the Mare is a more interesting person than I +thought, though if she can talk like that, perhaps, after all, it would +have been as well to drown her. And now, dropping prophecy and leaving +posterity to arrange for itself, let us come to business. How much? For +evidence which would suffice to procure his conviction, mind.” + +“Five hundred florins, not a stiver less, so, Excellency, you need not +waste your time trying to beat me down. You want good evidence, +evidence on which the Council, or whoever they may appoint, will +convict, and that means the unshaken testimony of two witnesses. Well, +I tell you, it isn’t easy to come by; there is great danger to the +honest folk who seek it, for these heretics are desperate people, and +if they find a spy while they are engaged in devil-worship at one of +their conventicles, why—they kill him.” + +“I know all that, mother. What are you trying to cover up that you are +so talkative? It isn’t your usual way of doing business. Well, it is a +bargain—you shall have your money when you produce the evidence. And +now really if we stop here much longer people will begin to make +remarks, for who shall escape aspersion in this censorious world? So +good-night, mother, good-night,” and he turned to leave the room. + +“No, Excellency,” she croaked with a snort of indignation, “no pay, no +play; I don’t work on the faith of your Excellency’s word alone.” + +“How much?” he asked again. + +“A hundred florins down.” + +Then for a while they wrangled hideously, their heads held close +together in the patch of moonlight, and so loathsome did their faces +look, so plainly was the wicked purpose of their hearts written upon +them, that in that faint luminous glow they might have been mistaken +for emissaries from the under-world chaffering over the price of a +human soul. At last the bargain was struck for fifty florins, and +having received it into her hand Black Meg departed. + +“Sixty-seven in all,” she muttered to herself as she regained the +street. “Well, it was no use holding out for any more, for he hasn’t +got the cash. The man’s as poor as Lazarus, but he wants to live like +Dives, and, what is more, he gambles, as I learned at The Hague. Also, +there’s something queer about his past; I have heard as much as that. +It must be looked into, and perhaps the bundle of papers which I helped +myself to out of his desk while I was waiting”—and she touched the +bosom of her dress to make sure that they were safe—“may tell me a +thing or two, though likely enough they are only unpaid bills. Ah! most +noble cheat and captain, before you have done with her you may find +that Black Meg knows how to pay back hot water for cold!” + + + + +CHAPTER V +THE DREAM OF DIRK + + +On the day following Montalvo’s interview with Black Meg Dirk received +a message from that gentleman, sent to his lodging by an orderly, which +reminded him that he had promised to dine with him this very night. Now +he had no recollection of any such engagement. Remembering with shame, +however, that there were various incidents of the evening of the supper +whereof his memory was most imperfect, he concluded that this must be +one of them. So much against his own wishes Dirk sent back an answer to +say that he would appear at the time and place appointed. + +This was the third thing that had happened to annoy him that day. First +he had met Pieter van de Werff, who informed him that all Leyden was +talking about Lysbeth and the Captain Montalvo, to whom she was said to +have taken a great fancy. Next when he went to call at the house in the +Bree Straat he was told that both Lysbeth and his cousin Clara had gone +out sleighing, which he did not believe, for as a thaw had set in the +snow was no longer in a condition suitable to that amusement. Moreover, +he could almost have sworn that, as he crossed the street, he caught +sight of Cousin Clara’s red face peeping at him from between the +curtains of the upstairs sitting-room. Indeed he said as much to Greta, +who, contrary to custom, had opened the door to him. + +“I am sorry if Mynheer sees visions,” answered that young woman +imperturbably. “I told Mynheer that the ladies had gone out sleighing.” + +“I know you did, Greta; but why should they go out sleighing in a wet +thaw?” + +“I don’t know, Mynheer. Ladies do those things that please them. It is +not my place to ask their reasons.” + +Dirk looked at Greta, and was convinced that she was lying. He put his +hand in his pocket, to find to his disgust that he had forgotten his +purse. Then he thought of giving her a kiss and trying to melt the +truth out of her in this fashion, but remembering that if he did, she +might tell Lysbeth, which would make matters worse than ever, +refrained. So the end of it was that he merely said “Oh! indeed,” and +went away. + +“Great soft-head,” reflected Greta, as she watched his retreating form, +“he knew I was telling lies, why didn’t he push past me, or—do +anything. Ah! Mynheer Dirk, if you are not careful that Spaniard will +take your wind. Well, he is more amusing, that’s certain. I am tired of +these duck-footed Leydeners, who daren’t wink at a donkey lest he +should bray, and among such holy folk somebody a little wicked is +rather a change.” Then Greta, who, it may be remembered, came from +Brussels, and had French blood in her veins, went upstairs to make a +report to her mistress, telling her all that passed. + +“I did not ask you to speak falsehoods as to my being out sleighing and +the rest. I told you to answer that I was not at home, and mind you say +the same to the Captain Montalvo if he calls,” said Lysbeth with some +acerbity as she dismissed her. + +In truth she was very sore and angry, and yet ashamed of herself +because it was so. But things had gone so horribly wrong, and as for +Dirk, he was the most exasperating person in the world. It was owing to +his bad management and lack of readiness that her name was coupled with +Montalvo’s at every table in Leyden. And now what did she hear in a +note from the Captain himself, sent to make excuses for not having +called upon her after the supper party, but that Dirk was going to dine +with him that night? Very well, let him do it; she would know how to +pay him back, and if necessary was ready to act up to any situation +which he had chosen to create. + +Thus thought Lysbeth, stamping her foot with vexation, but all the time +her heart was sore. All the time she knew well enough that she loved +Dirk, and, however strange might be his backwardness in speaking out +his mind, that he loved her. And yet she felt as though a river was +running between them. In the beginning it had been a streamlet, but now +it was growing to a torrent. Worse still the Spaniard was upon her bank +of the river. + +After he had to some extent conquered his shyness and irritation Dirk +became aware that he was really enjoying his dinner at Montalvo’s +quarters. There were three guests besides himself, two Spanish officers +and a young Netherlander of his own class and age, Brant by name. He +was the only son of a noted and very wealthy goldsmith at The Hague, +who had sent him to study certain mysteries of the metal worker’s art +under a Leyden jeweller famous for the exquisite beauty of his designs. +The dinner and the service were both of them perfect in style, but +better than either proved the conversation, which was of a character +that Dirk had never heard at the tables of his own class and people. +Not that there was anything even broad about it, as might perhaps have +been expected. No, it was the talk of highly accomplished and travelled +men of the world, who had seen much and been actors in many moving +events; men who were not overtrammelled by prejudices, religious or +other, and who were above all things desirous of making themselves +agreeable and instructive to the stranger within their gates. The Heer +Brant also, who had but just arrived in Leyden, showed himself an able +and polished man, one that had been educated more thoroughly than was +usual among his class, and who, at the table of his father, the opulent +Burgomaster of The Hague, from his youth had associated with all +classes and conditions of men. Indeed it was there that he made the +acquaintance of Montalvo, who recognising him in the street had asked +him to dinner. + +After the dishes were cleared, one of the Spanish officers rose and +begged to be excused, pleading some military duty. When he had saluted +his commandant and gone, Montalvo suggested that they should play a +game of cards. This was an invitation which Dirk would have liked to +decline, but when it came to the point he did not, for fear of seeming +peculiar in the eyes of these brilliant men of the world. + +So they began to play, and as the game was simple very soon he picked +up the points of it, and what is more, found them amusing. At first the +stakes were not high, but they doubled themselves in some automatic +fashion, till Dirk was astonished to find that he was gambling for +considerable sums and winning them. Towards the last his luck changed a +little, but when the game came to an end he found himself the richer by +about three hundred and fifty florins. + +“What am I do to with this?” he asked colouring up, as with sighs, +which in one instance were genuine enough, the losers pushed the money +across to him. + +“Do with it?” laughed Montalvo, “did anybody ever hear such an +innocent! Why, buy your lady-love, or somebody else’s lady-love, a +present. No, I’ll tell you a better use than this, you give us +to-morrow night at your lodging the best dinner that Leyden can +produce, and a chance of winning some of this coin back again. Is it +agreed?” + +“If the other gentlemen wish it,” said Dirk, modestly, “though my +apartment is but a poor place for such company.” + +“Of course we wish it,” replied the three as with one voice, and the +hour for meeting having been fixed they parted, the Heer Brant walking +with Dirk to the door of his lodging. + +“I was going to call on you to-morrow,” he said, “to bring to you a +letter of introduction from my father, though that should scarcely be +needed as, in fact, we are cousins—second cousins only, our mothers +having been first cousins.” + +“Oh! yes, Brant of The Hague, of whom my mother used to speak, saying +that they were kinsmen to be proud of, although she had met them but +little. Well, welcome, cousin; I trust that we shall be friends.” + +“I am sure of it,” answered Brant, and putting his arm through Dirk’s +he pressed it in a peculiar fashion that caused him to start and look +round. “Hush!” muttered Brant, “not here,” and they began to talk of +their late companions and the game of cards which they had played, an +amusement as to the propriety of which Dirk intimated that he had +doubts. + +Young Brant shrugged his shoulders. “Cousin,” he said, “we live in the +world, so it is as well to understand the world. If the risking of a +few pieces at play, which it will not ruin us to lose, helps us to +understand it, well, for my part I am ready to risk them, especially as +it puts us on good terms with those who, as things are, it is wise we +should cultivate. Only, cousin, if I may venture to say it, be careful +not to take more wine than you can carry with discretion. Better lose a +thousand florins than let drop one word that you cannot remember.” + +“I know, I know,” answered Dirk, thinking of Lysbeth’s supper, and at +the door of his lodgings they parted. + +Like most Netherlanders, when Dirk made up his mind to do anything he +did it thoroughly. Thus, having undertaken to give a dinner party, he +determined to give a good dinner. In ordinary circumstances his first +idea would have been to consult his cousins, Clara and Lysbeth. After +that monstrous story about the sleighing, however, which by inquiry +from the coachman of the house, whom he happened to meet, he +ascertained to be perfectly false, this, for the young man had some +pride, he did not feel inclined to do. So in place of it he talked +first to his landlady, a worthy dame, and by her advice afterwards with +the first innkeeper of Leyden, a man of resource and experience. The +innkeeper, well knowing that this customer would pay for anything which +he ordered, threw himself into the affair heartily, with the result +that by five o’clock relays of cooks and other attendants were to be +seen streaming up Dirk’s staircase, carrying every variety of dish that +could be supposed to tempt the appetite of high-class cavaliers. + +Dirk’s apartment consisted of two rooms situated upon the first floor +of an old house in a street that had ceased to be fashionable. Once, +however, it had been a fine house, and, according to the ideas of the +time, the rooms themselves were fine, especially the sitting chamber, +which was oak-panelled, low, and spacious, with a handsome fireplace +carrying the arms of its builder. Out of it opened his sleeping +room—which had no other doorway—likewise oak-panelled, with tall +cupboards, not unlike the canopy of a tomb in shape and general +appearance. + +The hour came, and with it the guests. The feast began, the cooks +streamed up and down bearing relays of dishes from the inn. Above the +table hung a six-armed brass chandelier, and in each of its sockets +guttered a tallow candle furnishing light to the company beneath, +although outside of its bright ring there was shadow more or less +dense. Towards the end of dinner a portion of the rush wick of one of +these candles fell into the brass saucer beneath, causing the molten +grease to burn up fiercely. As it chanced, by the light of this sudden +flare, Montalvo, who was sitting opposite to the door, thought that he +caught sight of a tall, dark figure gliding along the wall towards the +bedroom. For one instant he saw it, then it was gone. + +“_Caramba_, my friend,” he said, addressing Dirk, whose back was turned +towards the figure, “have you any ghosts in this gloomy old room of +yours? Because, if so, I think I have just seen one.” + +“Ghosts!” answered Dirk, “no, I never heard of any; I do not believe in +ghosts. Take some more of that pasty.” + +Montalvo took some more pasty, and washed it down with a glass of wine. +But he said no more about ghosts—perhaps an explanation of the +phenomenon had occurred to him; at any rate he decided to leave the +subject alone. + +After the dinner they gambled, and this evening the stakes began where +those of the previous night left off. For the first hour Dirk lost, +then the luck turned and he won heavily, but always from Montalvo. + +“My friend,” said the captain at last, throwing down his cards, +“certainly you are fated to be unfortunate in your matrimonial +adventures, for the devil lives in your dice-box, and his highness does +not give everything. I pass,” and he rose from the table. + +“I pass also,” said Dirk following him into the window place, for he +wished to take no more money. “You have been very unlucky, Count,” he +said. + +“Very, indeed, my young friend,” answered Montalvo, yawning, “in fact, +for the next six months I must live on—well—well, nothing, except the +recollection of your excellent dinner.” + +“I am sorry,” muttered Dirk, confusedly, “I did not wish to take your +money; it was the turn of those accursed dice. See here, let us say no +more about it.” + +“Sir,” said Montalvo, with a sudden sternness, “an officer and a +gentleman cannot treat a debt of honour thus; but,” he added with a +little laugh, “if another gentleman chances to be good enough to charge +a debt of honour for a debt of honour, the affair is different. If, for +instance, it would suit you to lend me four hundred florins, which, +added to the six hundred which I have lost to-night, would make a +thousand in all, well, it will be a convenience to me, though should it +be any inconvenience to you, pray do not think of such a thing.” + +“Certainly,” answered Dirk, “I have won nearly as much as that, and +here at my own table. Take them, I beg of you, captain,” and emptying a +roll of gold into his hand, he counted it with the skill of a merchant, +and held it towards him. + +Montalvo hesitated. Then he took the money, pouring it carelessly into +his pocket. + +“You have not checked the sum,” said Dirk. + +“My friend, it is needless,” answered his guest, “your word is rather +better than any bond,” and again he yawned, remarking that it was +getting late. + +Dirk waited a few moments, thinking in his coarse, business-like way +that the noble Spaniard might wish to say something about a written +acknowledgment. As, however, this did not seem to occur to him, and the +matter was not one of ordinary affairs, he led the way back to the +table, where the other two were now showing their skill in card tricks. + +A few minutes later the two Spaniards took their departure, leaving +Dirk and his cousin Brant alone. + +“A very successful evening,” said Brant, “and, cousin, you won a great +deal.” + +“Yes,” answered Dirk, “but all the same I am a poorer man than I was +yesterday.” + +Brant laughed. “Did he borrow of you?” he asked. “Well, I thought he +would, and what’s more, don’t you count on that money. Montalvo is a +good sort of fellow in his own fashion, but he is an extravagant man +and a desperate gambler, with a queer history, I fancy—at least, nobody +knows much about him, not even his brother officers. If you ask them +they shrug their shoulders and say that Spain is a big kettle full of +all sorts of fish. One thing I do know, however, that he is over head +and ears in debt; indeed, there was trouble about it down at The Hague. +So, cousin, don’t you play with him more than you can help, and don’t +reckon on that thousand florins to pay your bills with. It is a mystery +to me how the man gets on, but I am told that a foolish old vrouw in +Amsterdam lent him a lot till she discovered—but there, I don’t talk +scandal. And now,” he added, changing his voice, “is this place +private?” + +“Let’s see,” said Dirk, “they have cleared the things away, and the old +housekeeper has tidied up my bedroom. Yes, I think so. Nobody ever +comes up here after ten o’clock. What is it?” + +Brant touched his arm, and, understanding the truth, Dirk led the way +into the window-place. There, standing with his back to the room, and +his hands crossed in a peculiar fashion, he uttered the word, +“_Jesus_,” and paused. Brant also crossed his hands and answered, or, +rather, continued, “_wept_.” It was the password of those of the New +Religion. + +“You are one of us, cousin?” said Dirk. + +“I and all my house, my father, my mother, my sister, and the maiden +whom I am to marry. They told me at The Hague that I must seek of you +or the young Heer Pieter van de Werff, knowledge of those things which +we of the Faith need to know; who are to be trusted, and who are not to +be trusted; where prayer is held, and where we may partake of the pure +Sacrament of God the Son.” + +Dirk took his cousin’s hand and pressed it. The pressure was returned, +and thenceforward brother could not have trusted brother more +completely, for now between them was the bond of a common and burning +faith. + +Such bonds the reader may say, tie ninety out of every hundred people +to each other in the present year of grace, but it is not to be +observed that a like mutual confidence results. No, because the +circumstances have changed. Thanks very largely to Dirk van Goorl and +his fellows of that day, especially to one William of Orange, it is no +longer necessary for devout and God-fearing people to creep into holes +and corners, like felons hiding from the law, that they may worship the +Almighty after some fashion as pure as it is simple, knowing the while +that if they are found so doing their lot and the lot of their wives +and children will be the torment and the stake. Now the thumbscrew and +the rack as instruments for the discomfiture of heretics are relegated +to the dusty cases of museums. But some short generations since all +this was different, for then a man who dared to disagree with certain +doctrines was treated with far less mercy than is shown to a dog on the +vivisector’s table. + +Little wonder, therefore, that those who lay under such a ban, those +who were continually walking in the cold shadow of this dreadful doom, +clung to each other, loved each other, and comforted each other to the +last, passing often enough hand-in-hand through the fiery gates to that +country in which there is no more pain. To be a member of the New +Religion in the Netherlands under the awful rule of Charles the Emperor +and Philip the King was to be one of a vast family. It was not “sir” or +“mistress” or “madame,” it was “my father” and “my mother,” or “my +sister” and “my brother;” yes, and between people who were of very +different status and almost strangers in the flesh; strangers in the +flesh but brethren in spirit. + +It will be understood that in these circumstances Dirk and Brant, +already liking each other, and being already connected by blood, were +not slow in coming to a complete understanding and fellowship. + +There they sat in the window-place telling each other of their +families, their hopes and fears, and even of their lady-loves. In this, +as in every other respect, Hendrik Brant’s story was one of simple +prosperity. He was betrothed to a lady of The Hague, the only daughter +of a wealthy wine-merchant, who, according to his account, seemed to be +as beautiful as she was good and rich, and they were to be married in +the spring. But when Dirk told him of his affair, he shook his wise +young head. + +“You say that both she and her aunt are Catholics?” he asked. + +“Yes, cousin, this is the trouble. I think that she is fond of me, or, +at any rate, she was until a few days since,” he added ruefully, “but +how can I, being a ‘heretic,’ ask her to plight her troth to me unless +I tell her? And that, you know, is against the rule; indeed, I scarcely +dare to do so.” + +“Had you not best consult with some godly elder who by prayer and words +may move your lady’s heart till the light shines on her?” asked Brant. + +“Cousin, it has been done, but always there is the other in the way, +that red-nosed Aunt Clara, who is a mad idolator; also there is the +serving-woman, Greta, whom I take for little better than a spy. +Therefore, between the two of them I see little chance that Lysbeth +will ever hear the truth this side of marriage. And yet how dare I +marry her? Is it right that I should marry her and therefore, perhaps, +bring her too to some dreadful fate such as may wait for you or me? +Moreover, now since this man Montalvo has crossed my path, all things +seem to have gone wrong between me and Lysbeth; indeed but yesterday +her door was shut on me.” + +“Women have their fancies,” answered Brant, slowly; “perhaps he has +taken hers; she would not be the first who walked that plank. Or, +perhaps, she is vexed with you for not speaking out ere this; for, man, +not knowing what you are, how can she read your mind?” + +“Perhaps, perhaps,” said Dirk, “but I know not what to do,” and in his +perplexity he struck his forehead with his hand. + +“Then, brother, in that case what hinders that we should ask Him Who +can tell you?” said Brant, calmly. + +Dirk understood what he meant at once. “It is a wise thought, and a +good one, cousin. I have the Holy Book; first let us pray, and then we +can seek wisdom there.” + +“You are rich, indeed,” answered Brant; “sometime you must tell me how +and where you came by it.” + +“Here in Leyden, if one can afford to pay for them, such goods are not +hard to get,” said Dirk; “what _is_ hard is to keep them safely, for to +be found with a Bible in your pocket is to carry your own +death-warrant.” + +Brant nodded. “Is it safe to show it here?” he asked. + +“As safe as anywhere, cousin; the window is shuttered, the door is, or +will be, locked, but who can say that he is safe this side of the stake +in a land where the rats and mice carry news and the wind bears +witness? Come, I will show you where I keep it,” and going to the +mantelpiece he took down a candle-stick, a quaint brass, ornamented on +its massive oblong base with two copper snails, and lit the candle. “Do +you like the piece?” he asked; “it is my own design, which I cast and +filed out in my spare hours,” and he gazed at the holder with the +affection of an artist. Then without waiting for an answer, he led the +way to the door of his sitting-room and paused. + +“What is it?” asked Brant. + +“I thought I heard a sound, that is all, but doubtless the old vrouw +moves upon the stairs. Turn the key, cousin, so, now come on.” + +They entered the sleeping chamber, and having glanced round and made +sure that it was empty, and the window shut, Dirk went to the head of +the bed, which was formed of oak-panels, the centre one carved with a +magnificent coat-of-arms, fellow to that in the fireplace of the +sitting-room. At this panel Dirk began to work, till presently it slid +aside, revealing a hollow, out of which he took a book bound in boards +covered with leather. Then, having closed the panel, the two young men +returned to the sitting-room, and placed the volume upon the oak table +beneath the chandelier. + +“First let us pray,” said Brant. + +It seems curious, does it not, that two young men as a _finale_ to a +dinner party, and a gambling match at which the stakes had not been +low; young men who like others had their weaknesses, for one of them, +at any rate, could drink too much wine at times, and both being human +doubtless had further sins to bear, should suggest kneeling side by +side to offer prayers to their Maker before they studied the +Scriptures? But then in those strange days prayer, now so common (and +so neglected) an exercise, was an actual luxury. To these poor hunted +men and women it was a joy to be able to kneel and offer thanks and +petitions to God, believing themselves to be safe from the sword of +those who worshipped otherwise. Thus it came about that, religion being +forbidden, was to them a very real and earnest thing, a thing to be +indulged in at every opportunity with solemn and grateful hearts. So +there, beneath the light of the guttering candles, they knelt side by +side while Brant, speaking for both of them, offered up a prayer—a +sight touching enough and in its way beautiful. + +The words of his petition do not matter. He prayed for their Church; he +prayed for their country that it might be made strong and free; he even +prayed for the Emperor, the carnal, hare-lipped, guzzling, able +Hapsburg self-seeker. Then he prayed for themselves and all who were +dear to them, and lastly, that light might be vouchsafed to Dirk in his +present difficulty. No, not quite lastly, for he ended with a petition +that their enemies might be forgiven, yes, even those who tortured them +and burnt them at the stake, since they knew not what they did. It may +be wondered whether any human aspirations could have been more +thoroughly steeped in the true spirit of Christianity. + +When at length he had finished they rose from their knees. + +“Shall I open the Book at a hazard,” asked Dirk, “and read what my eye +falls on?” + +“No,” answered Brant, “for it savours of superstition; thus did the +ancients with the writings of the poet Virgilius, and it is not fitting +that we who hold the light should follow the example of those blind +heathen. What work of the Book, brother, are you studying now?” + +“The first letter of Paul to the Corinthians, which I have never read +before,” he answered. + +“Then begin where you left off, brother, and read your chapter. Perhaps +we may find instruction in it; if not, no answer is vouchsafed to us +to-night.” + +So from the black-letter volume before him Dirk began to read the +seventh chapter, in which, as it chances, the great Apostle deals with +the marriage state. On he read, in a quiet even voice, till he came to +the twelfth and four following verses, of which the last three run: +“For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the +unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children +unclean; but now they are holy. But if the unbelieving depart, let him +depart. A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases; but +God has called us to peace. For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou +shalt save thy husband? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt +save thy wife?” Dirk’s voice trembled, and he paused. + +“Continue to the end of the chapter,” said Brant, so the reader went +on. + +There is a sound. They do not hear it, but the door of the bedchamber +behind them opens ever so little. They do not see it, but between door +and lintel something white thrusts itself, a woman’s white face crowned +with black hair, and set in it two evil, staring eyes. Surely, when +first he raised his head in Eden, Satan might have worn such a +countenance as this. It cranes itself forward till the long, thin neck +seems to stretch; then suddenly a stir or a movement alarms it, and +back the face draws like the crest of a startled snake. Back it draws, +and the door closes again. + +The chapter is read, the prayer is prayed, and strange may seem the +answer to that prayer, an answer to shake out faith from the hearts of +men; men who are impatient, who do not know that as the light takes +long in travelling from a distant star, so the answer from the Throne +to the supplication of trust may be long in coming. It may not come +to-day or to-morrow. It may not come in this generation or this +century; the prayer of to-day may receive its crown when the children’s +children of the lips that uttered it have in their turn vanished in the +dust. And yet that Divine reply may in no wise be delayed; even as our +liberty of this hour may be the fruit of those who died when Dirk van +Goorl and Hendrik Brant walked upon the earth; even as the vengeance +that but now is falling on the Spaniard may be the reward of the deeds +of shame that he worked upon them and upon their kin long generations +gone. For the Throne is still the Throne, and the star is still the +star; from the one flows justice and from the other light, and to them +time and space are naught. + +Dirk finished the chapter and closed the Book. + +“It seems that you have your answer, Brother,” said Brant quietly. + +“Yes,” replied Dirk, “it is written large enough:—‘The unbelieving wife +is sanctified by the husband . . . how knowest thou, O man, whether +thou shalt save thy wife?’ Had the Apostle foreseen my case he could +not have set the matter forth more clearly.” + +“He, or the Spirit in him, knew all cases, and wrote for every man that +ever shall be born,” answered Brant. “This is a lesson to us. Had you +looked sooner you would have learned sooner, and mayhap much trouble +might have been spared. As it is, without doubt you must make haste and +speak to her at once, leaving the rest with God.” + +“Yes,” said Dirk, “as soon as may be, but there is one thing more; +ought I tell her all the truth?” + +“I should not be careful to hide it, friend, and now, good night. No, +do not come to the door with me. Who can tell, there may be watchers +without, and it is not wise that we should be seen together so late.” + +When his cousin and new-found friend had gone Dirk sat for a while, +till the guttering tallow lights overhead burned to the sockets indeed. +Then, taking the candle from the snail-adorned holder, he lit it, and, +having extinguished those in the chandeliers, went into his bedroom and +undressed himself. The Bible he returned to its hiding-place and closed +the panel, after which he blew out the light and climbed into the tall +bed. + +As a rule Dirk was a most excellent sleeper; when he laid his head on +the pillow his eyes closed nor did they open again until the appointed +and accustomed hour. But this night he could not sleep. Whether it was +the dinner or the wine, or the gambling, or the prayer and the +searching of the Scriptures with his cousin Brant, the result remained +the same; he was very wakeful, which annoyed him the more as a man of +his race and phlegm found it hard to attribute this unrest to any of +these trivial causes. Still, as vexation would not make him sleep, he +lay awake watching the moonlight flood the chamber in broad bars and +thinking. + +Somehow as Dirk thought thus he grew afraid; it seemed to him as though +he shared that place with another presence, an evil and malignant +presence. Never in his life before had he troubled over or been +troubled by tales of spirits, yet now he remembered Montalvo’s remark +about a ghost, and of a surety he felt as though one were with him +there. In this strange and new alarm he sought for comfort and could +think of none save that which an old and simple pastor had recommended +to him in all hours of doubt and danger, namely, if it could be had, to +clasp a Bible to his heart and pray. + +Well, both things were easy. Raising himself in bed, in a moment he had +taken the book from its hiding-place and closed the panel. Then +pressing it against his breast between himself and the mattress he lay +down again, and it would seem that the charm worked, for presently he +was asleep. + +Yet Dirk dreamed a very evil dream. He dreamed that a tall black figure +leaned over him, and that a long white hand was stretched out to his +bed-head where it wandered to and fro, till at last he heard the panel +slide home with a rattling noise. + +Then it seemed to him that he woke, and that his eyes met two eyes bent +down over him, eyes which searched him as though they would read the +very secrets of his heart. He did not stir, he could not, but lo! in +this dream of his the figure straightened itself and glided away, +appearing and disappearing as it crossed the bars of moonlight until it +vanished by the door. + +A while later and Dirk woke up in truth, to find that although the +night was cold enough the sweat ran in big drops from his brow and +body. But now strangely enough his fear was gone, and, knowing that he +had but dreamed a dream, he turned over, touched the Bible on his +breast, and fell sleeping like a child, to be awakened only by the +light of the rising winter sun pouring on his face. + +Then Dirk remembered that dream of the bygone night, and his heart grew +heavy, for it seemed to him that this vision of a dark woman searching +his face with those dreadful eyes was a portent of evil not far away. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +THE BETROTHAL OF LYSBETH + + +On the following morning when Montalvo entered his private room after +breakfast, he found a lady awaiting him, in whom, notwithstanding the +long cloak and veil she wore, he had little difficulty in recognising +Black Meg. In fact Black Meg had been waiting some while, and being a +person of industrious habits she had not neglected to use her time to +the best advantage. + +The reader may remember that when Meg visited the gallant Captain +Montalvo upon a previous occasion, she had taken the liberty of helping +herself to certain papers which she found lying just inside an unlocked +desk. These papers on examination, as she feared might be the case, for +the most part proved to be quite unimportant—unpaid accounts, military +reports, a billet or two from ladies, and so forth. But in thinking the +matter over Black Meg remembered that this desk had another part to it, +which seemed to be locked, and, therefore, just in case they should +prove useful, she took with her a few skeleton keys and one or two +little instruments of steel and attended the pleasure of her noble +patron at an hour when she believed that he would be at breakfast in +another room. Things went well; he was at breakfast and she was left +alone in the chamber with the desk. The rest may be guessed. Replacing +the worthless bundle in the unlocked part, by the aid of her keys and +instruments she opened the inner half. There sure enough were letters +hidden, and in a little drawer two miniatures framed in gold, one of a +lady, young and pretty with dark eyes, and the other of two children, a +boy and a girl of five or six years of age. Also there was a curling +lock of hair labelled in Montalvo’s writing—“Juanita’s hair, which she +gave me as a keepsake.” + +Here was treasure indeed whereof Black Meg did not fail to possess +herself. Thrusting the letters and other articles into the bosom of her +dress to be examined at leisure, she was clever enough, before closing +and re-locking the desk, to replace them with a dummy bundle, hastily +made up from some papers that lay about. + +When everything had been satisfactorily arranged she went outside and +chattered for a while with the soldier on guard, only re-entering the +room by one door as Montalvo appeared in it through the other. + +“Well, my friend,” he said, “have you the evidence?” + +“I have some evidence, Excellency,” she answered. “I was present at the +dinner that you ate last night, although none of it came my way, and—I +was present afterwards.” + +“Indeed. I thought I saw you slip in, and allow me to congratulate you +on that; it was very well thought out and done, just as folk were +moving up and down the stairs. Also, when I went home, I believe that I +recognised a gentleman in the street whom I have been given to +understand you honour with your friendship, a short, stout person with +a bald head; let me see, he was called the Butcher at The Hague, was he +not? No, do not pout, I have no wish to pry into the secrets of ladies, +but still in my position here it is my business to know a thing or two. +Well, what did you see?” + +“Excellency, I saw the young man I was sent to watch and Hendrik Brant, +the son of the rich goldsmith at The Hague, praying side by side upon +their knees.” + +“That is bad, very bad,” said Montalvo shaking his head, “but——” + +“I saw,” she went on in her hoarse voice, “the pair of them read the +Bible.” + +“How shocking!” replied Montalvo with a simulated shudder. “Think of +it, my orthodox friend, if you are to be believed, these two persons, +hitherto supposed to be respectable, have been discovered in the crime +of consulting that work upon which our Faith is founded. Well, those +who could read anything so dull must, indeed, as the edicts tell us, be +monsters unworthy to live. But, if you please, your proofs. Of course +you have this book?” + +Then Black Meg poured forth all her tale—how she had watched and seen +something, how she had listened and heard little, how she had gone to +the secret panel, bending over the sleeping man, and found—nothing. + +“You are a poor sort of spy, mother,” commented the captain when she +had done, “and, upon my soul, I do not believe that even a Papal +inquisitor could hang that young fellow on your evidence. You must go +back and get some more.” + +“No,” answered Black Meg with decision, “if you want to force your way +into conventicles you had best do it yourself. As I wish to go on +living here is no job for me. I have proved to you that this young man +is a heretic, so now give me my reward.” + +“Your reward? Ah! your reward. No, I think not at present, for a reward +presupposes services—and I see none.” + +Black Meg began to storm. + +“Be silent,” said Montalvo, dropping his bantering tone. “Look, I will +be frank with you. I do not want to burn anybody. I am sick of all this +nonsense about religion, and for aught I care every Netherlander in +Leyden may read the Bible until he grows tired. I seek to marry that +Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout, and to do this I desire to prove that the +man whom she loves, Dirk van Goorl, is a heretic. What you have told me +may or may not be sufficient for my purpose. If it is sufficient you +shall be paid liberally after my marriage; if not—well, you have had +enough. As for your evidence, for my part I may say that I do not +believe a word of it, for were it true you would have brought the +Bible.” + +As he spoke he rang a bell which stood upon a table, and before Meg +could answer the soldier appeared. + +“Show this good woman out,” he said, adding, in a loud voice, “Mother, +I will do my best for you and forward your petition to the proper +quarter. Meanwhile, take this trifle in charity,” and he pressed a +florin into her hand. “Now, guard, the prisoners, the prisoners. I have +no time to waste—and listen—let me be troubled with no more beggars, or +you will hear of it.” + +That afternoon Dirk, filled with a solemn purpose, and dressed in his +best suit, called at the house in the Bree Straat, where the door was +again opened by Greta, who looked at him expectantly. + +“Is your mistress in?” he stammered. “I have come to see your +mistress.” + +“Alas! Mynheer,” answered the young woman, “you are just too late. My +mistress and her aunt, the Vrouw Clara, have gone away to stay for a +week or ten days as the Vrouw Clara’s health required a change.” + +“Indeed,” said Dirk aghast, “and where have they gone?” + +“Oh! Mynheer, I do not know that, they did not tell me,” and no other +answer could he extract from her. + +So Dirk went away discomfited and pondering. An hour later the Captain +Montalvo called, and strange to say proved more fortunate. By hook or +by crook he obtained the address of the ladies, who were visiting, it +appeared, at a seaside village within the limits of a ride. By a +curious coincidence that very afternoon Montalvo, also seeking rest and +change of air, appeared at the inn of this village, giving it out that +he proposed to lodge there for a while. + +As he walked upon the beach next day, whom should he chance to meet but +the Vrouw Clara van Ziel, and never did the worthy Clara spend a more +pleasant morning. So at least she declared to Lysbeth when she brought +her cavalier back to dinner. + +The reader may guess the rest. Montalvo paid his court, and in due +course Montalvo was refused. He bore the blow with a tender +resignation. + +“Confess, dear lady,” he said, “that there is some other man more +fortunate.” + +Lysbeth did not confess, but, on the other hand, neither did she deny. + +“If he makes you happy I shall be more than satisfied,” the Count +murmured, “but, lady, loving you as I do, I do not wish to see you +married to a heretic.” + +“What do you mean, Señor?” asked Lysbeth, bridling. + +“Alas!” he answered, “I mean that, as I fear, the worthy Heer Dirk van +Goorl, a friend of mine for whom I have every respect, although he has +outstripped me in your regard, has fallen into that evil net.” + +“Such accusations should not be made,” said Lysbeth sternly, “unless +they can be proved. Even then——” and she stopped. + +“I will inquire further,” replied the swain. “For myself I accept the +position, that is until you learn to love me, if such should be my +fortune. Meanwhile I beg of you at least to look upon me as a friend, a +true friend who would lay down his life to serve you.” + +Then, with many a sigh, Montalvo departed home to Leyden upon his +beautiful black horse, but not before he had enjoyed a few minutes’ +earnest conversation with the worthy Tante Clara. + +“Now, if only this old lady were concerned,” he reflected as he rode +away, “the matter might be easy enough, and the Saints know it would be +one to me, but unhappily that obstinate pig of a Hollander girl has all +the money in her own right. In what labours do not the necessities of +rank and station involve a man who by disposition requires only ease +and quiet! Well, my young friend Lysbeth, if I do not make you pay for +these exertions before you are two months older, my name is not Juan de +Montalvo.” + +Three days later the ladies returned to Leyden. Within an hour of their +arrival the Count called, and was admitted. + +“Stay with me,” said Lysbeth to her Aunt Clara as the visitor was +announced, and for a while she stayed. Then, making an excuse, she +vanished from the room, and Lysbeth was left face to face with her +tormentor. + +“Why do you come here?” she asked; “I have given you my answer.” + +“I come for your own sake,” he replied, “to give you my reasons for +conduct which you may think strange. You remember a certain +conversation?” + +“Perfectly,” broke in Lysbeth. + +“A slight mistake, I think, Jufvrouw, I mean a conversation about an +excellent friend of yours, whose spiritual affairs seem to interest +you.” + +“What of it, Señor?” + +“Only this; I have made inquiries and——” + +Lysbeth looked up unable to conceal her anxiety. + +“Oh! Jufvrouw, let me beg of you to learn to control your expression; +the open face of childhood is so dangerous in these days.” + +“He is my cousin.” + +“I know; were he anything more, I should be so grieved, but we can most +of us spare a cousin or two.” + +“If you would cease amusing yourself, Señor——” + +“And come to the point? Of course I will. Well, the result of my +inquiries has been to find out that this worthy person _is_ a heretic +of the most pernicious sort. I said inquiries, but there was no need +for me to make any. He has been——” + +“Not denounced,” broke in Lysbeth. + +“Oh! my dear lady, again that tell-tale emotion from which all sorts of +things might be concluded. Yes—denounced—but fortunately to myself as a +person appointed under the Edict. It will, I fear, be my duty to have +him arrested this evening—you wish to sit down, allow me to hand you a +chair—but I shall not deal with the case myself. Indeed, I propose to +pass him over to the worthy Ruard Tapper, the Papal Inquisitor, you +know—every one has heard of the unpleasant Tapper—who is to visit +Leyden next week, and who, no doubt, will make short work of him.” + +“What has he done?” asked Lysbeth in a low voice, and bending down her +head to hide the working of her features. + +“Done? My dear lady, it is almost too dreadful to tell you. This +misguided and unfortunate young man, with another person whom the +witnesses have not been able to identify, was seen at midnight reading +the Bible.” + +“The Bible! Why should that be wrong?” + +“Hush! Are you also a heretic? Do you not know that all this heresy +springs from the reading of the Bible? You see, the Bible is a very +strange book. It seems that there are many things in it which, when +read by an ordinary layman, appear to mean this or that. When read by a +consecrated priest, however, they mean something quite different. In +the same way, there are many doctrines which the layman cannot find in +the Bible that to the consecrated eye are plain as the sun and the +moon. The difference between heresy and orthodoxy is, in short, the +difference between what can actually be found in the letter of this +remarkable work, and what is really there—according to their +holinesses.” + +“Almost thou persuadest me——” began Lysbeth bitterly. + +“Hush! lady—to be, what you are, an angel.” + +There came a pause. + +“What will happen to him?” asked Lysbeth. + +“After—after the usual painful preliminaries to discover accomplices, I +presume the stake, but possibly, as he has the freedom of Leyden, he +might get off with hanging.” + +“Is there no escape?” + +Montalvo walked to the window, and looking out of it remarked that he +thought it was going to snow. Then suddenly he wheeled round, and +staring hard at Lysbeth asked, + +“Are you really interested in this heretic, and do you desire to save +him?” + +Lysbeth heard and knew at once that the buttons were off the foils. The +bantering, whimsical tone was gone. Now her tormentor’s voice was stern +and cold, the voice of a man who was playing for great stakes and meant +to win them. + +She also gave up fencing. + +“I am and I do,” she answered. + +“Then it can be done—at a price.” + +“What price?” + +“Yourself in marriage within three weeks.” + +Lysbeth quivered slightly, then sat still. + +“Would not my fortune do instead?” she asked. + +“Oh! what a poor substitute you offer me,” Montalvo said, with a return +to his hateful banter. Then he added, “That offer might be considered +were it not for the abominable laws which you have here. In practice it +would be almost impossible for you to hand over any large sum, much of +which is represented by real estate, to a man who is not your husband. +Therefore I am afraid I must stipulate that you and your possessions +shall not be separated.” + +Again Lysbeth sat silent. Montalvo, watching her with genuine interest, +saw signs of rebellion, perchance of despair. He saw the woman’s mental +and physical loathing of himself conquering her fears for Dirk. Unless +he was much mistaken she was about to defy him, which, as a matter of +fact, would have proved exceedingly awkward, as his pecuniary resources +were exhausted. Also on the very insufficient evidence which he +possessed he would not have dared to touch Dirk, and thus to make +himself a thousand powerful enemies. + +“It is strange,” he said, “that the irony of circumstances should +reduce me to pleading for a rival. But, Lysbeth van Hout, before you +answer I beg you to think. Upon the next movements of your lips it +depends whether that body you love shall be stretched upon the rack, +whether those eyes which you find pleasant shall grow blind with agony +in the darkness of a dungeon, and whether that flesh which you think +desirable shall scorch and wither in the furnace. Or, on the other +hand, whether none of these things shall happen, whether this young man +shall go free, to be for a month or two a little piqued—a little +bitter—about the inconstancy of women, and then to marry some opulent +and respected heretic. Surely you could scarcely hesitate. Oh! where is +the self-sacrificing spirit of the sex of which we hear so much? +Choose.” + +Still there was no answer. Montalvo, playing his trump card, drew from +his vest an official-looking document, sealed and signed. + +“This,” he said, “is the information to be given to the incorruptible +Ruard Trapper. Look, here written on it is your cousin’s name. My +servant waits for me in your kitchen. If you hesitate any longer, I +call him and in your presence charge him to hand that paper to the +messenger who starts this afternoon for Brussels. Once given it cannot +be recalled and the pious Dirk’s doom is sealed.” + +Lysbeth’s spirit began to break. “How can I?” she asked. “It is true +that we are not affianced; perhaps for this very reason which I now +learn. But he cares for me and knows that I care for him. Must I then, +in addition to the loss of him, be remembered all his life as little +better than a light-of-love caught by the tricks and glitter of such a +man as you? I tell you that first I will kill myself.” + +Again Montalvo went to the window, for this hint of suicide was most +disconcerting. No one can marry a dead woman, and Lysbeth was scarcely +likely to leave a will in his favour. It seemed that what troubled her +particularly was the fear lest the young man should think her conduct +light. Well, why should she not give him a reason which he would be the +first to acknowledge as excellent for breaking with him? Could she, a +Catholic, be expected to wed a heretic, and could he not be made to +tell her that he was a heretic? + +Behold an answer to his question! The Saints themselves, desiring that +this pearl of price should continue to rest in the bosom of the true +Church, had interfered in his behalf, for there in the street below was +Dirk van Goorl approaching Lysbeth’s door. Yes, there he was dressed in +his best burgher’s suit, his brow knit with thought, his step +hesitating; a very picture of the timid, doubtful lover. + +“Lysbeth van Hout,” said the Count, turning to her, “as it chances the +Heer Dirk van Goorl is at your door. You will admit him, and this +matter can be settled one way or the other. I wish to point out to you +how needless it is that the young man should be left believing that you +have treated him ill. All which is necessary is that you should ask +whether or no he is of your faith. If I know him, he will not lie to +you. Then it remains only for you to say—for doubtless the man comes +here to seek your hand—that however much it may grieve you to give such +an answer, you can take no heretic to husband. Do you understand?” + +Lysbeth bowed her head. + +“Then listen. You will admit your suitor; you will allow him to make +his offer to you now—if he is so inclined; you will, before giving any +answer, ask him of his faith. If he replies that he is a heretic, you +will dismiss him as kindly as you wish. If he replies that he is a true +servant of the Church, you will say that you have heard a different +tale and must have time to make inquiries. Remember also that if by one +jot you do otherwise than I have bid you, when Dirk van Goorl leaves +the room you see him for the last time, unless it pleases you—to attend +his execution. Whereas if you obey and dismiss him finally, as the door +shuts behind him I put this Information in the fire and satisfy you +that the evidence upon which it is based is for ever deprived of weight +and done with.” + +Lysbeth looked a question. + +“I see you are wondering how I should know what you do or do not do. It +is simple. I shall be the harmless but observant witness of your +interview. Over this doorway hangs a tapestry; you will grant me the +privilege—not a great one for a future husband—of stepping behind it.” + +“Never, never,” said Lysbeth, “I cannot be put to such a shame. I defy +you.” + +As she spoke came the sound of knocking at the street door. Glancing up +at Montalvo, for the second time she saw that look which he had worn at +the crisis of the sledge race. All its urbanity, its careless +_bonhomie_, had vanished. Instead of these appeared a reflection of the +last and innermost nature of the man, the rock foundation, as it were, +upon which was built the false and decorated superstructure that he +showed to the world. There were the glaring eyes, there the grinning +teeth of the Spanish wolf; a ravening brute ready to rend and tear, if +so he might satisfy himself with the meat his soul desired. + +“Don’t play tricks with me,” he muttered, “and don’t argue, for there +is no time. Do as I bid you, girl, or on your head will be this +psalm-singing fellow’s blood. And, look you, don’t try setting him on +me, for I have my sword and he is unarmed. If need be a heretic may be +killed at sight, you know, that is by one clothed with authority. When +the servant announces him go to the door and order that he is to be +admitted,” and picking up his plumed hat, which might have betrayed +him, Montalvo stepped behind the arras. + +For a moment Lysbeth stood thinking. Alas! she could see no possible +escape, she was in the toils, the rope was about her throat. Either she +must obey or, so she thought, she must give the man she loved to a +dreadful death. For his sake she would do it, for his sake and might +God forgive her! Might God avenge her and him! + +Another instant and there came a knock upon the door. She opened it. + +“The Heer van Goorl stands below,” said the voice of Greta, “wishing to +see you, madam.” + +“Admit him,” answered Lysbeth, and going to a chair almost in the +centre of the room, she seated herself. + +Presently Dirk’s step sounded on the stair, that known, beloved step +for which so often she had listened eagerly. Again the door opened and +Greta announced the Heer van Goorl. That she could not see the Captain +Montalvo evidently surprised the woman, for her eyes roamed round the +room wonderingly, but she was too well trained, or too well bribed, to +show her astonishment. Gentlemen of this kidney, as Greta had from time +to time remarked, have a faculty for vanishing upon occasion. + +So Dirk walked into the fateful chamber as some innocent and +unsuspecting creature walks into a bitter snare, little knowing that +the lady whom he loved and whom he came to win was set as a bait to +ruin him. + +“Be seated, cousin,” said Lysbeth, in a voice so forced and strained +that it caused him to look up. But he saw nothing, for her head was +turned away from him, and for the rest his mind was too preoccupied to +be observant. By nature simple and open, it would have taken much to +wake Dirk into suspicion in the home and presence of his love and +cousin, Lysbeth. + +“Good day to you, Lysbeth,” he said awkwardly; “why, how cold your hand +is! I have been trying to find you for some time, but you have always +been out or away, leaving no address.” + +“I have been to the sea with my Aunt Clara,” she answered. + +Then for a while—five minutes or more—there followed a strained and +stilted conversation. + +“Will the booby never come to the point?” reflected Montalvo, surveying +him through a join in the tapestry. “By the Saints, what a fool he +looks!” + +“Lysbeth,” said Dirk at last, “I want to speak to you.” + +“Speak on, cousin,” she answered. + +“Lysbeth, I—I—have loved you for a long while, and I—have come to ask +you to marry me. I have put it off for a year or more for reasons which +I hope to tell you some day, but I can keep silent no longer, +especially now when I see that a much finer gentleman is trying to win +you—I mean the Spanish Count, Montalvo,” he added with a jerk. + +She said nothing in reply. So Dirk went on pouring out all his honest +passion in words that momentarily gathered weight and strength, till at +length they were eloquent enough. He told her how since first they met +he had loved her and only her, and how his one desire in life was to +make her happy and be happy with her. Pausing at length he began to +speak of his prospects—then she stopped him. + +“Your pardon, Dirk,” she said, “but I have a question to ask of you,” +and her voice died away in a kind of sob. “I have heard rumours about +you,” she went on presently, “which must be cleared up. I have heard, +Dirk, that by faith you are what is called a heretic. Is it true?” + +He hesitated before answering, feeling that much depended on that +answer. But it was only for an instant, since Dirk was far too honest a +man to lie. + +“Lysbeth,” he said, “I will tell to you what I would not tell to any +other living creature, not being one of my own brotherhood, for whether +you accept me or reject me, I know well that I am as safe in speaking +to you as when upon my knees I speak to the God I serve. I _am_ what +you call a heretic. I am a member of that true faith to which I hope to +draw you, but which if you do not wish it I should never press upon +you. It is chiefly because I am what I am that for so long I have hung +back from speaking to you, since I did not know whether it would be +right—things being thus—to ask you to mix your lot with mine, or +whether I ought to marry you, if you would marry me, keeping this +secret from you. Only the other night I sought counsel of—well, never +mind of whom—and we prayed together, and together searched the Word of +God. And there, Lysbeth, by some wonderful mercy, I found my prayer +answered and my doubts solved, for the great St. Paul had foreseen this +case, as in that Book all cases are foreseen, and I read how the +unbelieving wife may be sanctified by the husband, and the unbelieving +husband by the wife. Then everything grew clear to me, and I determined +to speak. And now, dear, I have spoken, and it is for you to answer.” + +“Dirk, dear Dirk,” she replied almost with a cry, “alas! for the answer +which I must give you. Renounce the error of your ways, make +confession, and be reconciled to the Church and—I will marry you. +Otherwise I cannot, no, and although I love you, you and no other +man”—here she put an energy into her voice that was almost +dreadful—“with all my heart and soul and body; I cannot, I cannot, I +cannot!” + +Dirk heard, and his ruddy face turned ashen grey. + +“Cousin,” he replied, “you seek of me the one thing which I must not +give. Even for your sake I may not renounce my vows and my God as I +behold Him. Though it break my heart to bid you farewell and live +without you, here I pay you back in your own words—I cannot, I cannot, +I cannot!” + +Lysbeth looked at him, and lo! his short, massive form and his +square-cut, honest countenance in that ardour of renunciation had +suffered a change to things almost divine. At that moment—to her sight +at least—this homely Hollander wore the aspect of an angel. She ground +her teeth and pressed her hands upon her heart. “For his sake—to save +him,” she muttered to herself—then she spoke. + +“I respect you for it, I love you for it more than ever; but, Dirk, it +is over between us. One day, here or hereafter, you will understand and +you will forgive.” + +“So be it,” said Dirk hastily, stretching out his hand to find his hat, +for he was too blind to see. “It is a strange answer to my prayer, a +very strange answer; but doubtless you are right to follow your lights +as I am sure that I am right to follow mine. We must carry our cross, +dear Lysbeth, each of us; you see that we must carry our cross. Only I +beg of you—I don’t speak as a jealous man, because the thing has gone +further than jealousy—I speak as a friend, and come what may while I +live you will always find me that—I beg of you, beware of the Spaniard, +Montalvo. I know that he followed you to the coast; I have heard too he +boasts that he will marry you. The man is wicked, although he took me +in at first. I feel it—his presence seems to poison the air, yes, this +very air I breathe. But oh! and I should like him to hear me say it, +because I am sure that he is at the bottom of all this, his hour will +come. For whatever he does he will be paid back; he will be paid back +here and hereafter. And now, good-bye. God bless you and protect you, +dear Lysbeth. If you think it wrong you are quite right not to marry +me, and I know that you will keep my secret. Good-bye, again,” and +lifting her hand Dirk kissed it. Then he stumbled from the room. + +As for Lysbeth she cast herself at full length, and in the bitterness +of her heart beat her brow upon the boards. + +When the front door had shut behind Dirk, but not before, Montalvo +emerged from his hiding place and stood over the prostrate Lysbeth. He +tried to adopt his airy and sarcastic manner, but he was shaken by the +scene which he had overheard, shaken and somewhat frightened also, for +he felt that he had called into being passions of which the force and +fruits could not be calculated. + +“Bravo! my little actress,” he began, then gave it up and added in his +natural voice, “you had best rise and see me burn this paper.” + +Lysbeth struggled to her knees and watched him thrust the document +between two glowing peats. + +“I have fulfilled my promise,” he said, “and that evidence is done +with, but in case you should think of playing any tricks and not +fulfilling yours, please remember that I have fresh evidence infinitely +more valuable and convincing, to gain which, indeed, I condescended to +a stratagem not quite in keeping with my traditions. With my own ears I +heard this worthy gentleman, who is pleased to think so poorly of me, +admit that he is a heretic. That is enough to burn him any day, and I +swear that if within three weeks we are not man and wife, burn he +shall.” + +While he was speaking Lysbeth had risen slowly to her feet. Now she +confronted him, no longer the Lysbeth whom he had known, but a new +being filled like a cup with fury that was the more awful because it +was so quiet. + +“Juan de Montalvo,” she said in a low voice, “your wickedness has won +and for Dirk’s sake my person and my goods must pay its price. So be it +since so it must be, but listen. I make no prophecies about you; I do +not say that this or that shall happen to you, but I call down upon you +the curse of God and the execration of men.” + +Then she threw up her hands and began to pray. “God, Whom it has +pleased that I should be given to a fate far worse than death; O God, +blast the mind and the soul of this monster. Let him henceforth never +know a peaceful hour; let misfortune come upon him through me and mine; +let fears haunt his sleep. Let him live in heavy labour and die in +blood and misery, and through me; and if I bear children to him, let +the evil be upon them also.” + +She ceased. Montalvo looked at her and tried to speak. Again he looked +and again he tried to speak, but no words would come. + +Then the fear of Lysbeth van Hout fell upon him, that fear which was to +haunt him all his life. He turned and crept from the room, and his face +was like the face of an old man, nor, notwithstanding the height of his +immediate success, could his heart have been more heavy if Lysbeth had +been an angel sent straight from Heaven to proclaim to him the +unalterable doom of God. + + + + +CHAPTER VII +HENDRIK BRANT HAS A VISITOR + + +Nine months had gone by, and for more then eight of them Lysbeth had +been known as the Countess Juan de Montalvo. Indeed of this there could +be no doubt, since she was married with some ceremony by the Bishop in +the Groote Kerk before the eyes of all men. Folk had wondered much at +these hurried nuptials, though some of the more ill-natured shrugged +their shoulders and said that when a young woman had compromised +herself by long and lonely drives with a Spanish cavalier, and was in +consequence dropped by her own admirer, why the best thing she could do +was to marry as soon as possible. + +So the pair, who looked handsome enough before the altar, were wed, and +went to taste of such nuptial bliss as was reserved for them in +Lysbeth’s comfortable house in the Bree Straat. Here they lived almost +alone, for Lysbeth’s countrymen and women showed their disapproval of +her conduct by avoiding her company, and, for reasons of his own, +Montalvo did not encourage the visiting of Spaniards at his house. +Moreover, the servants were changed, while Tante Clara and the girl +Greta had also disappeared. Indeed, Lysbeth, finding out the false part +which they had played towards her, dismissed them both before her +marriage. + +It will be guessed that after the events that led to their union +Lysbeth took little pleasure in her husband’s society. She was not one +of those women who can acquiesce in marriage by fraud or capture, and +even learn to love the hand which snared them. So it came about that to +Montalvo she spoke very seldom; indeed after the first week of marriage +she only saw him on rare occasions. Very soon he found out that his +presence was hateful to her, and turned her detestation to account with +his usual cleverness. In other words, Lysbeth bought freedom by parting +with her property—in fact, a regular tariff was established, so many +guilders for a week’s liberty, so many for a month’s. + +This was an arrangement that suited Montalvo well enough, for in his +heart he was terrified of this woman, whose beautiful face had frozen +into a perpetual mask of watchful hatred. He could not forget that +frightful curse which had taken deep root in his superstitious mind, +and already seemed to flourish there, for it was true that since she +spoke it he had never known a quiet hour. How could he when he was +haunted night and day by the fear lest his wife should murder him? + +Surely, if ever Death looked out of a woman’s eyes it looked out of +hers, and it seemed to him that such a deed might trouble her +conscience little; that she might consider it in the light of an +execution, and not as a murder. Bah! he could not bear to think of it. +What would it be to drink his wine one day and then feel a hand of fire +gripping at his vitals because poison had been set within the cup; or, +worse still, if anything could be worse, to wake at night and find a +stiletto point grating against his backbone? Little wonder that +Montalvo slept alone and was always careful to lock his door. + +He need not have taken such precautions; whatever her eyes might say, +Lysbeth had no intention of killing this man. In that prayer of hers +she had, as it were, placed the matter in the hand of a higher Power, +and there she meant to leave it, feeling quite convinced that although +vengeance might tarry it would fall at last. As for her money, he could +have it. From the beginning her instinct told her that her husband’s +object was not amorous, but purely monetary, a fact of which she soon +had plentiful proof, and her great, indeed her only hope was that when +the wealth was gone he would go too. An otter, says the Dutch proverb, +does not nest in a dry dyke. + +But oh! what months those were, what dreadful months! From time to time +she saw her husband—when he wanted cash—and every night she heard him +returning home, often with unsteady steps. Twice or thrice a week also +she was commanded to prepare a luxurious meal for himself and some six +or eight companions, to be followed by a gambling party at which the +stakes ruled high. Then in the morning, before he was up, strange +people would arrive, Jews some of them, and wait till they could see +him, or catch him as he slipped from the house by a back way. These +men, Lysbeth discovered, were duns seeking payment of old debts. Under +such constant calls her fortune, which if substantial was not great, +melted rapidly. Soon the ready money was gone, then the shares in +certain ships were sold, then the land and the house itself were +mortgaged. + +So the time went on. + +Almost immediately after his refusal by Lysbeth, Dirk van Goorl had +left Leyden, and returned to Alkmaar, where his father lived. His +cousin and friend, however, Hendrik Brant, remained there studying the +jeweller’s art under the great master of filigree work, who was known +as Petrus. One morning, as Hendrik was sitting at breakfast in his +lodging, it was announced that a woman who would not give her name, +wished to see him. Moved more by curiosity than by any other reason, he +ordered her to be admitted. When she entered he was sorry, for in the +gaunt person and dark-eyed face he recognised one against whom he had +been warned by the elders of his church as a spy, a creature who was +employed by the papal inquisitors to get up cases against heretics, and +who was known as Black Meg. + +“What is your business with me?” Brant asked sternly. + +“Nothing to your hurt, worthy Heer, believe me, nothing to your hurt. +Oh! yes, I know that tales are told against me, who only earn an honest +living in an honest way, to keep my poor husband, who is an imbecile. +Once alas! he followed that mad Anabaptist fool, John of Leyden, the +fellow who set up as a king, and said that men might have as many wives +as they wished. That was what sent my husband silly, but, thanks be to +the Saints, he has repented of his errors and is reconciled to the +Church and Christian marriage, and now, I, who have a forgiving nature, +am obliged to support him.” + +“Your business?” said Brant. + +“Mynheer,” she answered, dropping her husky voice, “you are a friend of +the Countess Montalvo, she who was Lysbeth van Hout?” + +“No, I am acquainted with her, that is all.” + +“At least you are a friend of the Heer Dirk van Goorl who has left this +town for Alkmaar; he who was her lover?” + +“Yes, I am his cousin, but he is not the lover of any married woman.” + +“No, no, of course not; love cannot look through a bridal veil, can it? +Still, you are his friend, and, therefore, perhaps, her friend, and—she +isn’t happy.” + +“Indeed? I know nothing of her present life: she must reap the field +which she has sown. That door is shut.” + +“Not altogether perhaps. I thought it might interest Dirk van Goorl to +learn that it is still ajar.” + +“I don’t see why it should. Fish merchants are not interested in rotten +herrings; they write off the loss and send out the smack for a fresh +cargo.” + +“The first fish we catch is ever the finest, Mynheer, and if we haven’t +quite caught it, oh! what a fine fish is that.” + +“I have no time to waste in chopping riddles. What is your errand? Tell +it, or leave it untold, but be quick.” + +Black Meg leant forward, and the hoarse voice sank to a cavernous +whisper. + +“What will you give me,” she asked, “if I prove to you that the Captain +Montalvo is not married at all to Lysbeth van Hout?” + +“It does not much matter what I would give you, for I saw the thing +done in the Groote Kerk yonder.” + +“Things are not always done that seem to be done.” + +“Look here, woman, I have had enough of this,” and Brant pointed to the +door. + +Black Meg did not stir, only she produced a packet from the bosom of +her dress and laid it on the table. + +“A man can’t have two wives living at once, can he?” + +“No, I suppose not—that is, legally.” + +“Well, if I show you that Montalvo has two wives, how much?” + +Brant became interested. He hated Montalvo; he guessed, indeed he knew +something of the part which the man had played in this infamous affair, +and knew also that it would be a true kindness to Lysbeth to rid her of +him. + +“If you _proved_ it,” he said, “let us say two hundred florins.” + +“It is not enough, Mynheer.” + +“It is all I have to offer, and, mind you, what I promise to pay.” + +“Ah! yes, the other promises and doesn’t pay—the rogue, the rogue,” she +added, striking a bony fist upon the table. “Well, I agree, and I ask +no bond, for you merchant folk are not like cavaliers, your word is as +good as your paper. Now read these,” and she opened the packet and +pushed its contents towards him. + +With the exception of two miniatures, which he placed upon one side, +they were letters written in Spanish and in a very delicate hand. Brant +knew Spanish well, and in twenty minutes he had read them all. They +proved to be epistles from a lady who signed herself Juanita de +Montalvo, written to the Count Juan de Montalvo, whom she addressed as +her husband. Very piteous documents they were also, telling a tale that +need not be set out here of heartless desertion; pleading for the +writer’s sake and for the sake of certain children, that the husband +and father would return to them, or at least remit them means to live, +for they, his wife and family, were sunk in great poverty. + +“All this is sad enough,” said Brant with a gesture of disgust as he +glanced at the miniature of the lady and her children, “but it proves +nothing. How are we to know that she is the man’s wife?” + +Black Meg put her hand into the bosom of her dress and produced another +letter dated not more than three months ago. It was, or purported to +be, written by the priest of the village where the lady lived, and was +addressed to the Captain the Count Juan de Montalvo at Leyden. In +substance this epistle was an earnest appeal to the noble count from +one who had a right to speak, as the man who had christened him, taught +him, and married him to his wife, either to return to her or to forward +her the means to join him. “A dreadful rumour,” the letter ended, “has +reached us here in Spain that you have taken to wife a Dutch lady at +Leyden named Van Hout, but this I do not believe, since never could you +have committed such a crime before God and man. Write, write at once, +my son, and disperse this black cloud of scandal which is gathering on +your honoured and ancient name.” + +“How did you come by these, woman?” asked Brant. + +“The last I had from a priest who brought it from Spain. I met him at +The Hague, and offered to deliver the letter, as he had no safe means +of sending it to Leyden. The others and the pictures I stole out of +Montalvo’s room.” + +“Indeed, most honest merchant, and what might you have been doing in +his Excellency’s room?” + +“I will tell you,” she answered, “for, as he never gave me my pay, my +tongue is loosed. He wished for evidence that the Heer Dirk van Goorl +was a heretic, and employed me to find it.” + +Brant’s face hardened, and he became more watchful. + +“Why did he wish such evidence?” + +“To use it to prevent the marriage of Jufvrouw Lysbeth with the Heer +Dirk van Goorl.” + +“How?” + +Meg shrugged her shoulders. “By telling his secret to her so that she +might dismiss him, I suppose, or more likely by threatening that, if +she did not, he would hand her lover over to the Inquisitors.” + +“I see. And did you get the evidence?” + +“Well, I hid in the Heer Dirk’s bedroom one night, and looking through +a door saw him and another young man, whom I do not know, reading the +Bible, and praying together.” + +“Indeed; what a terrible risk you must have run, for had those young +men, or either of them, chanced to catch you, it is quite certain that +you would not have left that room alive. You know these heretics think +that they are justified in killing a spy at sight, and, upon my word, I +do not blame them. In fact, my good woman,” and he leaned forward and +looked her straight in the eyes, “were I in the same position I would +have knocked you on the head as readily as though you had been a rat.” + +Black Meg shrank back, and turned a little blue about the lips. + +“Of course, Mynheer, of course, it is a rough game, and the poor agents +of God must take their risks. Not that the other young man had any +cause to fear. I wasn’t paid to watch him, and—as I have said—I neither +know nor care who he is.” + +“Well, who can say, that may be fortunate for you, especially if he +should ever come to know or to care who you are. But it is no affair of +ours, is it? Now, give me those letters. What, do you want your money +first? Very well,” and, rising, Brant went to a cupboard and produced a +small steel box, which he unlocked; and, having taken from it the +appointed sum, locked it again. “There you are,” he said; “oh, you +needn’t stare at the cupboard; the box won’t live there after to-day, +or anywhere in this house. By the way, I understand that Montalvo never +paid you.” + +“Not a stiver,” she answered with a sudden access of rage; “the low +thief, he promised to pay me after his marriage, but instead of +rewarding her who put him in that warm nest, I tell you that already he +has squandered every florin of the noble lady’s money in gambling and +satisfying such debts as he was obliged to, so that to-day I believe +that she is almost a beggar.” + +“I see,” said Brant, “and now good morning, and look you, if we should +chance to meet in the town, you will understand that I do not know +you.” + +“I understand, Mynheer,” said Black Meg with a grin and vanished. + +When she had gone Brant rose and opened the window. “Bah!” he said, +“the air is poisoned. But I think I frightened her, I think that I have +nothing to fear. Yet who can tell? My God! she saw me reading the +Bible, and Montalvo knows it! Well, it is some time ago now, and I must +take my chance.” + +Ah! who could tell indeed? + +Then, taking the miniatures and documents with him, Brant started to +call upon his friend and co-religionist, the Heer Pieter van de Werff, +Dirk van Goorl’s friend, and Lysbeth’s cousin, a young man for whose +judgment and abilities he had a great respect. As a result of this +visit, these two gentlemen left that afternoon for Brussels, the seat +of Government, where they had very influential friends. + +It will be sufficient to tell the upshot of their visit. Just at that +time the Government of the Netherlands wished for its own reasons to +stand well with the citizen class, and when those in authority learned +of the dreadful fraud that had been played off upon a lady of note who +was known to be a good Catholic, for the sole object of robbing her of +her fortune, there was indignation in high places. Indeed, an order was +issued, signed by a hand which could not be resisted—so deeply was one +woman moved by the tale of another’s wrong—that the Count Montalvo +should be seized and put upon his trial, just as though he were any +common Netherland malefactor. Moreover, since he was a man with many +enemies, no one was found to stand between him and the Royal decree. + +Three days later Montalvo made an announcement to Lysbeth. For a wonder +he was supping at home alone with his wife, whose presence he had +commanded. She obeyed and attended, sitting at the further end of the +table, whence she rose from time to time to wait upon him with her own +hands. Watching him the while with her quiet eyes, she noticed that he +was ill at ease. + +“Cannot you speak?” he asked at last and savagely. “Do you think it is +pleasant for a man to sit opposite a woman who looks like a corpse in +her coffin till he wishes she were one?” + +“So do I,” answered Lysbeth, and again there was silence. + +Presently she broke it. “What do you want?” she asked. “More money?” + +“Of course I want money,” he answered furiously. + +“Then there is none; everything has gone, and the notary tells me that +no one will advance another stiver on the house. All my jewellery is +sold also.” + +He glanced at her hand. “You have still that ring,” he said. + +She looked at it. It was a hoop of gold set with emeralds of +considerable value which her husband had given her before marriage and +always insisted upon her wearing. In fact, it had been bought with the +money which he borrowed from Dirk van Goorl. + +“Take it,” she said, smiling for the first time, and drawing off the +ring she passed it over to him. He turned his head aside as he +stretched his hand towards the trinket lest his face should betray the +shame which even he must feel. + +“If your child should be a son,” he muttered, “tell him that his father +had nothing but a piece of advice to leave him; that he should never +touch a dice-box.” + +“Are you going away then?” she asked. + +“For a week or two I must. I have been warned that a difficulty has +arisen, about which I need not trouble you. Doubtless you will hear of +it soon enough, and though it is not true, I must leave Leyden until +the thing blows over. In fact I am going now.” + +“You are about to desert me,” she answered; “having got all my money, I +say that you are going to desert me who am—thus! I see it in your +face.” + +Montalvo turned away and pretended not to hear. + +“Well, thank God for it,” Lysbeth added, “only I wish that you could +take your memory and everything else of yours with you.” + +As these bitter words passed her lips the door opened, and there +entered one of his own subalterns, followed by four soldiers and a man +in a lawyer’s robe. + +“What is this?” asked Montalvo furiously. + +The subaltern saluted as he entered: + +“My captain, forgive me, but I act under orders, and they are to arrest +you alive, or,” he added significantly, “dead.” + +“Upon what charge?” asked Montalvo. + +“Here, notary, you had best read the charge,” said the subaltern, “but +perhaps the lady would like to retire first,” he added awkwardly. + +“No,” answered Lysbeth, “it might concern me.” + +“Alas! Señora, I fear it does,” put in the notary. Then he began to +read the document, which was long and legal. But she was quick to +understand. Before ever it was done Lysbeth knew that she was not the +lawful wife of Count Juan de Montalvo, and that he was to be put upon +his trial for his betrayal of her and the trick he had played the +Church. So she was free—free, and overcome by that thought she +staggered, fell, and swooned away. + +When her eyes opened again, Montalvo, officer, notary, and soldiers, +all had vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +THE MARE’S STABLE + + +When Lysbeth’s reason returned to her in that empty room, her first +sense was one of wild exultation. She was free, she was not Montalvo’s +wife, never again could she be obliged to see him, never again could +she be forced to endure the contamination of his touch—that was her +thought. She was sure that the story was true; were it not true who +could have moved the authorities to take action against him? Moreover, +now that she had the key, a thousand things were explained, trivial +enough in themselves, each of them, but in their sum amounting to proof +positive of his guilt. Had he not spoken of some entanglement in Spain +and of children? Had he not in his sleep—but it was needless to +remember all these things. She was free! She was free! and there on the +table still lay the symbol of her bondage, the emerald ring that was to +give him the means of flight, a flight from this charge which he knew +was hanging over him. She took it up, dashed it to the ground and +stamped upon it. Next she fell upon her knees, praising and blessing +God, and then, worn out, crept away to rest. + +The morning came, the still and beautiful autumn morning, but now all +her exultation had left her, and Lysbeth was depressed and heavy +hearted. She rose and assisted the one servant who remained in the +house to prepare their breakfast, taking no heed of the sidelong +glances that the woman cast at her. Afterwards she went to the market +to spend some of her last florins in necessaries. Here and in the +streets she became aware that she was the object of remark, for people +nudged each other and stared at her. Moreover, as she hurried home +appalled, her quick ear caught the conversation of two coarse women +while they walked behind her. + +“She’s got it now,” said one. + +“Serve her right, too,” answered the other, “for running after and +marrying a Spanish don.” + +“Marrying?” broke in the first, “it was the best that she could do. She +couldn’t stop to ask questions. Some corpses must be buried quickly.” + +Glancing behind her, Lysbeth saw the creature nip her nostrils with her +fingers, as though to shut out an evil smell. + +Then she could bear it no longer, and turned upon them. + +“You are evil slanderers,” she said, and walked away swiftly, pursued +by the sound of their loud, insulting laughter. + +At the house she was told that two men were waiting to see her. They +proved to be creditors clamouring for large sums of money, which she +could not pay. Lysbeth told them that she knew nothing of the matter. +Thereupon they showed her her own writing at the foot of deeds, and she +remembered that she had signed more things than she chose to keep count +of, everything indeed that the man who called himself her husband put +before her, if only to win an hour of blessed freedom from his +presence. At length the duns went away vowing that they would have +their money if they dragged the bed from under her. + +After that came loneliness and silence. No friend appeared to cheer +her. Indeed, she had no friends left, for by her husband’s command she +had broken off her acquaintance with all who after the strange +circumstances connected with her marriage were still inclined to know +her. He said that he would have no chattering Dutch vrouws about the +house, and they said and believed that the Countess de Montalvo had +become too proud to associate with those of her own class and people. + +Midday came and she could eat no food; indeed, she had touched none for +twenty-four hours; her gorge rose against it, although in her state she +needed food. Now the shame of her position began to come home to +Lysbeth. She was a wife and no wife; soon she must bear the burden of +motherhood, and oh! what would that child be? And what should she be, +its mother? What, too, would Dirk think of her? Dirk, for whom she had +done and suffered all these things. Through the long afternoon hours +she lay upon her bed thinking such thoughts as these till at length her +mind gave and Lysbeth grew light-headed. Her brain became a chaos, a +perfect hell of distorted imaginations. + +Then out of its turmoil and confusion rose a vision and a desire; a +vision of peace and a desire for rest. But what rest was there for her +except the rest of death? Well, why not die? God would forgive her, the +Mother of God would plead for her who was shamed and broken-hearted and +unfit to live. Even Dirk would think kindly of her when she was dead, +though, doubtless, now if he met her he would cover his eyes with his +hand. She was burning hot and she was thirsty. How cool the water would +be on this fevered night. What could be better than to slip into it and +slowly let it close above her poor aching head? She would go out and +look at the water; in that, at any rate, there could be no harm. + +She wrapped herself in a long cloak and drew its hood over her head. +Then she slipped from the house and stole like a ghost through the +darkling streets and out of the Maren or Sea Poort, where the guard let +her pass thinking that she was a country woman returning to her +village. Now the moon was rising, and by the light of it Lysbeth +recognised the place. Here was the spot where she had stood on the day +of the ice carnival, when that woman who was called Martha the Mare, +and who said that she had known her father, had spoken to her. On that +water she had galloped in Montalvo’s sledge, and up yonder canal the +race was run. She followed along its banks, remembering the reedy mere +some miles away spotted with islets that were only visited from time to +time by fishermen and wild-fowlers; the great Haarlemer Meer which +covered many thousands of acres of ground. That mere she felt must look +very cool and beautiful on such a night as this, and the wind would +whisper sweetly among the tall bulrushes which fringed its banks. + +On Lysbeth went and on; it was a long, long walk, but at last she came +there, and, oh! the place was sweet and vast and lonely. For so far as +her eye could reach in the light of the low moon there was nothing but +glimmering water broken here and there by the reed-wreathed islands. +Hark! how the frogs croaked and the bitterns boomed among the rushes. +Look where the wild ducks swam leaving behind them broad trails of +silver as their breasts broke the surface of the great mere into +rippling lines. + +There, on an island, not a bowshot from her, grew tufts of a daisy-like +marsh bloom, white flowers such as she remembered gathering when she +was a child. A desire came upon her to pluck some of these flowers, and +the water was shallow; surely she could wade to the island, or if not +what did it matter? Then she could turn to the bank again, or she might +stay to sleep a while in the water; what did it matter? She stepped +from the bank—how sweet and cool it felt to her feet! Now it was up to +her knees, now it reached her middle, and now the little wavelets beat +against her breast. But she would not go back, for there ahead of her +was the island, and the white flowers were so close that she could +count them, eight upon one bunch and twelve upon the next. Another step +and the water struck her in the face, one more and it closed above her +head. She rose, and a low cry broke from her lips. + +Then, as in a dream, Lysbeth saw a skiff glide out from among the +rushes before her. She saw also a strange mutilated face, which she +remembered dimly, bending over the edge of the boat, and a long, brown +hand stretched out to clasp her, while a hoarse voice bade her keep +still and fear nothing. + +After this came a sound of singing in her ears and—darkness. + +When Lysbeth woke again she found herself lying upon the ground, or +rather upon a soft mattress of dry reeds and aromatic grasses. Looking +round her she saw that she was in a hut, reed-roofed and plastered with +thick mud. In one corner of this hut stood a fireplace with a chimney +artfully built of clay, and on the fire of turfs boiled an earthen pot. +Hanging from the roof by a string of twisted grass was a fish, fresh +caught, a splendid pike, and near to it a bunch of smoked eels. Over +her also was thrown a magnificent rug of otter skins. Noting these +things, she gathered that she must be in the hovel of some fisherman. + +Now by degrees the past came back to Lysbeth, and she remembered her +parting with the man who called himself her husband; remembered also +her moonlight flight and how she had waded out into the waters of the +great mere to pluck the white flowers, and how, as they closed above +her head a hand had been stretched out to save her. Lysbeth remembered, +and remembering, she sighed aloud. The sound of her sighing seemed to +attract the attention of some one who was listening outside the hut; at +any rate a rough door was opened or pushed aside and a figure entered. + +“Are you awake, lady?” asked a hoarse voice. + +“Yes,” answered Lysbeth, “but tell me, how did I come here, and who are +you?” + +The figure stepped back so that the light from the open door fell full +upon it. “Look, Carolus van Hout’s daughter and Juan Montalvo’s wife; +those who have seen me once do not forget me.” + +Lysbeth sat up on the bed and stared at the gaunt, powerful form, the +deep-set grey eyes, the wide-spread nostrils, the scarred, high +cheek-bones, the teeth made prominent by some devil’s work upon the +lips, and the grizzled lock of hair that hung across the forehead. In +an instant she knew her. + +“You are Martha the Mare,” she said. + +“Yes, I am the Mare, none other, and you are in the Mare’s stable. What +has he been doing to you, that Spanish dog, that you came last night to +ask the Great Water to hide you and your shame?” + +Lysbeth made no answer; the story seemed hard to begin with this +strange woman. Then Martha went on: + +“What did I tell you, Lysbeth van Hout? Did I not say that your blood +should warn you against the Spaniards? Well, well, you saved me from +the ice and I have saved you from the water. Ah! who was it that led me +to row round by that outer isle last night because I could not sleep? +But what does it matter; God willed it so, and here you lie in the +Mare’s stable. Nay, do not answer me, first you must eat.” + +Then, going to the pot, she took it from the fire, pouring its contents +into an earthen basin, and, at the smell of them, for the first time +for days Lysbeth felt hungry. Of what that stew was compounded she +never learned, but she ate it to the last spoonful and was thankful, +while Martha, seated on the ground beside her, watched her with +delight, from time to time stretching out a long, thin hand to touch +the brown hair that hung about her shoulders. + +“Come out and look,” said Martha when her guest had done eating. And +she led her through the doorway of the hut. + +Lysbeth gazed round her, but in truth there was not much to see. The +hut itself was hidden away in a little clump of swamp willows that grew +upon a mound in the midst of a marshy plain, broken here and there by +patches of reed and bulrushes. Walking across this plain for a hundred +yards or so, they came to more reeds, and in them a boat hidden +cunningly, for here was the water of the lake, and, not fifty paces +away, what seemed to be the shore of an island. The Mare bade her get +into the boat and rowed her across to this island, then round it to +another, and thence to another and yet another. + +“Now tell me,” she said, “upon which of them is my stable built?” + +Lysbeth shook her head helplessly. + +“You cannot tell, no, nor any living man; I say that no man lives who +could find it, save I myself, who know the path there by night or by +day. Look,” and she pointed to the vast surface of the mere, “on this +great sea are thousands of such islets, and before they find me the +Spaniards must search them all, for here upon the lonely waters no +spies or hound will help them.” Then she began to row again without +even looking round, and presently they were in the clump of reeds from +which they had started. + +“I must be going home,” faltered Lysbeth. + +“No,” answered Martha, “it is too late, you have slept long. Look, the +sun is westering fast, this night you must stop with me. Oh! do not be +afraid, my fare is rough, but it is sweet and fresh and plenty; fish +from the mere as much as you will, for who can catch them better than +I? And water-fowl that I snare, yes, and their eggs; moreover, dried +flesh and bacon which I get from the mainland, for there I have friends +whom sometimes I meet at night.” + +So Lysbeth yielded, for the great peace of this lake pleased her. Oh! +after all that she had gone through it was like heaven to watch the sun +sinking towards the quiet water, to hear the wild-fowl call, to see the +fish leap and the halcyons flash by, and above all to be sure that by +nothing short of a miracle could this divine silence, broken only by +Nature’s voices, be defiled with the sound of the hated accents of the +man who had ruined and betrayed her. Yes, she was weary, and a strange +unaccustomed languor crept over her; she would rest there this night +also. + +So they went back to the hut, and made ready their evening meal, and as +she fried the fish over the fire of peats, verily Lysbeth found herself +laughing like a girl again. Then they ate it with appetite, and after +it was done, Mother Martha prayed aloud; yes, and without fear, +although she knew Lysbeth to be a Catholic, read from her one treasure, +a Testament, crouching there in the light of the fire and saying: + +“See, lady, what a place this is for a heretic to hide in. Where else +may a woman read from the Bible and fear no spy or priest?” Remembering +a certain story, Lysbeth shivered at her words. + +“Now,” said the Mare, when she had finished reading, “tell me before +you sleep, what it was that brought you into the waters of the +Haarlemer Meer, and what that Spanish man has done to you. Do not be +afraid, for though I am mad, or so they say, I can keep counsel, and +between you and me are many bonds, Carolus van Hout’s daughter, some of +which you know and see, and some that you can neither know nor see, but +which God will weave in His own season.” + +Lysbeth looked at the weird countenance, distorted and made unhuman by +long torment of body and mind, and found in it something to trust; yes, +even signs of that sympathy which she so sorely needed. So she told her +all the tale from the first word of it to the last. + +The Mare listened in silence, for no story of evil perpetrated by a +Spaniard seemed to move or astonish her, only when Lysbeth had done, +she said: + +“Ah! child, had you but known of me, and where to find me, you should +have asked my aid.” + +“Why, mother, what could you have done?” answered Lysbeth. + +“Done? I would have followed him by night until I found my chance in +some lonely place, and there I would have——” Then she stretched out her +bony hand to the red light of the fire, and Lysbeth saw that in it was +a knife. + +She sank back aghast. + +“Why are you frightened, my pretty lady?” asked the Mare. “I tell you +that I live on for only one thing—to kill Spaniards, yes, priests first +and then the others. Oh! I have a long count to pay; for every time +that he was tortured a life, for every groan he uttered at the stake a +life; yes, so many for the father and half as many for the son. Well, I +shall live to be old, I know that I shall live to be old, and the count +will be discharged, ay, to the last stiver.” + +As she spoke, the outlawed Water Wife had risen, and the flare of the +fire struck full upon her. It was an awful face that Lysbeth beheld by +the light of it, full of fierceness and energy, the face of an inspired +avenger, dread and unnatural, yet not altogether repulsive. Indeed, +that countenance was such as an imaginative artist might give to one of +the beasts in the Book of Revelation. Amazed and terrified, Lysbeth +said nothing. + +“I frighten you, gentle one,” went on the Mare, “you who, although you +have suffered, are still full of the milk of human kindness. Wait, +woman, wait till they have murdered the man you love, till your heart +is like my heart, and you also live on, not for love’s sake, not for +life’s sake, but to be a Sword, a Sword, a Sword in the hand of God!” + +“Cease, I pray you,” said Lysbeth in a low voice; “I am faint, I am +ill.” + +Ill she was indeed, and before morning there, in that lonely hovel on +the island of the mere, a son was born to her. + +When she was strong enough her nurse spoke: + +“Will you keep the brat, or shall I kill it?” she asked. + +“How can I kill my child?” said Lysbeth. + +“It is the Spaniard’s child also, and remember the curse you told me +of, your own curse uttered on this thing before ever you were married? +If it lives that curse shall cling to it, and through it you, too, +shall be accursed. Best let me kill it and have done.” + +“How can I kill my own child? Touch it not,” answered Lysbeth sullenly. + +So the black-eyed boy lived and throve. + +Somewhat slowly, lying there in the island hut, Lysbeth won back her +strength. The Mare, or Mother Martha, as Lysbeth had now learned to +call her, tended her as few midwives would have done. Food, too, she +had in plenty, for Martha snared the fowl and caught the fish, or she +made visits to the mainland, and thence brought eggs and milk and +flesh, which, so she said, the boors of that country gave her as much +as she wanted of them. Also, to while away the hours, she would read to +her out of the Testament, and from that reading Lysbeth learnt many +things which until then she had not known. Indeed, before it was done +with—Catholic though she was—she began to wonder in what lay the +wickedness of these heretics, and how it came about that they were +worthy of death and torment, since, sooth to say, in this Book she +could find no law to which their lives and doctrine seemed to give +offence. + +Thus it happened that Martha, the fierce, half-crazy water-dweller, +sowed the seed in Lysbeth’s heart that was to bear fruit in due season. + +When three weeks had gone by and Lysbeth was on her feet again, though +as yet scarcely strong enough to travel, Martha told her that she had +business which would keep her from home a night, but what the business +was she refused to say. Accordingly on a certain afternoon, having left +good store of all things to Lysbeth’s hand, the Mare departed in her +skiff, nor did she return till after midday on the morrow. Now Lysbeth +talked of leaving the island, but Martha would not suffer it, saying +that if she desired to go she must swim, and indeed when Lysbeth went +to look she found that the boat had been hidden elsewhere. So, nothing +loth, she stayed on, and in the crisp autumn air her health and beauty +came back to her, till she was once more much as she had been before +the day when she went sledging with Juan de Montalvo. + +On a November morning, leaving her infant in the hut with Martha, who +had sworn to her on the Bible that she would not harm it, Lysbeth +walked to the extremity of the island. During the night the first sharp +frost of late autumn had fallen, making a thin film of ice upon the +surface of the lake, which melted rapidly as the sun grew high. The air +too was very clear and calm, and among the reeds, now turning golden at +their tips, the finches flew and chirped, forgetful that winter was at +hand. So sweet and peaceful was the scene that Lysbeth, also forgetful +of many things, surveyed it with a kind of rapture. She knew not why, +but her heart was happy that morning; it was as though a dark cloud had +passed from her life; as though the blue skies of peace and joy were +spread about her. Doubtless other clouds might appear upon the horizon; +doubtless in their season they would appear, but she felt that this +horizon was as yet a long way off, and meanwhile above her bent the +tender sky, serene and sweet and happy. + +Upon the crisp grass behind her suddenly she heard a footfall, a new +footfall, not that of the long, stealthy stride of Martha, who was +called the Mare, and swung round upon her heel to meet it. + +Oh, God! Who was this? Oh, God! there before her stood Dirk van Goorl. +Dirk, and no other than Dirk, unless she dreamed, Dirk with his kind +face wreathed in a happy smile, Dirk with his arms outstretched towards +her. Lysbeth said nothing, she could not speak, only she stood still +gazing, gazing, gazing, and always he came on, till now his arms were +round her. Then she sprang back. + +“Do not touch me,” she cried, “remember what I am and why I stay here.” + +“I know well what you are, Lysbeth,” he answered slowly; “you are the +holiest and purest woman who ever walked this earth; you are an angel +upon this earth; you are the woman who gave her honour to save the man +she loved. Oh! be silent, be silent, I have heard the story; I know it +every word, and here I kneel before you, and, next to my God, I worship +you, Lysbeth, I worship you.” + +“But the child,” she murmured, “it lives, and it is mine and the +man’s.” + +Dirk’s face hardened a little, but he only answered: + +“We must bear our burdens; you have borne yours, I must bear mine,” and +he seized her hands and kissed them, yes, and the hem of her garment +and kissed it also. + +So these two plighted their troth. + +Afterwards Lysbeth heard all the story. Montalvo had been put upon his +trial, and, as it chanced, things went hard with him. Among his judges +one was a great Netherlander lord, who desired to uphold the rights of +his countrymen; one was a high ecclesiastic, who was furious because of +the fraud that had been played upon the Church, which had been trapped +into celebrating a bigamous marriage; and a third was a Spanish +grandee, who, as it happened, knew the family of the first wife who had +been deserted. + +Therefore, for the luckless Montalvo, when the case had been proved to +the hilt against him by the evidence of the priest who brought the +letter, of the wife’s letters, and of the truculent Black Meg, who now +found an opportunity of paying back “hot water for cold,” there was +little mercy. His character was bad, and it was said, moreover, that +because of his cruelties and the shame she had suffered at his hands, +Lysbeth van Hout had committed suicide. At least, this was certain, +that she was seen running at night towards the Haarlemer Meer, and that +after this, search as her friends would, nothing more could be heard of +her. + +So, that an example might be made, although he writhed and fenced his +best, the noble captain, Count Juan de Montalvo, was sent to serve for +fourteen years in the galleys as a common slave. And there, for the +while, was an end of him. + +There also was an end of the strange and tragic courtship of Dirk van +Goorl and Lysbeth van Hout. + +Six months afterwards they were married, and by Dirk’s wish took the +child, who was christened Adrian, to live with them. A few months later +Lysbeth entered the community of the New Religion, and less than two +years after her marriage a son was born to her, the hero of this story, +who was named Foy. + +As it happened, she bore no other children. + + + + +BOOK THE SECOND +THE RIPENING + + + + +CHAPTER IX +ADRIAN, FOY, AND MARTIN THE RED + + +Many years had gone by since Lysbeth found her love again upon the +island in the Haarlemer Meer. The son that she bore there was now a +grown man, as was her second son, Foy, and her own hair showed grey +beneath the lappets of her cap. + +Fast, fast wove the loom of God during those fateful years, and the web +thereof was the story of a people’s agony and its woof was dyed red +with their blood. Edict had followed edict, crime had been heaped upon +crime. Alva, like some inhuman and incarnate vengeance, had marched his +army, quiet and harmless as is the tiger when he stalks his prey, +across the fields of France. Now he was at Brussels, and already the +heads of the Counts Egmont and Hoorn had fallen; already the Blood +Council was established and at its work. In the Low Countries law had +ceased to exist, and there anything might happen however monstrous or +inhuman. Indeed, with one decree of the Holy Office, confirmed by a +proclamation of Philip of Spain, all the inhabitants of the +Netherlands, three millions of them, had been condemned to death. Men’s +minds were full of terror, for on every side were burnings and hangings +and torturings. Without were fightings, within were fears, and none +knew whom they could trust, since the friend of to-day might be the +informer or judge of to-morrow. All this because they chose to worship +God in their own fashion unaided by images and priests. + +Although so long a time had passed, as it chanced those personages with +whom we have already made acquaintance in this history were still +alive. Let us begin with two of them, one of whom we know and one of +whom, although we have heard of him before, will require some +introduction—Dirk van Goorl and his son Foy. + +Scene—an upper room above a warehouse overlooking the market-place of +Leyden, a room with small windows and approached by two staircases; +time, a summer twilight. The faint light which penetrated into this +chamber through the unshuttered windows, for to curtain them would have +been to excite suspicion, showed that about twenty people were gathered +there, among whom were one or two women. For the most part they were +men of the better class, middle-aged burghers of sober mien, some of +whom stood about in knots, while others were seated upon stools and +benches. At the end of the room addressing them was a man well on in +middle life, with grizzled hair and beard, small and somewhat mean of +stature, yet one through whose poor exterior goodness seemed to flow +like light through some rough casement of horn. This was Jan Arentz, +the famous preacher, by trade a basket-maker, a man who showed himself +steadfast to the New Religion through all afflictions, and who was +gifted with a spirit which could remain unmoved amidst the horrors of +perhaps the most terrible persecution that Christians have suffered +since the days of the Roman Emperors. He was preaching now and these +people were his congregation. + +“I come not to bring peace but a sword,” was his text, and certainly +this night it was most appropriate and one easy of illustration. For +there, on the very market-place beneath them, guarded by soldiers and +surrounded with the rabble of the city, two members of his flock, men +who a fortnight before had worshipped in that same room, at this moment +were undergoing martyrdom by fire! + +Arentz preached patience and fortitude. He went back into recent +history and told his hearers how he himself had passed a hundred +dangers; how he had been hunted like a wolf, how he had been tried, how +he had escaped from prisons and from the swords of soldiers, even as +St. Paul had done before him, and how yet he lived to minister to them +this night. He told them that they must have no fear, that they must go +on quite happy, quite confident, taking what it pleased God to send +them, feeling that it would all be for the best; yes, that even the +worst would be for the best. What was the worst? Some hours of torment +and death. And what lay beyond the death? Ah! let them think of that. +The whole world was but a brief and varying shadow, what did it matter +how or when they walked out of that shadow into the perfect light? The +sky was very black, but behind it the sun shone. They must look forward +with the eye of faith; perhaps the sufferings of the present generation +were part of the scheme of things; perhaps from the earth which they +watered with their blood would spring the flower of freedom, that +glorious freedom in whose day all men would be able to worship their +Creator responsible only to the Bible law and their own conscience, not +to the dogmas or doctrines of other men. + +As Arentz spoke thus, eloquently, sweetly, spoke like one inspired, the +twilight deepened and the flare of those sacrificial fires flickered on +the window pane, and the mixed murmurs of the crowd of witnesses broke +upon his listeners’ ears. The preacher paused and looked down upon the +dreadful scene below, for from where he stood he could behold it all. + +“Mark is dead,” he said, “and our dear brother, Andreas Jansen, is +dying; the executioners heap the faggots round him. You think it cruel, +you think it piteous, but I say to you, No. I say that it is a holy and +a glorious sight, for we witness the passing of souls to bliss. +Brethren, let us pray for him who leaves us, and for ourselves who stay +behind. Yes, and let us pray for those who slay him that know not what +they do. We watch his sufferings, but I tell you that Christ his Lord +watches also; Christ who hung upon the Cross, the victim of such men as +these. He stands with him in the fire, His hand compasses him, His +voice supports him. Brethren, let us pray.” + +Then at his bidding every member of that little congregation knelt in +prayer for the passing spirit of Andreas Jansen. + +Again Arentz looked through the window. + +“He dies!” he cried; “a soldier has thrust him through with a pike in +mercy, his head falls forward. Oh! God, if it be Thy will, grant to us +a sign.” + +Some strange breath passed through that upper chamber, a cold breath +which blew upon the brows of the worshippers and stirred their hair, +bringing with it a sense of the presence of Andreas Jansen, the martyr. +Then, there upon the wall opposite to the window, at the very spot +where their brother and companion, Andreas, saint and martyr, was wont +to kneel, appeared the sign, or what they took to be a sign. Yes, there +upon the whitewashed wall, reflected, mayhap, from the fires below, and +showing clearly in the darkened room, shone the vision of a fiery +cross. For a second it was seen. Then it was gone, but to every soul in +this room the vision of that cross had brought its message; to each a +separate message, an individual inspiration, for in the light of it +they read strange lessons of life and death. The cross vanished and +there was silence. + +“Brethren,” said the voice of Arentz, speaking in the darkness, “you +have seen. Through the fire and through the shadow, follow the Cross +and fear not.” + +The service was over, and below in the emptied market-place the +executioners collected the poor calcined fragments of the martyrs to +cast them with contumely and filthy jests into the darkling waters of +the river. Now, one by one and two by two, the worshippers slipped away +through some hidden door opening on an alley. Let us look at three of +their number as they crept through bye streets back to a house on the +Bree Straat with which we are acquainted, two of them walking in front +and one behind. + +The pair were Dirk van Goorl and his son Foy—there was no mistaking +their relationship. Save that he had grown somewhat portly and +thoughtful, Dirk was the Dirk of five and twenty years ago, thickset, +grey-eyed, bearded, a handsome man according to the Dutch standard, +whose massive, kindly countenance betrayed the massive, kindly mind +within. Very like him was his son Foy, only his eyes were blue instead +of grey, and his hair was yellow. Though they seemed sad enough just +now, these were merry and pleasant eyes, and the round, the somewhat +childlike face was merry also, the face of a person who looked upon the +bright side of things. + +There was nothing remarkable or distinguished about Foy’s appearance, +but from it the observer, who met him for the first time, received an +impression of energy, honesty, and good-nature. In truth, such were apt +to set him down as a sailor-man, who had just returned from a long +journey, in the course of which he had come to the conclusion that this +world was a pleasant place, and one well worth exploring. As Foy walked +down the street with his quick and nautical gait, it was evident that +even the solemn and dreadful scene which he had just experienced had +not altogether quenched his cheery and hopeful spirit. Yet of all those +who listened to the exhortation of the saint-like Arentz, none had laid +its burden of faith and carelessness for the future to heart more +entirely than Foy van Goorl. + +But of this power of looking on the bright side of things the credit +must be given to his nature and not to his piety, for Foy could not be +sad for long. _Dum spiro, spero_ would have been his motto had he known +Latin, and he did not mean to grow sorrowful—over the prospect of being +burnt, for instance—until he found himself fast to the stake. It was +this quality of good spirits in a depressing and melancholy age that +made of Foy so extraordinarily popular a character. + +Behind these two followed a much more remarkable-looking personage, the +Frisian, Martin Roos, or Red Martin, so named from his hair, which was +red to the verge of flame colour, and his beard of a like hue that hung +almost to his breast. There was no other such beard in Leyden; indeed +the boys, taking advantage of his good nature, would call to him as he +passed, asking him if it was true that the storks nested in it every +spring. This strange-looking man, who was now perhaps a person of forty +years of age, for ten years or more had been the faithful servant of +Dirk van Goorl, whose house he had entered under circumstances which +shall be told of in their place. + +Any one glancing at Martin casually would not have said that he was a +giant, and yet his height was considerable; to be accurate, when he +stood upright, something over six feet three inches. The reason why he +did not appear to be tall was that in truth his great bulk shortened +him to the eye, and also because he carried himself ill, more from a +desire to conceal his size than for any other reason. It was in girth +of chest and limb that Martin was really remarkable, so much so that a +short-armed man standing before him could not make his fingers touch +behind his back. His face was fair as a girl’s, and almost as flat as a +full moon, for of nose he had little. Nature, indeed, had furnished him +with one of ordinary, if not excessive size, but certain incidents in +Martin’s early career, which in our day would be designated as that of +a prize-fighter, had caused it to spread about his countenance in an +interesting and curious fashion. His eyebrows, however, remained +prominent. Beneath them appeared a pair of very large, round, and +rather mild blue eyes, covered with thick white lids absolutely devoid +of lashes, which eyes had a most unholy trick of occasionally taking +fire when their owner was irritated. Then they could burn and blaze +like lamps tied to a barge on a dark night, with an effect that was all +the more alarming because the rest of his countenance remained +absolutely impassive. + +Suddenly while this little company went homewards a sound arose in the +quiet street as of people running. Instantly all three of them pressed +themselves into the doorway of a house and crouched down. Martin lifted +his ear and listened. + +“Three people,” he whispered; “a woman who flies and two men who +follow.” + +At that moment a casement was thrown open forty paces or so away, and a +hand, bearing a torch, thrust out of it. By its light they saw the pale +face of a lady speeding towards them, and after her two Spanish +soldiers. + +“The Vrouw Andreas Jansen,” whispered Martin again, “flying from two of +the guard who burned her husband.” + +The torch was withdrawn and the casement shut with a snap. In those +days quiet burghers could not afford to be mixed up in street troubles, +especially if soldiers had to do with them. Once more the place was +empty and quiet, except for the sound of running feet. + +Opposite to the doorway the lady was overtaken. “Oh! let me go,” she +sobbed, “oh! let me go. Is it not enough that you have killed my +husband? Why must I be hunted from my house thus?” + +“Because you are so pretty, my dear,” answered one of the brutes, “also +you are rich. Catch hold of her, friend. Lord! how she kicks!” + +Foy made a motion as though to start out of the doorway, but Martin +pressed him back with the flat of his hand, without apparent effort, +and yet so strongly that the young man could not move. + +“My business, masters,” he muttered; “you would make a noise,” and they +heard his breath come thick. + +Now, moving with curious stealthiness for one of so great a bulk, +Martin was out of the porch. By the summer starlight the watchers could +see that, before they had caught sight of, or even heard, him, he +gripped the two soldiers, small men, like most Spaniards, by the napes +of their necks, one in either hand, and was grinding their faces +together. This, indeed, was evident, for his great shoulders worked +visibly and their breastplates clicked as they touched. But the men +themselves made no sound at all. Then Martin seemed to catch them round +the middle, and behold! in another second the pair of them had gone +headlong into the canal, which ran down the centre of the street. + +“My God! he has killed them,” muttered Dirk. + +“And a good job, too, father,” said Foy, “only I wish that I had shared +in it.” + +Martin’s great form loomed in the doorway. “The Vrouw Jansen has fled +away,” he said, “and the street is quite quiet now, so I think that we +had better be moving before any see us, my masters.” + +Some days later the bodies of these Spanish soldiers were found with +their faces smashed flat. It was suggested in explanation of this +plight, that they had got drunk and while fighting together had fallen +from the bridge on to the stonework of a pier. This version of their +end found a ready acceptance, as it consorted well with the reputations +of the men. So there was no search or inquiry. + +“I had to finish the dogs,” Martin explained apologetically—“may the +Lord Jesus forgive me—because I was afraid that they might know me +again by my beard.” + +“Alas! alas!” groaned Dirk, “what times are these. Say nothing of this +dreadful matter to your mother, son, or to Adrian either.” But Foy +nudged Martin in the ribs and muttered, “Well done, old fellow, well +done!” + +After this experience, which the reader must remember was nothing +extraordinary in those dark and dreadful days when neither the lives of +men nor the safety of women—especially Protestant men and women—were +things of much account, the three of them reached home without further +incident, and quite unobserved. Arriving at the house, they entered it +near the Watergate by a back door that led into the stableyard. It was +opened by a woman whom they followed into a little room where a light +burned. Here she turned and kissed two of them, Dirk first and then +Foy. + +“Thank God that I see you safe,” she said. “Whenever you go to the +Meeting-place I tremble until I hear your footsteps at the door.” + +“What’s the use of that, mother?” said Foy. “Your fretting yourself +won’t make things better or worse.” + +“Ah! dear, how can I help it?” she replied softly; “we cannot all be +young and cheerful, you know.” + +“True, wife, true,” broke in Dirk, “though I wish we could; we should +be lighter-hearted so,” and he looked at her and sighed. + +Lysbeth van Goorl could no longer boast the beauty which was hers when +first we met her, but she was still a sweet and graceful woman, her +figure remaining almost as slim as it had been in girlhood. The grey +eyes also retained their depth and fire, only the face was worn, though +more by care and the burden of memories than with years. The lot of the +loving wife and mother was hard indeed when Philip the King ruled in +Spain and Alva was his prophet in the Netherlands. + +“Is it done?” she asked. + +“Yes, wife, our brethren are now saints in Paradise, therefore +rejoice.” + +“It is very wrong,” she answered with a sob, “but I cannot. Oh!” she +added with a sudden blaze of indignation, “if He is just and good, why +does God suffer His servants to be killed thus?” + +“Perhaps our grandchildren will be able to answer that question,” +replied Dirk. + +“That poor Vrouw Jansen,” broke in Lysbeth, “just married, and so young +and pretty. I wonder what will become of her.” + +Dirk and Foy looked at each other, and Martin, who was hovering about +near the door, slunk back guiltily into the passage as though _he_ had +attempted to injure the Vrouw Jansen. + +“To-morrow we will look to it, wife. And now let us eat, for we are +faint with hunger.” + +Ten minutes later they were seated at their meal. The reader may +remember the room; it was that wherein Montalvo, ex-count and captain, +made the speech which charmed all hearers on the night when he had lost +the race at the ice-carnival. The same chandelier hung above them, some +portion of the same plate, even, repurchased by Dirk, was on the table, +but how different were the company and the feast! Aunt Clara, the +fatuous, was long dead, and with her many of the companions of that +occasion, some naturally, some by the hand of the executioner, while +others had fled the land. Pieter van de Werff still lived, however, and +though regarded with suspicion by the authorities, was a man of weight +and honour in the town, but to-night he was not present there. The +food, too, if ample was plain, not on account of the poverty of the +household, for Dirk had prospered in his worldly affairs, being +hard-working and skilful, and the head of the brass foundry to which in +those early days he was apprenticed, but because in such times people +thought little of the refinements of eating. When life itself is so +doubtful, its pleasures and amusements become of small importance. The +ample waiting service of the maid Greta, who long ago had vanished none +knew where, and her fellow domestics was now carried on by the man, +Martin, and one old woman, since, as every menial might be a spy, even +the richest employed few of them. In short all the lighter and more +cheerful parts of life were in abeyance. + +“Where is Adrian?” asked Dirk. + +“I do not know,” answered Lysbeth. “I thought that perhaps——” + +“No,” replied her husband hastily; “he did not accompany us; he rarely +does.” + +“Brother Adrian likes to look underneath the spoon before he licks it,” +said Foy with his mouth full. + +The remark was enigmatic, but his parents seemed to understand what Foy +meant; at least it was followed by an uncomfortable and acquiescent +silence. Just then Adrian came in, and as we have not seen him since, +some four and twenty years ago, he made his entry into the world on the +secret island in the Haarlemer Meer, here it may be as well to describe +his appearance. + +He was a handsome young man, but of quite a different stamp from his +half-brother, Foy, being tall, slight, and very graceful in figure; +advantages which he had inherited from his mother Lysbeth. In +countenance, however, he differed from her so much that none would have +guessed him to be her son. Indeed, Adrian’s face was pure Spanish, +there was nothing of a Netherlander about his dark beauty. Spanish were +the eyes of velvet black, set rather close together, Spanish also the +finely chiselled features and the thin, spreading nostrils, Spanish the +cold, yet somewhat sensual mouth, more apt to sneer than smile; the +straight, black hair, the clear, olive skin, and that indifferent, +half-wearied mien which became its wearer well enough, but in a man of +his years of Northern blood would have seemed unnatural or affected. + +He took his seat without speaking, nor did the others speak to him till +his stepfather Dirk said: + +“You were not at the works to-day, Adrian, although we should have been +glad of your help in founding the culverin.” + +“No, father”—he called him father—answered the young man in a measured +and rather melodious voice. “You see we don’t quite know who is going +to pay for that piece. Or at any rate I don’t quite know, as nobody +seems to take me into confidence, and if it should chance to be the +losing side, well, it might be enough to hang me.” + +Dirk flushed up, but made no answer, only Foy remarked: + +“That’s right, Adrian, look after your own skin.” + +“Just now I find it more interesting,” went on Adrian loftily and +disregardful of his brother, “to study those whom the cannon may shoot +than to make the cannon which is to shoot them.” + +“Hope you won’t be one of them,” interrupted Foy again. + +“Where have you been this evening, son?” asked Lysbeth hastily, fearing +a quarrel. + +“I have been mixing with the people, mother, at the scene on the +market-place yonder.” + +“Not the martyrdom of our good friend, Jansen, surely?” + +“Yes, mother, why not? It is terrible, it is a crime, no doubt, but the +observer of life should study these things. There is nothing more +fascinating to the philosopher than the play of human passions. The +emotions of the brutal crowd, the stolid indifference of the guard, the +grief of the sympathisers, the stoical endurance of the victims +animated by religious exaltation——” + +“And the beautiful logic of the philosopher, with his nose in the air, +while he watches his friend and brother in the Faith being slowly burnt +to death,” broke out Foy with passion. + +“Hush! hush!” said Dirk, striking his fist upon the table with a blow +that caused the glasses to ring, “this is no subject for word-chopping. +Adrian, you would have been better with us than down below at that +butchery, even though you were less safe,” he added, with meaning. “But +I wish to run none into danger, and you are of an age to judge for +yourself. I beg you, however, to spare us your light talk about scenes +that we think dreadful, however interesting you may have found them.” + +Adrian shrugged his shoulders and called to Martin to bring him some +more meat. As the great man approached him he spread out his fine-drawn +nostrils and sniffed. + +“You smell, Martin,” he said, “and no wonder. Look, there is blood upon +your jerkin. Have you been killing pigs and forgotten to change it?” + +Martin’s round blue eyes flashed, then went pale and dead again. + +“Yes, master,” he answered, in his thick voice, “I have been killing +pigs. But your dress also smells of blood and fire; perhaps you went +too near the stake.” At that moment, to put an end to the conversation, +Dirk rose and said grace. Then he went out of the room accompanied by +his wife and Foy, leaving Adrian to finish his meal alone, which he did +reflectively and at leisure. + +When he left the eating chamber Foy followed Martin across the +courtyard to the walled-in stables, and up a ladder to the room where +the serving man slept. It was a queer place, and filled with an +extraordinary collection of odds and ends; the skins of birds, otters, +and wolves; weapons of different makes, notably a very large two-handed +sword, plain and old-fashioned, but of excellent steel; bits of harness +and other things. + +There was no bed in this room for the reason that Martin disdained a +bed, a few skins upon the floor being all that he needed to lie on. Nor +did he ask for much covering, since so hardy was he by nature, that +except in the very bitterest weather his woollen vest was enough for +him. Indeed, he had been known to sleep out in it when the frost was so +sharp that he rose with his hair and beard covered with icicles. + +Martin shut the door and lit three lanterns, which he hung to hooks +upon the wall. + +“Are you ready for a turn, master?” he asked. + +Foy nodded as he answered, “I want to get the taste of it all out of my +mouth, so don’t spare me. Lay on till I get angry, it will make me +forget,” and taking a leathern jerkin off a peg he pulled it over his +head. + +“Forget what, master?” + +“Oh! the prayings and the burnings and Vrouw Jansen, and Adrian’s +sea-lawyer sort of talk.” + +“Ah, yes, that’s the worst of them all for us,” and the big man leapt +forward and whispered. “Keep an eye on him, Master Foy.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Foy sharply and flushing. + +“What I say.” + +“You forget; you are talking of my brother, my own mother’s son. I will +hear no harm of Adrian; his ways are different to ours, but he is +good-hearted at bottom. Do you understand me, Martin?” + +“But not your father’s son, master. It’s the sire sets the strain; I +have bred horses, and I know.” + +Foy looked at him and hesitated. + +“No,” said Martin, answering the question in his eyes. “I have nothing +against him, but he always sees the other side, and that’s bad. Also he +is Spanish——” + +“And you don’t like Spaniards,” broke in Foy. “Martin, you are a +pig-headed, prejudiced, unjust jackass.” + +Martin smiled. “No, master, I don’t like Spaniards, nor will you before +you have done with them. But then it is only fair as they don’t like +me.” + +“I say, Martin,” said Foy, following a new line of thought, “how did +you manage that business so quietly, and why didn’t you let me do my +share?” + +“Because you’d have made a noise, master, and we didn’t want the watch +on us; also, being fully armed, they might have bettered you.” + +“Good reasons, Martin. How did you do it? I couldn’t see much.” + +“It is a trick I learned up there in Friesland. Some of the Northmen +sailors taught it me. There is a place in a man’s neck, here at the +back, and if he is squeezed there he loses his senses in a second. +Thus, master—” and putting out his great hand he gripped Foy’s neck in +a fashion that caused him the intensest agony. + +“Drop it,” said Foy, kicking at his shins. + +“I didn’t squeeze; I was only showing you,” answered Martin, opening +his eyes. “Well, when their wits were gone of course it was easy to +knock their heads together, so that they mightn’t find them again. You +see,” he added, “if I had left them alive—well, they are dead anyway, +and getting a hot supper by now, I expect. Which shall it be, master? +Dutch stick or Spanish point?” + +“Stick first, then point,” answered Foy. + +“Good. We need ‘em both nowadays,” and Martin reached down a pair of +ash plants fitted into old sword hilts to protect the hands of the +players. + +They stood up to each other on guard, and then against the light of the +lanterns it could be seen how huge a man was Martin. Foy, although +well-built and sturdy, and like all his race of a stout habit, looked +but a child beside the bulk of this great fellow. As for their stick +game, which was in fact sword exercise, it is unnecessary to follow its +details, for the end of it was what might almost have been expected. +Foy sprang to and fro slashing and cutting, while Martin the solid +scarcely moved his weapon. Then suddenly there would be a parry and a +reach, and the stick would fall with a thud all down the length of +Foy’s back, causing the dust to start from his leathern jerkin. + +“It’s no good,” said Foy at last, rubbing himself ruefully. “What’s the +use of guarding against you, you great brute, when you simply crash +through my guard and hit me all the same? That isn’t science.” + +“No, master,” answered Martin, “but it is business. If we had been +using swords you would have been in pieces by now. No blame to you and +no credit to me; my reach is longer and my arm heavier, that is all.” + +“At any rate I am beaten,” said Foy; “now take the rapiers and give me +a chance.” + +Then they went at it with the thrusting-swords, rendered harmless by a +disc of lead upon their points, and at this game the luck turned. Foy +was active as a cat in the eye of a hawk, and twice he managed to get +in under Martin’s guard. + +“You’re dead, old fellow,” he said at the second thrust. + +“Yes, young master,” answered Martin, “but remember that I killed you +long ago, so that you are only a ghost and of no account. Although I +have tried to learn its use to please you, I don’t mean to fight with a +toasting fork. This is my weapon,” and, seizing the great sword which +stood in the corner, he made it hiss through the air. + +Foy took it from his hand and looked at it. It was a long straight +blade with a plain iron guard, or cage, for the hands, and on it, in +old letters, was engraved one Latin word, _Silentium_, “Silence.” + +“Why is it called ‘Silence,’ Martin?” + +“Because it makes people silent, I suppose, master.” + +“What is its history, and how did you come by it?” asked Foy in a +malicious voice. He knew that the subject was a sore one with the huge +Frisian. + +Martin turned red as his own beard and looked uncomfortable. “I +believe,” he answered, staring upwards, “that it was the ancient Sword +of Justice of a little place up in Friesland. As to how I came by it, +well, I forget.” + +“And you call yourself a good Christian,” said Foy reproachfully. “Now +I have heard that your head was going to be chopped off with this +sword, but that somehow you managed to steal it first and got away.” + +“There was something of the sort,” mumbled Martin, “but it is so long +ago that it slips my mind. I was so often in broils and drunk in those +days—may the dear Lord forgive me—that I can’t quite remember things. +And now, by your leave, I want to go to sleep.” + +“You old liar,” said Foy shaking his head at him, “you killed that poor +executioner and made off with his sword. You know you did, and now you +are ashamed to own the truth.” + +“May be, may be,” answered Martin vacuously; “so many things happen in +the world that a fool man cannot remember them all. I want to go to +sleep.” + +“Martin,” said Foy, sitting down upon a stool and dragging off his +leather jerkin, “what used you to do before you turned holy? You have +never told me all the story. Come now, speak up. I won’t tell Adrian.” + +“Nothing worth mentioning, Master Foy.” + +“Out with it, Martin.” + +“Well, if you wish to know, I am the son of a Friesland boor.” + +“—And an Englishwoman from Yarmouth: I know all that.” + +“Yes,” repeated Martin, “an Englishwoman from Yarmouth. She was very +strong, my mother; she could hold up a cart on her shoulders while my +father greased the wheels, that is for a bet; otherwise she used to +make my father hold the cart up while _she_ greased the wheels. Folk +would come to see her do the trick. When I grew up I held the cart and +they both greased the wheels. But at last they died of the plague, the +pair of them, God rest their souls! So I inherited the farm——” + +“And—” said Foy, fixing him with his eye. + +“And,” jerked out Martin in an unwilling fashion, “fell into bad +habits.” + +“Drink?” suggested the merciless Foy. + +Martin sighed and hung his great head. He had a tender conscience. + +“Then you took to prize-fighting,” went on his tormentor; “you can’t +deny it; look at your nose.” + +“I did, master, for the Lord hadn’t touched my heart in those days, +and,” he added, brisking up, “it wasn’t such a bad trade, for nobody +ever beat me except a Brussels man once when I was drunk. He broke my +nose, but afterwards, when I was sober—” and he stopped. + +“You killed the Spanish boxer here in Leyden,” said Foy sternly. + +“Yes,” echoed Martin, “I killed him sure enough, but—oh! it was a +pretty fight, and he brought it on himself. He was a fine man, that +Spaniard, but the devil wouldn’t play fair, so I just had to kill him. +I hope that they bear in mind up above that I _had_ to kill him.” + +“Tell me about it, Martin, for I was at The Hague at the time, and +can’t remember. Of course I don’t approve of such things”—and the young +rascal clasped his hands and looked pious—“but as it is all done with, +one may as well hear the story of the fight. To spin it won’t make you +more wicked than you are.” + +Then suddenly Martin the unreminiscent developed a marvellous memory, +and with much wealth of detail set out the exact circumstances of that +historic encounter. + +“And after he had kicked me in the stomach,” he ended, “which, master, +you will know he had no right to do, I lost my temper and hit out with +all my strength, having first feinted and knocked up his guard with my +left arm——” + +“And then,” said Foy, growing excited, for Martin really told the story +very well, “what happened?” + +“Oh, his head went back between his shoulders, and when they picked him +up, his neck was broken. I was sorry, but I couldn’t help it, the Lord +knows I couldn’t help it; he shouldn’t have called me ‘a dirty Frisian +ox’ and kicked me in the stomach.” + +“No, that was very wrong of him. But they arrested you, didn’t they, +Martin?” + +“Yes, for the second time they condemned me to death as a brawler and a +manslayer. You see, the other Friesland business came up against me, +and the magistrates here had money on the Spaniard. Then your dear +father saved me. He was burgomaster of that year, and he paid the death +fine for me—a large sum—afterwards, too, he taught me to be sober and +think of my soul. So you know why Red Martin will serve him and his +while there is a drop of blood left in his worthless carcase. And now, +Master Foy, I’m going to sleep, and God grant that those dirty Spanish +dogs mayn’t haunt me.” + +“Don’t you fear for that, Martin,” said Foy as he took his departure, +“_absolvo te_ for those Spaniards. Through your strength God smote them +who were not ashamed to rob and insult a poor new widowed woman after +helping to murder her husband. Yes, Martin, you may enter that on the +right side of the ledger—for a change—for they won’t haunt you at +night. I’m more afraid lest the business should be traced home to us, +but I don’t think it likely since the street was quite empty.” + +“Quite empty,” echoed Martin nodding his head. “Nobody saw me except +the two soldiers and Vrouw Jansen. They can’t tell, and I’m sure that +she won’t. Good-night, my young master.” + + + + +CHAPTER X +ADRIAN GOES OUT HAWKING + + +In a house down a back street not very far from the Leyden prison, a +man and a woman sat at breakfast on the morning following the burning +of the Heer Jansen and his fellow martyr. These also we have met +before, for they were none other than the estimable Black Meg and her +companion, named the Butcher. Time, which had left them both strong and +active, had not, it must be admitted, improved their personal +appearance. Black Meg, indeed, was much as she had always been, except +that her hair was now grey and her features, which seemed to be covered +with yellow parchment, had become sharp and haglike, though her dark +eyes still burned with their ancient fire. The man, Hague Simon, or the +Butcher, scoundrel by nature and spy and thief by trade, one of the +evil spawn of an age of violence and cruelty, boasted a face and form +that became his reputation well. His countenance was villainous, very +fat and flabby, with small, pig-like eyes, and framed, as it were, in a +fringe of sandy-coloured whiskers, running from the throat to the +temple, where they faded away into a great expanse of utterly bald +head. The figure beneath was heavy, pot-haunched, and supported upon a +pair of bowed but sturdy legs. + +But if they were no longer young, and such good looks as they ever +possessed had vanished, the years had brought them certain +compensations. Indeed, it was a period in which spies and all such +wretches flourished, since, besides other pickings, by special +enactment a good proportion of the realized estates of heretics was +paid over to the informers as blood-money. Of course, however, humble +tools like the Butcher and his wife did not get the largest joints of +the heretic sheep, for whenever one was slaughtered, there were always +many honest middlemen of various degree to be satisfied, from the judge +down to the executioner, with others who never showed their faces. + +Still, when the burnings and torturings were brisk, the amount totalled +up very handsomely. Thus, as the pair sat at their meal this morning, +they were engaged in figuring out what they might expect to receive +from the estate of the late Heer Jansen, or at least Black Meg was so +employed with the help of a deal board and a bit of chalk. At last she +announced the result, which was satisfactory. Simon held up his fat +hands in admiration. + +“Clever little dove,” he said, “you ought to have been a lawyer’s wife +with your head for figures. Ah! it grows near, it grows near.” + +“What grows near, you fool?” asked Meg in her deep mannish voice. + +“That farm with an inn attached of which I dream, standing in rich +pasture land with a little wood behind it, and in the wood a church. +Not too large; no, I am not ambitious; let us say a hundred acres, +enough to keep thirty or forty cows, which you would milk while I +marketed the butter and the cheeses——” + +“And slit the throats of the guests,” interpolated Meg. + +Simon looked shocked. “No, wife, you misjudge me. It is a rough world, +and we must take queer cuts to fortune, but once I get there, +respectability for me and a seat in the village church, provided, of +course, that it is orthodox. I know that you come of the people, and +your instincts are of the people, but I can never forget that my +grandfather was a gentleman,” and Simon puffed himself out and looked +at the ceiling. + +“Indeed,” sneered Meg, “and what was your grandmother, or, for the +matter of that, how do you know who was your grandfather? Country +house! The old Red Mill, where you hide goods out there in the swamp, +is likely to be your only country house. Village church? Village +gallows more likely. No, don’t you look nasty at me, for I won’t stand +it, you dirty little liar. I have done things, I know; but I wouldn’t +have got my own aunt burned for an Anabaptist, which she wasn’t, in +order to earn twenty florins, so there.” + +Simon turned purple with rage; that aunt story was one which touched +him on the raw. “Ugly——” he began. + +Instantly Meg’s hand shot out and grasped the neck of a bottle, whereon +he changed his tune. + +“The sex, the sex!” he murmured, turning aside to mop his bald head +with a napkin; “well, it’s only their pretty way, they will have their +little joke. Hullo, there is someone knocking at the door.” + +“And mind how you open it,” said Meg, becoming alert. “Remember we have +plenty of enemies, and a pike blade comes through a small crack.” + +“Can you live with the wise and remain a greenhorn? Trust me.” And +placing his arm about his spouse’s waist, Simon stood on tiptoe and +kissed her gently on the cheek in token of reconciliation, for Meg had +a nasty memory in quarrels. Then he skipped away towards the door as +fast as his bandy legs would carry him. + +The colloquy there was long and for the most part carried on through +the keyhole, but in the end their visitor was admitted, a beetle-browed +brute of much the same stamp as his host. + +“You are nice ones,” he said sulkily, “to be so suspicious about an old +friend, especially when he comes on a job.” + +“Don’t be angry, dear Hans,” interrupted Simon in a pleading voice. +“You know how many bad characters are abroad in these rough times; why, +for aught we could tell, you might have been one of these desperate +Lutherans, who stick at nothing. But about the business?” + +“Lutherans, indeed,” snarled Hans; “well, if they are wise they’d stick +at your fat stomach; but it is a Lutheran job that I have come from The +Hague to talk about.” + +“Ah!” said Meg, “who sent you?” + +“A Spaniard named Ramiro, who has recently turned up there, a humorous +dog connected with the Inquisition, who seems to know everybody and +whom nobody knows. However, his money is right enough, and no doubt he +has authority behind him. He says that you are old friends of his.” + +“Ramiro? Ramiro?” repeated Meg reflectively, “that means Oarsman, +doesn’t it, and sounds like an alias? Well, I’ve lots of acquaintances +in the galleys, and he may be one of them. What does he want, and what +are the terms?” + +Hans leant forward and whispered for a long while. The other two +listened in silence, only nodding from time to time. + +“It doesn’t seem much for the job,” said Simon when Hans had finished. + +“Well, friend, it is easy and safe; a fat merchant and his wife and a +young girl. Mind you, there is no killing to be done if we can help it, +and if we can’t help it the Holy Office will shield us. Also it is only +the letter which he thinks that the young woman may carry that the +noble Ramiro wants. Doubtless it has to do with the sacred affairs of +the Church. Any valuables about them we may keep as a perquisite over +and above the pay.” + +Simon hesitated, but Meg announced with decision, + +“It is good enough; these merchant woman generally have jewels hidden +in their stays.” + +“My dear,” interrupted Simon. + +“Don’t ‘my dear’ me,” said Meg fiercely. “I have made up my mind, so +there’s an end. We meet by the Boshhuysen at five o’clock at the big +oak in the copse, where we will settle the details.” + +After this Simon said no more, for he had this virtue, so useful in +domestic life—he knew when to yield. + +On this same morning Adrian rose late. The talk at the supper table on +the previous night, especially Foy’s coarse, uneducated sarcasm, had +ruffled his temper, and when Adrian’s temper was ruffled he generally +found it necessary to sleep himself into good humour. As the bookkeeper +of the establishment, for his stepfather had never been able to induce +him to take an active part in its work, which in his heart he +considered beneath him, Adrian should have been in the office by nine +o’clock. Not having risen before ten, however, nor eaten his breakfast +until after eleven, this was clearly impossible. Then he remembered +that here was a good chance of finishing a sonnet, of which the last +lines were running in his head. It chanced that Adrian was a bit of a +poet, and, like most poets, he found quiet essential to the art of +composition. Somehow, when Foy was in the house, singing and talking, +and that great Frisian brute, Martin, was tramping to and fro, there +was never any quiet, for even when he could not hear them, the sense of +their presence exasperated his nerves. So now was his opportunity, +especially as his mother was out—marketing, she said—but in all +probability engaged upon some wretched and risky business connected +with the people whom she called martyrs. Adrian determined to avail +himself of it and finish his sonnet. + +This took some time. First, as all true artists know, the Muse must be +summoned, and she will rarely arrive under an hour’s appropriate and +gloomy contemplation of things in general. Then, especially in the case +of sonnets, rhymes, which are stubborn and remorseless things, must be +found and arranged. The pivot and object of this particular poem was a +certain notable Spanish beauty, Isabella d’Ovanda by name. She was the +wife of a decrepit but exceedingly noble Spaniard, who might almost +have been her grandfather, and who had been sent as one of a commission +appointed by King Philip II. to inquire into certain financial matters +connected with the Netherlands. + +This grandee, who, as it happened, was a very industrious and +conscientious person, among other cities, had visited Leyden in order +to assess the value of the Imperial dues and taxes. The task did not +take him long, because the burghers rudely and vehemently declared that +under their ancient charter they were free from any Imperial dues or +taxes whatsoever, nor could the noble marquis’s arguments move them to +a more rational view. Still, he argued for a week, and during that time +his wife, the lovely Isabella, dazzled the women of the town with her +costumes and the men with her exceedingly attractive person. + +Especially did she dazzle the romantic Adrian; hence the poetry. On the +whole the rhymes went pretty well, though there were difficulties, but +with industry he got round them. Finally the sonnet, a high-flown and +very absurd composition, was completed. + +By now it was time to eat; indeed, there are few things that make a man +hungrier than long-continued poetical exercise, so Adrian ate. In the +midst of the meal his mother returned, pale and anxious-faced, for the +poor woman had been engaged in making arrangements for the safety of +the beggared widow of the martyred Jansen, a pathetic and even a +dangerous task. In his own way Adrian was fond of his mother, but being +a selfish puppy he took but little note of her cares or moods. +Therefore, seizing the opportunity of an audience he insisted upon +reading to her his sonnet, not once but several times. + +“Very pretty, my son, very pretty,” murmured Lysbeth, through whose +bewildered brain the stilted and meaningless words buzzed like bees in +an empty hive, “though I am sure I cannot guess how you find the heart +in such times as these to write poetry to fine ladies whom you do not +know.” + +“Poetry, mother,” said Adrian sententiously, “is a great consoler; it +lifts the mind from the contemplation of petty and sordid cares.” + +“Petty and sordid cares!” repeated Lysbeth wonderingly, then she added +with a kind of cry: “Oh! Adrian, have you no heart that you can watch a +saint burn and come home to philosophise about his agonies? Will you +never understand? If you could have seen that poor woman this morning +who only three months ago was a happy bride.” Then bursting into tears +Lysbeth turned and fled from the room, for she remembered that what was +the fate of the Vrouw Jansen to-day to-morrow might be her own. + +This show of emotion quite upset Adrian whose nerves were delicate, and +who being honestly attached to his mother did not like to see her +weeping. + +“Pest on the whole thing,” he thought to himself, “why can’t we go away +and live in some pleasant place where they haven’t got any religion, +unless it is the worship of Venus? Yes, a place of orange groves, and +running streams, and pretty women with guitars, who like having sonnets +read to them, and——” + +At this moment the door opened and Martin’s huge and flaming poll +appeared. + +“The master wants to know if you are coming to the works, Heer Adrian, +and if not will you be so good as to give me the key of the strong-box +as he needs the cash book.” + +With a groan Adrian rose to go, then changed his mind. No, after that +perfumed vision of green groves and lovely ladies it was impossible for +him to face the malodorous and prosaic foundry. + +“Tell them I can’t come,” he said, drawing the key from his pocket. + +“Very good, Heer Adrian, why not?” + +“Because I am writing.” + +“Writing what?” queried Martin. + +“A sonnet.” + +“What’s a sonnet?” asked Martin blankly. + +“Ill-educated clown,” murmured Adrian, then—with a sudden inspiration, +“I’ll show you what a sonnet is; I will read it to you. Come in and +shut the door.” Martin obeyed, and was duly rewarded with the sonnet, +of which he understood nothing at all except the name of the lady, +Isabella d’Ovanda. But Martin was not without the guile of the serpent. + +“Beautiful,” he said, “beautiful! Read it again, master.” + +Adrian did so with much delight, remembering the tale of how the music +of Orpheus had charmed the very beasts. + +“Ah!” said Martin, “that’s a love-letter, isn’t it, to that splendid, +black-eyed marchioness, whom I saw looking at you?” + +“Well, not exactly,” said Adrian, highly pleased, although to tell the +truth he could not recollect upon what occasion the fair Isabella had +favoured him with her kind glances. “Yet I suppose that you might call +it so, an idealised love-letter, a letter in which ardent and distant +yet tender admiration is wrapt with the veil of verse.” + +“Quite so. Well, Master Adrian, just you send it to her.” + +“You don’t think that she might be offended?” queried Adrian +doubtfully. + +“Offended!” said Martin, “if she is I know nothing of women” (as a +matter of fact he didn’t.) “No, she will be very pleased; she’ll take +it away and read it by herself, and sleep with it under her pillow +until she knows it by heart, and then I daresay she will ask you to +come and see her. Well, I must be off, but thank you for reading me the +beautiful poetry letter, Heer Adrian.” + +“Really,” reflected Adrian, as the door closed behind him, “this is +another instance of the deceitfulness of appearances. I always thought +Martin a great, brutal fool, yet in his breast, uncultured as it is, +the sacred spark still smoulders.” And then and there he made up his +mind that he would read Martin a further selection of poems upon the +first opportunity. + +If only Adrian could have been a witness to the scene which at that +very moment was in progress at the works! Martin having delivered the +key of the box, sought out Foy, and proceeded to tell him the story. +More, perfidious one, he handed over a rough draft of the sonnet which +he had surreptitiously garnered from the floor, to Foy, who, clad in a +leather apron, and seated on the edge of a casting, read it eagerly. + +“I told him to send it,” went on Martin, “and, by St. Peter, I think he +will, and then if he doesn’t have old Don Diaz after him with a pistol +in one hand and a stiletto in the other, my name isn’t Martin Roos.” + +“Of course, of course,” gasped Foy, kicking his legs into the air with +delight, “why, they call the old fellow ‘Singe jaloux.’ Oh! it’s +capital, and I only hope that he opens the lady’s letters.” + +Thus did Foy, the commonplace and practical, make a mock of the poetic +efforts of the high-souled and sentimental Adrian. + +Meanwhile Adrian, feeling that he required air after his literary +labours, fetched his peregrine from its perch—for he was fond of +hawking—and, setting it on his wrist, started out to find a quarry on +the marshes near the town. + +Before he was halfway down the street he had forgotten all about the +sonnet and the lovely Isabella. His was a curious temperament, and this +sentimentality, born of vainness and idle hours, by no means expressed +it all. That he was what we should nowadays call a prig we know, and +also that he possessed his father’s, Montalvo’s, readiness of speech +without his father’s sense of humour. In him, as Martin had hinted, the +strain of the sire predominated, for in all essentials Adrian was as +Spanish in mind as in appearance. + +For instance, the sudden and violent passions into which he was apt to +fall if thwarted or overlooked were purely Spanish; there seemed to be +nothing of the patient, phlegmatic Netherlander about this side of him. +Indeed it was this temper of his perhaps more than any other desire or +tendency that made him so dangerous, for, whereas the impulses of his +heart were often good enough, they were always liable to be perverted +by some access of suddenly provoked rage. + +From his birth up Adrian had mixed little with Spaniards, and every +influence about him, especially that of his mother, the being whom he +most loved on earth, had been anti-Spanish, yet were he an hidalgo +fresh from the Court at the Escurial, he could scarcely have been more +Castilian. Thus he had been brought up in what might be called a +Republican atmosphere, yet he was without sympathy for the love of +liberty which animated the people of Holland. The sturdy independence +of the Netherlanders, their perpetual criticism of kings and +established rules, their vulgar and unheard-of assumption that the good +things of the world were free to all honest and hard-working citizens, +and not merely the birthright of blue blood, did not appeal to Adrian. +Also from childhood he had been a member of the dissenting Church, one +of the New Religion. Yet, at heart, he rejected this faith with its +humble professors and pastors, its simple, and sometimes squalid rites; +its long and earnest prayers offered to the Almighty in the damp of a +cellar or the reek of a cowhouse. + +Like thousands of his Spanish fellow-countrymen, he was +constitutionally unable to appreciate the fact that true religion and +true faith are the natural fruits of penitence and effort, and that +individual repentance and striving are the only sacrifices required of +man. + +For safety’s sake, like most politic Netherlanders, Adrian was called +upon from time to time to attend worship in the Catholic churches. He +did not find the obligation irksome. In fact, the forms and rites of +that stately ceremonial, the moving picture of the Mass in those dim +aisles, the pealing of the music and the sweet voices of hidden +choristers—all these things unsealed a fountain in his bosom and at +whiles moved him well nigh to tears. The system appealed to him also, +and he could understand that in it were joy and comfort. For here was +to be found forgiveness of sins, not far off in the heavens, but at +hand upon the earth; forgiveness to all who bent the head and paid the +fee. Here, ready made by that prince of armourers, a Church that +claimed to be directly inspired, was a harness of proof which, after +the death he dreaded (for he was full of spiritual fears and +superstitions), would suffice to turn the shafts of Satan from his poor +shivering soul, however steeped in crime. Was not this a more +serviceable and practical faith than that of these loud-voiced, +rude-handed Lutherans among whom he lived; men who elected to cast +aside this armour and trust instead to a buckler forged by their faith +and prayers—yes, and to give up their evil ways and subdue their own +desires that they might forge it better? + +Such were the thoughts of Adrian’s secret heart, but as yet he had +never acted on them, since, however much he might wish to do so, he had +not found the courage to break away from the influence of his +surroundings. His surroundings—ah! how he hated them! How he hated +them! For very shame’s sake, indeed, he could not live in complete +idleness among folk who were always busy, therefore he acted as +accountant in his stepfather’s business, keeping the books of the +foundry in a scanty and inefficient fashion, or writing letters to +distant customers, for he was a skilled clerk, to order the raw +materials necessary to the craft. But of this occupation he was weary, +for he had the true Spanish dislike and contempt of trade. In his heart +he held that war was the only occupation worthy of a man, successful +war, of course, against foes worth plundering, such as Cortes and +Pizarro had waged upon the poor Indians of New Spain. + +Adrian had read a chronicle of the adventures of these heroes, and +bitterly regretted that he had come into the world too late to share +them. The tale of heathen foemen slaughtered by thousands, and of the +incalculable golden treasures divided among their conquerors, fired his +imagination—especially the treasures. At times he would see them in his +sleep, baskets full of gems, heaps of barbaric gold and guerdon of fair +women slaves, all given by heaven to the true soldier whom it had +charged with the sacred work of Christianising unbelievers by means of +massacre and the rack. + +Oh! how deeply did he desire such wealth and the power which it would +bring with it; he who was dependent upon others that looked down upon +him as a lazy dreamer, who had never a guilder to spare in his pouch, +who had nothing indeed but more debts than he cared to remember. But it +never occurred to him to set to work and grow rich like his neighbours +by honest toil and commerce. No, that was the task of slaves, like +these low Hollander fellows among whom his lot was cast. + +Such were the main characteristics of Adrian, surnamed van Goorl; +Adrian the superstitious but unspiritual dreamer, the vain Sybarite, +the dull poet, the chopper of false logic, the weak and passionate +self-seeker, whose best and deepest cravings, such as his love for his +mother and another love that shall be told of, were really little more +than a reflection of his own pride and lusts, or at least could be +subordinated to their fulfilment. Not that he was altogether bad; +somewhere in him there was a better part. Thus: he was capable of good +purposes and of bitter remorse; under certain circumstances even he +might become capable also of a certain spurious spiritual exaltation. +But if this was to bloom in his heart, it must be in a prison strong +enough to protect from the blows of temptation. Adrian tempted would +always be Adrian overcome. He was fashioned by nature to be the tool of +others or of his own desires. + +It may be asked what part had his mother in him; where in his weak +ignoble nature was the trace of her pure and noble character? It seems +hard to find. Was this want to be accounted for by the circumstances +connected with his birth, in which she had been so unwilling an agent? +Had she given him something of her body but naught of that which was +within her own control—her spirit? Who can say? This at least is true, +that from his mother’s stock he had derived nothing beyond a certain +Dutch doggedness of purpose which, when added to his other qualities, +might in some events make him formidable—a thing to fear and flee from. + +Adrian reached the Witte Poort, and paused on this side of the moat to +reflect about things in general. Like most young men of his time and +blood, as has been said, he had military leanings, and was convinced +that, given the opportunity, he might become one of the foremost +generals of his age. Now he was engaged in imagining himself besieging +Leyden at the head of a great army, and in fancy disposing his forces +after such fashion as would bring about its fall in the shortest +possible time. Little did he guess that within some few years this very +question was to exercise the brain of Valdez and other great Spanish +captains. + +Whilst he was thus occupied suddenly a rude voice called, + +“Wake up, Spaniard,” and a hard object—it was a green apple—struck him +on his flat cap nearly knocking out the feather. Adrian leaped round +with an oath, to catch sight of two lads, louts of about fifteen, +projecting their tongues and jeering at him from behind the angles of +the gate-house. Now Adrian was not popular with the youth of Leyden, +and he knew it well. So, thinking it wisest to take no notice of this +affront, he was about to continue on his way when one of the youths, +made bold by impunity, stepped from his corner and bowed before him +till the ragged cap in his hand touched the dust, saying, in a mocking +voice, + +“Hans, why do you disturb the noble hidalgo? Cannot you see that the +noble hidalgo is going for a walk in the country to look for his most +high father, the honourable duke of the Golden Fleece, to whom he is +taking a cockolly bird as a present?” + +Adrian heard and winced at the sting of the insult, as a high-bred +horse winces beneath the lash. Of a sudden rage boiled in his veins +like a fountain of fire, and drawing the dagger from his girdle, he +rushed at the boys, dragging the hooded hawk, which had become +dislodged from his wrist, fluttering through the air after him. At that +moment, indeed, he would have been capable of killing one or both of +them if he could have caught them, but, fortunately for himself and +them, being prepared for an onslaught, they vanished this way and that +up the narrow lanes. Presently he stopped, and, still shaking with +wrath, replaced the hawk on his wrist and walked across the bridge. + +“They shall pay for it,” he muttered. “Oh! I will not forget, I will +not forget.” + +Here it may be explained that of the story of his birth Adrian had +heard something, but not all. He knew, for instance, that his father’s +name was Montalvo, that the marriage with his mother for some reason +was declared to be illegal, and that this Montalvo had left the +Netherlands under a cloud to find his death, so he had been told, +abroad. More than this Adrian did not know for certain, since everybody +showed a singular reticence in speaking to him of the matter. Twice he +had plucked up courage to question his mother on the subject, and on +each occasion her face had turned cold and hard as stone, and she +answered almost in the same words: + +“Son, I beg you to be silent. When I am dead you will find all the +story of your birth written down, but if you are wise you will not +read.” + +Once he had asked the same question of his stepfather, Dirk van Goorl, +whereupon Dirk looked ill at ease and answered: + +“Take my advice, lad, and be content to know that you are here and +alive with friends to take care of you. Remember that those who dig in +churchyards find bones.” + +“Indeed,” replied Adrian haughtily; “at least I trust that there is +nothing against my mother’s reputation.” + +At these words, to his surprise, Dirk suddenly turned pale as a sheet +and stepped towards him as though he were about to fly at his throat. + +“You dare to doubt your mother,” he began, “that angel out of Heaven—” +then ceased and added presently, “Go! I beg your pardon; I should have +remembered that you at least are innocent, and it is but natural that +the matter weighs upon your mind.” + +So Adrian went, also that proverb about churchyards and bones made such +an impression on him that he did no more digging. In other words he +ceased to ask questions, trying to console his mind with the knowledge +that, however his father might have behaved to his mother, at least he +was a man of ancient rank and ancient blood, which blood was his +to-day. The rest would be forgotten, although enough of it was still +remembered to permit of his being taunted by those street louts, and +when it was forgotten the blood, that precious blue blood of an hidalgo +of Spain, must still remain his heritage. + + + + +CHAPTER XI +ADRIAN RESCUES BEAUTY IN DISTRESS + + +All that long evening Adrian wandered about the causeways which pierced +the meadowlands and marshes, pondering these things and picturing +himself as having attained to the dignity of a grandee of Spain, +perhaps even—who could tell—to the proud rank of a Knight of the Golden +Fleece entitled to stand covered in the presence of his Sovereign. More +than one snipe and other bird such as he had come to hawk rose at his +feet, but so preoccupied was he that they were out of flight before he +could unhood his falcon. At length, after he had passed the church of +Weddinvliet, and, following the left bank of the Old Vliet, was +opposite to the wood named Boshhuyen after the half-ruined castle that +stood in it, he caught sight of a heron winging its homeward way to the +heronry, and cast off his peregrine out of the hood. She saw the quarry +at once and dashed towards it, whereon the heron, becoming aware of the +approach of its enemy, began to make play, rising high into the air in +narrow circles. Swiftly the falcon climbed after it in wider rings till +at length she hovered high above and stooped, but in vain. With a quick +turn of the wings the heron avoided her, and before the falcon could +find her pitch again, was far on its path towards the wood. + +Once more the peregrine climbed and stooped with a like result. A third +time she soared upwards in great circles, and a third time rushed +downwards, now striking the quarry full and binding to it. Adrian, who +was following their flight as fast as he could run, leaping some of the +dykes in his path and splashing through others, saw and paused to watch +the end. For a moment hawk and quarry hung in the air two hundred feet +above the tallest tree beneath them, for at the instant of its taking +the heron had begun to descend to the grove for refuge, a struggling +black dot against the glow of sunset. Then, still bound together, they +rushed downward headlong, for their spread and fluttering wings did not +serve to stay their fall, and vanished among the tree-tops. + +“Now my good hawk will be killed in the boughs—oh! what a fool was I to +fly so near the wood,” thought Adrian to himself as again he started +forward. + +Pushing on at his best pace, soon he was wandering about among the +trees as near to that spot where he had seen the birds fall as he could +guess it, calling to the falcon and searching for her with his eyes. +But here, in the dense grove, the fading light grew faint, so that at +length he was obliged to abandon the quest in despair, and turned to +find his way to the Leyden road. When within twenty paces of it, +suddenly he came upon hawk and heron. The heron was stone dead, and the +brave falcon so injured that it seemed hopeless to try to save her, for +as he feared, they had crashed through the boughs of a tree in their +fall. Adrian looked at her in dismay, for he loved this bird, which was +the best of its kind in the city, having trained her himself from a +nestling. Indeed there had always been a curious sympathy between +himself and this fierce creature of which he made a companion as +another man might of a dog. Even now he noted with a sort of pride that +broken-winged and shattered though she was, her talons remained fixed +in the back of the quarry, and her beak through the neck. + +He stroked the falcon’s head, whereon the bird, recognising him, loosed +her grip of the heron and tried to flutter to her accustomed perch upon +his wrist, only to fall to the ground, where she lay watching him with +her bright eyes. Then, because there was no help for it, although he +choked with grief at the deed, Adrian struck her on the head with his +staff until she died. + +“Goodbye, friend,” he muttered; “at least that is the best way to go +hence, dying with a dead foe beneath,” and, picking up the peregrine, +he smoothed her ruffled feathers and placed her tenderly in his +satchel. + +Then it was, just as Adrian rose to his feet, standing beneath the +shadow of the big oak upon which the birds had fallen, that coming from +the road, which was separated from him by a little belt of undergrowth, +he heard the sound of men’s voices growling and threatening, and with +them a woman’s cry for help. At any other time he would have hesitated +and reconnoitred, or, perhaps, have retreated at once, for he knew well +the dangers of mixing himself up in the quarrels of wayfarers in those +rough days. But the loss of the hawk had exasperated his nerves, making +any excitement or adventure welcome to him. Therefore, without pausing +to think, Adrian pushed forward through the brushwood to find himself +in the midst of a curious scene. + +Before him ran the grassy road or woodland lane. In the midst of it, +sprawling on his back, for he had been pulled from his horse, lay a +stout burgher, whose pockets were being rifled by a heavy-browed +footpad, who from time to time, doubtless to keep him quiet, threatened +his victim with a knife. On the pillion of the burgher’s thickset +Flemish horse, which was peacefully cropping at the grass, sat a +middle-aged female, who seemed to be stricken dumb with terror, while a +few paces away a second ruffian and a tall, bony woman were engaged in +dragging a girl from the back of a mule. + +Acting on the impulse of the moment, Adrian shouted, + +“Come on, friends, here are the thieves,” whereon the robber woman took +to flight and the man wheeled round, as he turned snatching a naked +knife from his girdle. But before he could lift it Adrian’s heavy staff +crashed down upon the point of his shoulder, causing him to drop the +dagger with a howl of pain. Again the staff rose and fell, this time +upon his head, staggering him and knocking off his cap, so that the +light, such as it was, shone upon his villainous fat face, the fringe +of sandy-coloured whisker running from throat to temples, and the bald +head above, which Adrian knew at once for that of Hague Simon, or the +Butcher. Fortunately for him, however, the Butcher was too surprised, +or too much confused by the blow which he had received upon his head, +to recognise his assailant. Nor, having lost his knife, and believing +doubtless that Adrian was only the first of a troop of rescuers, did he +seem inclined to continue the combat, but, calling to his companion to +follow him, he began to run after the woman with a swiftness almost +incredible in a man of his build and weight, turning presently into the +brushwood, where he and his two fellow thieves vanished away. + +Adrian dropped the point of his stick and looked round him, for the +whole affair had been so sudden, and the rout of the enemy so complete, +that he was tempted to believe he must be dreaming. Not eighty seconds +ago he was hiding the dead falcon in his satchel, and now behold! he +was a gallant knight who, unarmed, except for a dagger, which he forgot +to draw, had conquered two sturdy knaves and a female accomplice, +bristling with weapons, rescuing from their clutches Beauty (for +doubtless the maiden was beautiful), and, incidentally, her wealthy +relatives. Just then the lady, who had been dragged from the mule to +the ground, where she still lay, struggled to her knees and looked up, +thereby causing the hood of her travelling cloak to fall back from her +head. + +Thus it was, softened and illuminated by the last pale glow of this +summer evening, that Adrian first saw the face of Elsa Brant, the woman +upon whom, in the name of love, he was destined to bring so much +sorrow. + +The hero Adrian, overthrower of robbers, looked at the kneeling Elsa, +and knew that she was lovely, as, under the circumstances, was right +and fitting, and the rescued Elsa, gazing at the hero Adrian, admitted +to herself that he was handsome, also that his appearance on the scene +had been opportune, not to say providential. + +Elsa Brant, the only child of that Hendrik Brant, the friend and cousin +of Dirk van Goorl, who has already figured in this history, was just +nineteen. Her eyes, and her hair which curled, were brown, her +complexion was pale, suggesting delicacy of constitution, her mouth +small, with a turn of humour about it, and her chin rather large and +firm. She was of middle height, if anything somewhat under it, with an +exquisitely rounded and graceful figure and perfect hands. Lacking the +stateliness of a Spanish beauty, and the coarse fulness of outline +which has always been admired in the Netherlands, Elsa was still +without doubt a beautiful woman, though how much of her charm was owing +to her bodily attractions, and how much to her vivacious mien and to a +certain stamp of spirituality that was set upon her face in repose, and +looked out of her clear large eyes when she was thoughtful, it would +not be easy to determine. At any rate, her charms were sufficient to +make a powerful impression upon Adrian, who, forgetting all about the +Marchioness d’Ovanda, inspirer of sonnets, became enamoured of her then +and there; partly for her own sake and partly because it was the right +kind of thing for a deliverer to do. + +But it cannot be said, however deep her feelings of gratitude, that +Elsa became enamoured of Adrian. Undoubtedly, as she had recognised, he +was handsome, and she much admired the readiness and force with which +he had smitten that singularly loathsome-looking individual who had +dragged her from the mule. But as it chanced, standing where he did, +the shadow of his face lay on the grass beside her. It was a faint +shadow, for the light faded, still it was there, and it fascinated her, +for seen thus the fine features became sinister and cruel, and their +smile of courtesy and admiration was transformed into a most unpleasant +sneer. A trivial accident of light, no doubt, and foolish enough that +Elsa should notice it under such circumstances. But notice it she did, +and what is more, so quickly are the minds of women turned this way or +that, and so illogically do they draw a right conclusion from some pure +freak of chance, it raised her prejudice against him. + +“Oh! Señor,” said Elsa, clasping her hands, “how can I thank you +enough?” + +This speech was short and not original. Yet there were two things about +it that Adrian noted with satisfaction; first, that it was uttered in a +soft and most attractive voice, and secondly, that the speaker supposed +him to be a Spaniard of noble birth. + +“Do not thank me at all, gracious lady,” he replied, making his lowest +bow. “To put to flight two robber rogues and a woman was no great feat, +although I had but this staff for weapon,” he added, perhaps with a +view to impressing upon the maiden’s mind that her assailants had been +armed while he, the deliverer, was not. + +“Ah!” she answered, “I daresay that a brave knight like you thinks +nothing of fighting several men at once, but when that wretch with the +big hands and the flat face caught hold of me I nearly died of fright. +At the best of times I am a dreadful coward, and—no, I thank you, +Señor, I can stand now and alone. See, here comes the Heer van +Broekhoven under whose escort I am travelling, and look, he is +bleeding. Oh! worthy friend, are you hurt?” + +“Not much, Elsa,” gasped the Heer, for he was still breathless with +fright and exhaustion, “but that ruffian—may the hangman have him—gave +me a dig in the shoulder with his knife as he rose to run. However,” he +added with satisfaction, “he got nothing from me, for I am an old +traveller, and he never thought to look in my hat.” + +“I wonder why they attacked us,” said Elsa. + +The Heer van Broekhoven rubbed his head thoughtfully. “To rob us, I +suppose, for I heard the woman say, ‘Here they are; look for the letter +on the girl, Butcher.’” + +As he spoke Elsa’s face turned grave, and Adrian saw her glance at the +animal she had been riding and slip her arm through its rein. + +“Worthy sir,” went on Van Broekhoven, “tell us whom we have to thank.” + +“I am Adrian, called Van Goorl,” Adrian replied with dignity. + +“Van Goorl!” said the Heer. “Well, this is strange; Providence could +not have arranged it better. Listen, wife,” he went on, addressing the +stout lady, who all this while had sat still upon the horse, so alarmed +and bewildered that she could not speak, “here is a son of Dirk van +Goorl, to whom we are charged to deliver Elsa.” + +“Indeed,” answered the good woman, recovering herself somewhat, “I +thought from the look of him that he was a Spanish nobleman. But +whoever he is I am sure that we are all very much obliged to him, and +if he could show us the way out of this dreadful wood, which doubtless +is full of robbers, to the house of our kinsfolk, the Broekhovens of +Leyden, I should be still more grateful.” + +“Madam, you have only to accept my escort, and I assure you that you +need fear no more robbers. Might I in turn ask this lady’s name?” + +“Certainly, young sir, she is Elsa Brant, the only child of Hendrik +Brant, the famous goldsmith of The Hague, but doubtless now that you +know her name you know all that also, for she must be some kind of +cousin to you. Husband, help Elsa on to her mule.” + +“Let that be my duty,” said Adrian, and, springing forward, he lifted +Elsa to the saddle gracefully enough. Then, taking her mule by the +bridle, he walked onwards through the wood praying in his heart that +the Butcher and his companions would not find courage to attack them +again before they were out of its depths. + +“Tell me, sir, are you Foy?” asked Elsa in a puzzled voice. + +“No,” answered Adrian, shortly, “I am his brother.” + +“Ah! that explains it. You see I was perplexed, for I remember Foy when +I was quite little; a beautiful boy, with blue eyes and yellow hair, +who was always very kind to me. Once he stopped at my father’s house at +The Hague with his father.” + +“Indeed,” said Adrian, “I am glad to hear that Foy was ever beautiful. +I can only remember that he was very stupid, for I used to try to teach +him. At any rate, I am afraid you will not think him beautiful now—that +is, unless you admire young men who are almost as broad as they are +long.” + +“Oh! Heer Adrian,” she answered, laughing, “I am afraid that fault can +be found with most of us North Holland folk, and myself among the +number. You see it is given to very few of us to be tall and +noble-looking like high-born Spaniards—not that I should wish to +resemble any Spaniard, however lovely she might be,” Elsa added, with a +slight hardening of her voice and face. “But,” she went on hurriedly, +as though sorry that the remark had escaped her, “you, sir, and Foy are +strangely unlike to be brothers; is it not so?” + +“We are half-brothers,” said Adrian looking straight before him; “we +have the same mother only; but please do not call me ‘sir,’ call me +‘cousin.’” + +“No, I cannot do that,” she replied gaily, “for Foy’s mother is no +relation of mine. I think that I must call you ‘Sir Prince,’ for, you +see, you appeared at exactly the right time; just like the Prince in +the fairy-tales, you know.” + +Here was an opening not to be neglected by a young man of Adrian’s +stamp. + +“Ah!” he said in a tender voice, and looking up at the lady with his +dark eyes, “that is a happy name indeed. I would ask no better lot than +to be your Prince, now and always charged to defend you from every +danger.” (Here, it may be explained, that, however exaggerated his +language, Adrian honestly meant what he said, seeing that already he +was convinced that to be the husband of the beautiful heiress of one of +the wealthiest men in the Netherlands would be a very satisfactory walk +in life for a young man in his position.) + +“Oh! Sir Prince,” broke in Elsa hurriedly, for her cavalier’s ardour +was somewhat embarrassing, “you are telling the story wrong; the tale I +mean did not go on like that at all. Don’t you remember? The hero +rescued the lady and handed her over—to—to—her father.” + +“Of whom I think he came to claim her afterwards,” replied Adrian with +another languishing glance, and a smile of conscious vanity at the +neatness of his answer. Their glances met, and suddenly Adrian became +aware that Elsa’s face had undergone a complete change. The piquante, +half-amused smile had passed out of it; it was strained and hard and +the eyes were frightened. + +“Oh! now I understand the shadow—how strange,” she exclaimed in a new +voice. + +“What is the matter? What is strange?” he asked. + +“Oh!—only that your face reminded me so much of a man of whom I am +terrified. No, no, I am foolish, it is nothing, those footpads have +upset me. Praise be to God that we are out of that dreadful wood! Look, +neighbour Broekhoven, here is Leyden before us. Are not those red roofs +pretty in the twilight, and how big the churches seem. See, too, there +is water all round the walls; it must be a very strong town. I should +think that even the Spaniards could not take it, and oh! I am sure that +it would be a good thing if we might find a city which we were quite, +quite certain the Spaniards could never take—all, all of us,” and she +sighed heavily. + +“If I were a Spanish general with a proper army,” began Adrian +pompously, “I would take Leyden easily enough. Only this afternoon I +studied its weak spots, and made a plan of attack which could scarcely +fail, seeing that the place would only be defended by a mob of +untrained, half-armed burghers.” + +Again that curious look returned into Elsa’s eyes. + +“If you were a Spanish general,” she said slowly. “How can you jest +about such a thing as the sacking of a town by Spaniards? Do you know +what it means? That is how they talk; I have heard them,” and she +shuddered, then went on: “You are not a Spaniard, are you, sir, that +you can speak like that?” And without waiting for an answer Elsa urged +her mule forward, leaving him a little behind. + +Presently as they passed through the Witte Poort, he was at her side +again and chatting to her, but although she replied courteously enough, +he felt that an invisible barrier had arisen between them. Yes, she had +read his secret heart; it was as though she had been a party to his +thoughts when he stood by the bridge this afternoon designing plans for +the taking of Leyden, and half wishing that he might share in its +capture. She mistrusted him, and was half afraid of him, and Adrian +knew that it was so. + +Ten minutes’ ride through the quiet town, for in those days of terror +and suspicion unless business took them abroad people did not frequent +the streets much after sundown, brought the party to the van Goorl’s +house in the Bree Straat. Here Adrian dismounted and tried to open the +door, only to find that it was locked and barred. This seemed to +exasperate a temper already somewhat excited by the various events and +experiences of the day, and more especially by the change in Elsa’s +manner; at any rate he used the knocker with unnecessary energy. After +a while, with much turning of keys and drawing of bolts, the door was +opened, revealing Dirk, his stepfather, standing in the passage, candle +in hand, while behind, as though to be ready for any emergency, loomed +the great stooping shape of Red Martin. + +“Is that you, Adrian?” asked Dirk in a voice at once testy and +relieved. “Then why did you not come to the side entrance instead of +forcing us to unbar here?” + +“Because I bring you a guest,” replied Adrian pointing to Elsa and her +companions. “It did not occur to me that you would wish guests to be +smuggled in by a back door as though—as though they were ministers of +our New Religion.” + +The bow had been drawn at a venture but the shaft went home, for Dirk +started and whispered: “Be silent, fool.” Then he added aloud, “Guest! +What guest?” + +“It is I, cousin Dirk, I, Elsa, Hendrik Brant’s daughter,” she said, +sliding from her mule. + +“Elsa Brant!” ejaculated Dirk. “Why, how came you here?” + +“I will tell you presently,” she answered; “I cannot talk in the +street,” and she touched her lips with her finger. “These are my +friends, the van Broekhovens, under whose escort I have travelled from +The Hague. They wish to go on to the house of their relations, the +other Broekhovens, if some one will show them the way.” + +Then followed greetings and brief explanations. After these the +Broekhovens departed to the house of their relatives, under the care of +Martin, while, its saddle having been removed and carried into the +house at Elsa’s express request, Adrian led the mule round to the +stable. + +When Dirk had kissed and welcomed his young cousin he ushered her, +still accompanied by the saddle, into the room where his wife and Foy +were at supper, and with them the Pastor Arentz, that clergyman who had +preached to them on the previous night. Here he found Lysbeth, who had +risen from the table anxiously awaiting his return. So dreadful were +the times that a knocking on the door at an unaccustomed hour was +enough to throw those within into a paroxysm of fear, especially if at +the moment they chanced to be harbouring a pastor of the New Faith, a +crime punishable with death. That sound might mean nothing more than a +visit from a neighbour, or it might be the trump of doom to every soul +within the house, signifying the approach of the familiars of the +Inquisition and of a martyr’s crown. Therefore Lysbeth uttered a sigh +of joy when her husband appeared, followed only by a girl. + +“Wife,” he said, “here is our cousin, Elsa Brant, come to visit us from +The Hague, though why I know not as yet. You remember Elsa, the little +Elsa, with whom we used to play so many years ago.” + +“Yes, indeed,” answered Lysbeth, as she put her arms about her and +embraced her, saying, “welcome, child, though,” she added, glancing at +her, “you should no longer be called child who have grown into so fair +a maid. But look, here is the Pastor Arentz, of whom you may have +heard, for he is the friend of your father and of us all.” + +“In truth, yes,” answered Elsa curtseying, a salute which Arentz +acknowledged by saying gravely, + +“Daughter, I greet you in the name of the Lord, who has brought you to +this house safely, for which give thanks.” + +“Truly, Pastor, I have need to do so since—” and suddenly she stopped, +for her eyes met those of Foy, who was gazing at her with such wonder +and admiration stamped upon his open face that Elsa coloured at the +sight. Then, recovering herself, she held out her hand, saying, “Surely +you are my cousin Foy; I should have known you again anywhere by your +hair and eyes.” + +“I am glad,” he answered simply, for it flattered him to think that +this beautiful young lady remembered her old playmate, whom she had not +seen for at least eleven years, adding, “but I do not think I should +have known you.” + +“Why?” she asked, “have I changed so much?” + +“Yes,” Foy answered bluntly, “you used to be a thin little girl with +red arms, and now you are the most lovely maiden I ever saw.” + +At this speech everybody laughed, including the Pastor, while Elsa, +reddening still more, replied, “Cousin, I remember that _you_ used to +be rude, but now you have learned to flatter, which is worse. Nay, I +beg of you, spare me,” for Foy showed signs of wishing to argue the +point. Then turning from him she slipped off her cloak and sat down on +the chair which Dirk had placed for her at the table, reflecting in her +heart that she wished it had been Foy who rescued her from the wood +thieves, and not the more polished Adrian. + +Afterwards as the meal went on she told the tale of their adventure. +Scarcely was it done when Adrian entered the room. The first thing he +noticed was that Elsa and Foy were seated side by side, engaged in +animated talk, and the second, that there was no cover for him at the +table. + +“Have I your permission to sit down, mother?” he asked in a loud voice, +for no one had seen him come in. + +“Certainly, son, why not?” answered Lysbeth, kindly. Adrian’s voice +warned her that his temper was ruffled. + +“Because there is no place for me, mother, that is all, though +doubtless it is more worthily filled by the Rev. Pastor Arentz. Still, +after a man has been fighting for his life with armed thieves, well—a +bit of food and a place to eat it in would have been welcome.” + +“Fighting for your life, son!” said Lysbeth astonished. “Why, from what +Elsa has just been telling us, I gathered that the rascals ran away at +the first blow which you struck with your staff.” + +“Indeed, mother; well, doubtless if the lady says that, it was so. I +took no great note; at the least they ran and she was saved, with the +others; a small service not worth mentioning, still useful in its way.” + +“Oh! take my chair, Adrian,” said Foy rising, “and don’t make such a +stir about a couple of cowardly footpads and an old hag. You don’t want +us to think you a hero because you didn’t turn tail and leave Elsa and +her companions in their hands, do you?” + +“What you think, or do not think, is a matter of indifference to me,” +replied Adrian, seating himself with an injured air. + +“Whatever my cousin Foy may think, Heer Adrian,” broke in Elsa +anxiously, “I am sure I thank God who sent so brave a gentleman to help +us. Yes, yes, I mean it, for it makes me sick to remember what might +have happened if you had not rushed at those wicked men like—like——” + +“Like David on the Philistines,” suggested Foy. + +“You should study your Bible, lad,” put in Arentz with a grave smile. +“It was Samson who slew the Philistines; David conquered the giant +Goliath, though it is true that he also was a Philistine.” + +“Like Samson—I mean David—on Goliath,” continued Elsa confusedly. “Oh! +please, cousin Foy, do not laugh; I believe that you would have left me +at the mercy of that dreadful man with a flat face and the bald head, +who was trying to steal my father’s letter. By the way, cousin Dirk, I +have not given it to you yet, but it is quite safe, sewn up in the +lining of the saddle, and I was to tell you that you must read it by +the old cypher.” + +“Man with a flat face,” said Dirk anxiously, as he slit away at the +stitches of the saddle to find the letter; “tell me about him. What was +he like, and what makes you think he wished to take the paper from +you?” + +So Elsa described the appearance of the man and of the black-eyed hag, +his companion, and repeated also the words that the Heer van Broekhoven +had heard the woman utter before the attack took place. + +“That sounds like the spy, Hague Simon, him whom they call the Butcher, +and his wife, Black Meg,” said Dirk. “Adrian, you must have seen these +people, was it they?” + +For a moment Adrian considered whether he should tell the truth; then, +for certain reasons of his own, decided that he would not. Black Meg, +it may be explained, in the intervals of graver business was not averse +to serving as an emissary of Venus. In short, she arranged +assignations, and Adrian was fond of assignations. Hence his reticence. + +“How should I know?” he answered, after a pause; “the place was gloomy, +and I have only set eyes upon Hague Simon and his wife about twice in +my life.” + +“Softly, brother,” said Foy, “and stick to the truth, however gloomy +the wood may have been. You know Black Meg pretty well at any rate, for +I have often seen you—” and he stopped suddenly, as though sorry that +the words had slipped from his tongue. + +“Adrian, is this so?” asked Dirk in the silence which followed. + +“No, stepfather,” answered Adrian. + +“You hear,” said Dirk addressing Foy. “In future, son, I trust that you +will be more careful with your words. It is no charge to bring lightly +against a man that he has been seen in the fellowship of one of the +most infamous wretches in Leyden, a creature whose hands are stained +red with the blood of innocent men and women, and who, as your mother +knows, once brought me near to the scaffold.” + +Suddenly the laughing boyish look passed out of the face of Foy, and it +grew stern. + +“I am sorry for my words,” he said, “since Black Meg does other things +besides spying, and Adrian may have had business of his own with her +which is no affair of mine. But, as they are spoke, I can’t eat them, +so you must decide which of us is—not truthful.” + +“Nay, Foy, nay,” interposed Arentz, “do not put it thus. Doubtless +there is some mistake, and have I not told you before that you are over +rash of tongue?” + +“Yes, and a great many other things,” answered Foy, “every one of them +true, for I am a miserable sinner. Well, all right, there is a mistake, +and it is,” he added, with an air of radiant innocency that somehow was +scarcely calculated to deceive, “that I was merely poking a stick into +Adrian’s temper. I never saw him talking to Black Meg. Now, are you +satisfied?” + +Then the storm broke, as Elsa, who had been watching the face of Adrian +while he listened to Foy’s artless but somewhat fatuous explanation, +saw that it must break. + +“There is a conspiracy against me,” said Adrian, who had grown white +with rage; “yes, everything has conspired against me to-day. First the +ragamuffins in the street make a mock of me, and then my hawk is +killed. Next it chances that I rescue this lady and her companions from +robbers in the wood. But, do I get any thanks for this? No, I come home +to find that I am so much forgotten that no place is even laid for me +at table; more, to be jeered at for the humble services that I have +done. Lastly, I have the lie given to me, and without reproach, by my +brother, who, were he not my brother, should answer for it at the +sword’s point.” + +“Oh! Adrian, Adrian,” broke in Foy, “don’t be a fool; stop before you +say something you will be sorry for.” + +“That isn’t all,” went on Adrian, taking no heed. “Whom do I find at +this table? The worthy Heer Arentz, a minister of the New Religion. +Well, I protest. I belong to the New Religion myself, having been +brought up in that faith, but it must be well known that the presence +of a pastor here in our house exposes everybody to the risk of death. +If my stepfather and Foy choose to take that risk, well and good, but I +maintain that they have no right to lay its consequences upon my +mother, whose eldest son I am, nor even upon myself.” + +Now Dirk rose and tapped Adrian on the shoulder. “Young man,” he said +coldly and with glittering eyes, “listen to me. The risks which I and +my son, Foy, and my wife, your mother, take, we run for conscience +sake. You have nothing to do with them, it is our affair. But since you +have raised the question, if your faith is not strong enough to support +you I acknowledge that I have no right to bring you into danger. Look +you, Adrian, you are no son of mine; in you I have neither part nor +lot, yet I have cared for you and supported you since you were born +under very strange and unhappy circumstances. Yes, you have shared +whatever I had to give with my own son, without preference or favour, +and should have shared it even after my death. And now, if these are +your opinions, I am tempted to say to you that the world is wide and +that, instead of idling here upon my bounty, you would do well to win +your own way through it as far from Leyden as may please you.” + +“You throw your benefits in my teeth, and reproach me with my birth,” +broke in Adrian, who by now was almost raving with passion, “as though +it were a crime in me to have other blood running in my veins than that +of Netherlander tradesfolk. Well, if so, it would seem that the crime +was my mother’s, and not mine, who——” + +“Adrian, Adrian!” cried Foy, in warning, but the madman heeded not. + +“Who,” he went on furiously, “was content to be the companion, for I +understand that she was never really married to him, of some noble +Spaniard before she became the wife of a Leyden artisan.” + +He ceased, and at this moment there broke from Lysbeth’s lips a low +wail of such bitter anguish that it chilled even his mad rage to +silence. + +“Shame on thee, my son,” said the wail, “who art not ashamed to speak +thus of the mother that bore thee.” + +“Ay,” echoed Dirk, in the stillness that followed, “shame on thee! Once +thou wast warned, but now I warn no more.” + +Then he stepped to the door, opened it, and called, “Martin, come +hither.” + +Presently, still in that heavy silence, which was broken only by the +quick breath of Adrian panting like some wild beast in a net, was heard +the sound of heavy feet shuffling down the passage. Then Martin entered +the room, and stood there gazing about him with his large blue eyes, +that were like the eyes of a wondering child. + +“Your pleasure, master,” he said at length. + +“Martin Roos,” replied Dirk, waving back Arentz who rose to speak, +“take that young man, my stepson, the Heer Adrian, and lead him from my +house—without violence if possible. My order is that henceforth you are +not to suffer him to set foot within its threshold; see that it is not +disobeyed. Go, Adrian, to-morrow your possessions shall be sent to you, +and with them such money as shall suffice to start you in the world.” + +Without comment or any expression of surprise, the huge Martin shuffled +forward towards Adrian, his hand outstretched as though to take him by +the arm. + +“What!” exclaimed Adrian, as Martin advanced down the room, “you set +your mastiff on me, do you? Then I will show you how a gentleman treats +dogs,” and suddenly, a naked dagger shining in his hand, he leaped +straight at the Frisian’s throat. So quick and fierce was the onslaught +that only one issue to it seemed possible. Elsa gasped and closed her +eyes, thinking when she opened them to see that knife plunged to the +hilt in Martin’s breast, and Foy sprang forward. Yet in this twinkling +of an eye the danger was done with, for by some movement too quick to +follow, Martin had dealt his assailant such a blow upon the arm that +the poniard, jarred from his grasp, flew flashing across the room to +fall in Lysbeth’s lap. Another second and the iron grip had closed upon +Adrian’s shoulder, and although he was strong and struggled furiously, +yet he could not loose the hold of that single hand. + +“Please cease fighting, Mynheer Adrian, for it is quite useless,” said +Martin to his captive in a voice as calm as though nothing unusual had +happened. Then he turned and walked with him towards the door. + +On the threshold Martin stopped, and looking over his shoulder said, +“Master, I think that the Heer is dead, do you still wish me to put him +into the street?” + +They crowded round and stared. It was true, Adrian seemed to be dead; +at least his face was like that of a corpse, while from the corner of +his mouth blood trickled in a thin stream. + + + + +CHAPTER XII +THE SUMMONS + + +“Wretched man!” said Lysbeth wringing her hands, and with a shudder +shaking the dagger from her lap as though it had been a serpent, “you +have killed my son.” + +“Your pardon, mistress,” replied Martin placidly; “but that is not so. +The master ordered me to remove the Heer Adrian, whereon the Heer +Adrian very naturally tried to stab me. But I, having been accustomed +to such things in my youth,” and he looked deprecatingly towards the +Pastor Arentz, “struck the Heer Adrian upon the bone of his elbow, +causing the knife to jump from his hand, for had I not done so I should +have been dead and unable to execute the commands of my master. Then I +took the Heer Adrian by the shoulder, gently as I might, and walked +away with him, whereupon he died of rage, for which I am very sorry but +not to blame.” + +“You are right, man,” said Lysbeth, “it is you who are to blame, Dirk; +yes, you have murdered my son. Oh! never mind what he said, his temper +was always fierce, and who pays any heed to the talk of a man in a mad +passion?” + +“Why did you let your brother be thus treated, cousin Foy?” broke in +Elsa quivering with indignation. “It was cowardly of you to stand still +and see that great red creature crush the life out of him when you know +well that it was because of your taunts that he lost his temper and +said things that he did not mean, as I do myself sometimes. No, I will +never speak to you again—and only this afternoon he saved me from the +robbers!” and she burst into weeping. + +“Peace, peace! this is no time for angry words,” said the Pastor +Arentz, pushing his way through the group of bewildered men and +overwrought women. “He can scarcely be dead; let me look at him, I am +something of a doctor,” and he knelt by the senseless and bleeding +Adrian to examine him. + +“Take comfort, Vrouw van Goorl,” he said presently, “your son is not +dead, for his heart beats, nor has his friend Martin injured him in any +way by the exercise of his strength, but I think that in his fury he +has burst a blood-vessel, for he bleeds fast. My counsel is that he +should be put to bed and his head cooled with cold water till the +surgeon can be fetched to treat him. Lift him in your arms, Martin.” + +So Martin carried Adrian, not to the street, but to his bed, while Foy, +glad of an excuse to escape the undeserved reproaches of Elsa and the +painful sight of his mother’s grief, went to seek the physician. In due +course he returned with him, and, to the great relief of all of them, +the learned man announced that, notwithstanding the blood which he had +lost, he did not think that Adrian would die, though, at the best, he +must keep his bed for some weeks, have skilful nursing and be humoured +in all things. + +While his wife Lysbeth and Elsa were attending to Adrian, Dirk and his +son, Foy, for the Pastor Arentz had gone, sat upstairs talking in the +sitting-room, that same balconied chamber in which once Dirk had been +refused while Montalvo hid behind the curtain. Dirk was much disturbed, +for when his wrath had passed he was a tender-hearted man, and his +stepson’s plight distressed him greatly. Now he was justifying himself +to Foy, or, rather, to his own conscience. + +“A man who could speak so of his own mother, was not fit to stop in the +same house with her,” he said; “moreover, you heard his words about the +pastor. I tell you, son, I am afraid of this Adrian.” + +“Unless that bleeding from his mouth stops soon you will not have cause +to fear him much longer,” replied Foy sadly, “but if you want my +opinion about the business, father, why here it is—I think that you +have made too much of a small matter. Adrian is—Adrian; he is not one +of us, and he should not be judged as though he were. You cannot +imagine me flying into a fury because the women forgot to set my place +at table, or trying to stab Martin and bursting a blood vessel because +you told him to lead me out of the room. No, I should know better, for +what is the use of any ordinary man attempting to struggle against +Martin? He might as well try to argue with the Inquisition. But then I +am I, and Adrian is Adrian.” + +“But the words he used, son. Remember the words.” + +“Yes, and if I had spoken them they would have meant a great deal, but +in Adrian’s mouth I think no more of them than if they came from some +angry woman. Why, he is always sulking, or taking offence, or flying +into rages over something or other, and when he is like that it all +means—just nothing except that he wants to use fine talk and show off +and play the Don over us. He did not really mean to lie to me when he +said that I had not seen him talking to Black Meg, he only meant to +contradict, or perhaps to hide something up. As a matter of fact, if +you want to know the truth, I believe that the old witch took notes for +him to some young lady, and that Hague Simon supplied him with rats for +his hawks.” + +“Yes, Foy, that may be so, but how about his talk of the pastor? It +makes me suspicious, son. You know the times we live in, and if he +should go that way—remember it is in his blood—the lives of every one +of us are in his hand. The father tried to burn me once, and I do not +wish the child to finish the work.” + +“Then when they come out of his hand, you are at liberty to cut off +mine,” answered Foy hotly. “I have been brought up with Adrian, and I +know what he is; he is vain and pompous, and every time he looks at you +and me he thanks God that he was not made like that. Also he has +failings and vices, and he is lazy, being too fine a gentleman to work +like a common Flemish burgher, and all the rest of it. But, father, he +has a good heart, and if any man outside this house were to tell me +that Adrian is capable of playing the traitor and bringing his own +family to the scaffold, well, I would make him swallow his words, or +try to, that is all. As regards what he said about my mother’s first +marriage”—and Foy hung his head—“of course it is a subject on which I +have no right to talk, but, father, speaking as one man to another—he +_is_ sadly placed and innocent, whatever others may have been, and I +don’t wonder that he feels sore about the story.” + +As he spoke the door opened and Lysbeth entered. + +“How goes it with Adrian, wife?” Dirk asked hastily. + +“Better, husband, thank God, though the doctor stays with him for this +night. He has lost much blood, and at the best must lie long abed; +above all none must cross his mood or use him roughly,” and she looked +at her husband with meaning. + +“Peace, wife,” Dirk answered with irritation. “Foy here has just read +me one lecture upon my dealings with your son, and I am in no mood to +listen to another. I served the man as he deserved, neither less nor +more, and if he chose to go mad and vomit blood, why it is no fault of +mine. You should have brought him up to a soberer habit.” + +“Adrian is not as other men are, and ought not to be measured by the +same rule,” said Lysbeth, almost repeating Foy’s words. + +“So I have been told before, wife, though I, who have but one standard +of right and wrong, find the saying hard. But so be it. Doubtless the +rule for Adrian is that which should be used to measure angels—or +Spaniards, and not one suited to us poor Hollanders who do our work, +pay our debts, and don’t draw knives on unarmed men!” + +“Have you read the letter from your cousin Brant?” asked Lysbeth, +changing the subject. + +“No,” answered Dirk, “what with daggers, swoonings, and scoldings it +slipped my mind,” and drawing the paper from his tunic he cut the silk +and broke the seals. “I had forgotten,” he went on, looking at the +sheets of words interspersed with meaningless figures; “it is in our +private cypher, as Elsa said, or at least most of it is. Get the key +from my desk, son, and let us set to work, for our task is likely to be +long.” + +Foy obeyed, returning presently with an old Testament of a very scarce +edition. With the help of this book and an added vocabulary by slow +degrees they deciphered the long epistle, Foy writing it down sentence +by sentence as they learned their significance. When at length the task +was finished, which was not till well after midnight, Dirk read the +translation aloud to Lysbeth and his son. It ran thus: + +“Well-beloved cousin and old friend, you will be astonished to see my +dear child Elsa, who brings you this paper sewn in her saddle, where I +trust none will seek it, and wonder why she comes to you without +warning. I will tell you. + +“You know that here the axe and the stake are very busy, for at The +Hague the devil walks loose; yes, he is the master in this land. Well, +although the blow has not yet fallen on me, since for a while I have +bought off the informers, hour by hour the sword hangs over my head, +nor can I escape it in the end. That I am suspected of the New Faith is +not my real crime. You can guess it. Cousin, they desire my wealth. Now +I have sworn that no Spaniard shall have this, no, not if I must sink +it in the sea to save it from them, since it has been heaped up to +another end. Yet they desire it sorely, and spies are about my path and +about my bed. Worst among them all, and at the head of them, is a +certain Ramiro, a one-eyed man, but lately come from Spain, it is said +as an agent of the Inquisition, whose manners are those of a person who +was once a gentleman, and who seems to know this country well. This +fellow has approached me, offering if I will give him three-parts of my +wealth to secure my escape with the rest, and I have told him that I +will consider the offer. For this reason only I have a little respite, +since he desires that my money should go into his pocket and not into +that of the Government. But, by the help of God, neither of them shall +touch it. + +“See you, Dirk, the treasure is not here in the house as they think. It +is hidden, but in a spot where it cannot stay. + +“Therefore, if you love me, and hold that I have been a good friend to +you, send your son Foy with one other strong and trusted man—your +Frisian servant, Martin, if possible—on the morrow after you receive +this. When night falls he should have been in The Hague some hours, and +have refreshed himself, but let him not come near me or my house. Half +an hour after sunset let him, followed by his serving man, walk up and +down the right side of the Broad Street in The Hague, as though seeking +adventures, till a girl, also followed by a servant, pushes up against +him as if on purpose, and whispers in his ear, ‘Are you from Leyden, +sweetheart?’ Then he must say ‘Yes,’ and accompany her till he comes to +a place where he will learn what must be done and how to do it. Above +all, he must follow no woman who may accost him and does not repeat +these words. The girl who addresses him will be short, dark, pretty, +and gaily dressed, with a red bow upon her left shoulder. But let him +not be misled by look or dress unless she speaks the words. + +“If he reaches England or Leyden safely with the stuff let him hide it +for the present, friend, till your heart tells you it is needed. I care +not where, nor do I wish to know, for if I knew, flesh and blood are +weak, and I might give up the secret when they stretch me on the rack. + +“Already you have my will sent to you three months ago, and enclosed in +it a list of goods. Open it now and you will find that under it my +possessions pass to you and your heirs absolutely as my executors, for +such especial trusts and purposes as are set out therein. Elsa has been +ailing, and it is known that the leech has ordered her a change. +Therefore her journey to Leyden will excite no wonder, neither, or so I +hope, will even Ramiro guess that I should enclose a letter such as +this in so frail a casket. Still, there is danger, for spies are many, +but having no choice, and my need being urgent, I must take the risks. +If the paper is seized they cannot read it, for they will never make +out the cypher, since, even did they know of them, no copies of our +books can be found in Holland. Moreover, were this writing all plain +Dutch or Spanish, it tells nothing of the whereabouts of the treasure, +of its destination, or of the purpose to which it is dedicate. Lastly, +should any Spaniard chance to find that wealth, it will vanish, and, +mayhap, he with it.” + +“What can he mean by that?” interrupted Foy. + +“I know not,” answered Dirk. “My cousin Brant is not a person who +speaks at random, so perhaps we have misinterpreted the passage.” Then +he went on reading: + +“Now I have done with the pelf, which must take its chance. Only, I +pray you—I trust it to your honour and to your love of an old friend to +bury it, burn it, cast it to the four winds of heaven before you suffer +a Spaniard to touch a gem or a piece of gold. + +“I send to you to-day Elsa, my only child. You will know my reason. She +will be safer with you in Leyden than here at The Hague, since if they +take me they might take her also. The priests and their tools do not +spare the young, especially if their rights stand between them and +money. Also she knows little of my desperate strait; she is ignorant +even of the contents of this letter, and I do not wish that she should +share these troubles. I am a doomed man, and she loves me, poor child. +One day she will hear that it is over, and that will be sad for her, +but it would be worse if she knew all from the beginning. When I bid +her good-bye to-morrow, it will be for the last time—God give me +strength to bear the blow. + +“You are her guardian, as you deal with her—nay, I must be crazy with +my troubles, for none other would think it needful to remind Dirk van +Goorl or his son of their duty to the dead. Farewell, friend and +cousin. God guard you and yours in these dreadful times with which it +has pleased Him to visit us for a season, that through us perhaps this +country and the whole world may be redeemed from priestcraft and +tyranny. Greet your honoured wife, Lysbeth, from me; also your son Foy, +who used to be a merry lad, and whom I hope to see again within a night +or two, although it may be fated that we shall not meet. My blessing on +him, especially if he prove faithful in all these things. May the +Almighty who guards us give us a happy meeting in the hereafter which +is at hand. Pray for me. Farewell, farewell.—HENDRIK BRANT. + +“P.S. I beg the dame Lysbeth to see that Elsa wears woollen when the +weather turns damp or cold, since her chest is somewhat delicate. This +was my wife’s last charge, and I pass it on to you. As regards her +marriage, should she live, I leave that to your judgment with this +command only, that her inclination shall not be forced, beyond what is +right and proper. When I am dead, kiss her for me, and tell her that I +loved her beyond any creature now living on the earth, and that +wherever I am from day to day I wait to welcome her, as I shall wait to +welcome you and yours, Dirk van Goorl. In case these presents miscarry, +I will send duplicates of them, also in mixed cypher, whenever chance +may offer.” + +Having finished reading the translation of this cypher document, Dirk +bent his head while he folded it, not wishing that his face should be +seen. Foy also turned aside to hide the tears which gathered in his +eyes, while Lysbeth wept openly. + +“A sad letter and sad times!” said Dirk at length. + +“Poor Elsa,” muttered Foy, then added, with a return of hopefulness, +“perhaps he is mistaken, he may escape after all.” + +Lysbeth shook her head as she answered, + +“Hendrik Brant is not the man to write like that if there was any hope +for him, nor would he part with his daughter unless he knew that the +end must be near at hand.” + +“Why, then, does he not fly?” asked Foy. + +“Because the moment he stirred the Inquisition would pounce upon him, +as a cat pounces upon a mouse that tries to run from its corner,” +replied his father. “While the mouse sits still the cat sits also and +purrs; when it moves——” + +There was a silence in which Dirk, having fetched the will of Hendrik +Brant from a safe hiding place, where it had lain since it reached his +hands some months before, opened the seals and read it aloud. + +It proved to be a very short document, under the terms of which Dirk +van Goorl and his heirs inherited all the property, real and personal, +of Hendrik Brant, upon trust, (1) to make such ample provision for his +daughter Elsa as might be needful or expedient; (2) to apply the +remainder of the money “for the defence of our country, the freedom of +religious Faith, and the destruction of the Spaniards in such fashion +and at such time or times as God should reveal to them, which,” added +the will, “assuredly He will do.” + +Enclosed in this document was an inventory of the property that +constituted the treasure. At the head came an almost endless list of +jewels, all of them carefully scheduled. These were the first three +items: + +“Item: The necklace of great pearls that I exchanged with the Emperor +Charles when he took a love for sapphires, enclosed in a watertight +copper box. + +“Item: A coronet and stomacher of rubies mounted in my own gold work, +the best that ever I did, which three queens have coveted, and none was +rich enough to buy. + +“Item: The great emerald that my father left me, the biggest known, +having magic signs of ancients engraved upon the back of it, and +enclosed in a chased case of gold.” + +Then came other long lists of precious stones, too numerous to mention, +but of less individual value, and after them this entry: + +“Item: Four casks filled with gold coin (I know not the exact weight or +number).” + +At the bottom of this schedule was written, “A very great treasure, the +greatest of all the Netherlands, a fruit of three generations of honest +trading and saving, converted by me for the most part into jewels, that +it may be easier to move. This is the prayer of me, Hendrik Brant, who +owns it for his life; that this gold may prove the earthly doom of any +Spaniard who tries to steal it, and as I write it comes into my mind +that God will grant this my petition. Amen. Amen. Amen! So say I, +Hendrik Brant, who stand at the Gate of Death.” + +All of this inventory Dirk read aloud, and when he had finished Lysbeth +gasped with amazement. + +“Surely,” she said, “this little cousin of ours is richer than many +princes. Yes, with such a dowry princes would be glad to take her in +marriage.” + +“The fortune is large enough,” answered Dirk. “But, oh! what a burden +has Hendrik Brant laid upon our backs, for under this will the wealth +is left, not straight to the lawful heiress, Elsa, but to me and my +heirs on the trusts started, and they are heavy. Look you, wife, the +Spaniards know of this vast hoard, and the priests know of it, and no +stone on earth or hell will they leave unturned to win that money. I +say that, for his own sake, my cousin Hendrik would have done better to +accept the offer of the Spanish thief Ramiro and give him three-fourths +and escape to England with the rest. But that is not his nature, who +was ever stubborn, and who would die ten times over rather than enrich +the men he hates. Moreover, he, who is no miser, has saved this fortune +that the bulk of it may be spent for his country in the hour of her +need, and alas! of that need we are made the judges, since he is called +away. Wife, I foresee that these gems and gold will breed bloodshed and +misery to all our house. But the trust is laid upon us and it must be +borne. Foy, to-morrow at dawn you and Martin will start for The Hague +to carry out the command of your cousin Brant.” + +“Why should my son’s life be risked on this mad errand?” asked Lysbeth. + +“Because it is a duty, mother,” answered Foy cheerfully, although he +tried to look depressed. He was young and enterprising; moreover, the +adventure promised to be full of novelty. + +In spite of himself Dirk smiled and bade him summon Martin. + +A minute later Foy was in the great man’s den and kicking at his +prostrate form. “Wake up, you snoring bull,” he said, “awake!” + +Martin sat up, his red beard showing like a fire in the shine of the +taper. “What is it now, Master Foy?” he asked yawning. “Are they after +us about those two dead soldiers?” + +“No, you sleepy lump, it’s treasure.” + +“I don’t care about treasure,” replied Martin, indifferently. + +“It’s Spaniards.” + +“That sounds better,” said Martin, shutting his mouth. “Tell me about +it, Master Foy, while I pull on my jerkin.” + +So Foy told him as much as he could in two minutes. + +“Yes, it sounds well,” commented Martin, critically. “If I know +anything of those Spaniards, we shan’t get back to Leyden without +something happening. But I don’t like that bit about the women; as +likely as not they will spoil everything.” + +Then he accompanied Foy to the upper room, and there received his +instructions from Dirk with a solemn and unmoved countenance. + +“Are you listening?” asked Dirk, sharply. “Do you understand?” + +“I think so, master,” replied Martin. “Hear;” and he repeated sentence +by sentence every word that had fallen from Dirk’s lips, for when he +chose to use it Martin’s memory was good. “One or two questions, +master,” he said. “This stuff must be brought through at all hazards?” + +“At all hazards,” answered Dirk. + +“And if we cannot bring it through, it must be hidden in the best way +possible?” + +“Yes.” + +“And if people should try to interfere with us, I understand that we +must fight?” + +“Of course.” + +“And if in the fighting we chance to kill anybody I shall not be +reproached and called a murderer by the pastor or others?” + +“I think not,” replied Dirk. + +“And if anything should happen to my young master here, his blood will +not be laid upon my head?” + +Lysbeth groaned. Then she stood up and spoke. + +“Martin, why do you ask such foolish questions? Your peril my son must +share, and if harm should come to him as may chance, we shall know well +that it is no fault of yours. You are not a coward or a traitor, +Martin.” + +“Well, I think not, mistress, at least not often; but you see here are +two duties: the first, to get this money through, the second, to +protect the Heer Foy. I wish to know which of these is the more +important.” + +It was Dirk who answered. + +“You go to carry out the wishes of my cousin Brant; they must be +attended to before anything else.” + +“Very good,” replied Martin; “you quite understand, Heer Foy?” + +“Oh! perfectly,” replied that young man, grinning. + +“Then go to bed for an hour or two, as you may have to keep awake +to-morrow night; I will call you at dawn. Your servant, master and +mistress, I hope to report myself to you within sixty hours, but if I +do not come within eighty, or let us say a hundred, it may be well to +make inquiries,” and he shuffled back to his den. + +Youth sleeps well whatever may be behind or before it, and it was not +until Martin had called to him thrice next morning that Foy opened his +eyes in the grey light, and, remembering, sprang from his bed. + +“There’s no hurry,” said Martin, “but it will be as well to get out of +Leyden before many people are about.” + +As he spoke Lysbeth entered the room fully dressed, for she had not +slept that night, carrying in her hand a little leathern bag. + +“How is Adrian, mother?” asked Foy, as she stooped down to kiss him. + +“He sleeps, and the doctor, who is still with him, says that he does +well,” she answered. “But see here, Foy, you are about to start upon +your first adventure, and this is my present to you—this and my +blessing.” Then she untied the neck of the bag and poured from it +something that lay upon the table in a shining heap no larger than +Martin’s fist. Foy took hold of the thing and held it up, whereon the +little heap stretched itself out marvellously, till it was as large +indeed as the body garment of a man. + +“Steel shirt!” exclaimed Martin, nodding his head in approval, and +adding, “good wear for those who mix with Spaniards.” + +“Yes,” said Lysbeth, “my father brought this from the East on one of +his voyages. I remember he told me that he paid for it its weight in +gold and silver, and that even then it was sold to him only by the +special favour of the king of that country. The shirt, they said, was +ancient, and of such work as cannot now be made. It had been worn from +father to son in one family for three hundred years, but no man that +wore it ever died by body-cut or thrust, since sword or dagger cannot +pierce that steel. At least, son, this is the story, and, strangely +enough, when I lost all the rest of my heritage—” and she sighed, “this +shirt was left to me, for it lay in its bag in the old oak chest, and +none noticed it or thought it worth the taking. So make the most of it, +Foy; it is all that remains of your grandfather’s fortune, since this +house is now your father’s.” + +Beyond kissing his mother in thanks, Foy made no answer; he was too +much engaged in examining the wonders of the shirt, which as a worker +in metals he could well appreciate. But Martin said again: + +“Better than money, much better than money. God knew that and made them +leave the mail.” + +“I never saw the like of it,” broke in Foy; “look, it runs together +like quicksilver and is light as leather. See, too, it has stood sword +and dagger stroke before to-day,” and holding it in a sunbeam they +perceived in many directions faint lines and spots upon the links +caused in past years by the cutting edge of swords and the points of +daggers. Yet never a one of those links was severed or broken. + +“I pray that it may stand them again if your body be inside of it,” +said Lysbeth. “Yet, son, remember always that there is One who can +guard you better than any human mail however perfect,” and she left the +room. + +Then Foy drew on the coat over his woollen jersey, and it fitted him +well, though not so well as in after years, when he had grown thicker. +Indeed, when his linen shirt and his doublet were over it none could +have guessed that he was clothed in armour of proof. + +“It isn’t fair, Martin,” he said, “that I should be wrapped in steel +and you in nothing.” + +Martin smiled. “Do you take me for a fool, master,” he said, “who have +seen some fighting in my day, private and public? Look here,” and, +opening his leathern jerkin, he showed that he was clothed beneath in a +strange garment of thick but supple hide. + +“Bullskin,” said Martin, “tanned as we know how up in Friesland. Not as +good as yours, but will turn most cuts or arrows. I sat up last night +making one for you, it was almost finished before, but the steel is +cooler and better for those who can afford it. Come, let us go and eat; +we should be at the gates at eight when they open.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII +MOTHER’S GIFTS ARE GOOD GIFTS + + +At a few minutes to eight that morning a small crowd of people had +gathered in front of the Witte Poort at Leyden waiting for the gate to +be opened. They were of all sorts, but country folk for the most part, +returning to their villages, leading mules and donkeys slung with empty +panniers, and shouting greetings through the bars of the gate to +acquaintances who led in other mules laden with vegetables and +provisions. Among these stood some priests, saturnine and silent, bent, +doubtless, upon dark business of their own. A squad of Spanish soldiers +waited also, the insolence of the master in their eyes; they were +marching to some neighbouring city. There, too, appeared Foy van Goorl +and Red Martin, who led a pack mule; Foy dressed in the grey jerkin of +a merchant, but armed with a sword and mounted on a good mare; Martin +riding a Flemish gelding that nowadays would only have been thought fit +for the plough, since no lighter-boned beast could carry his weight. +Among these moved a dapper little man, with sandy whiskers and sly +face, asking their business and destination of the various travellers, +and under pretence of guarding against the smuggling of forbidden +goods, taking count upon his tablets of their merchandise and baggage. + +Presently he came to Foy. + +“Name?” he said, shortly, although he knew him well enough. + +“Foy van Goorl and Martin, his father’s servant, travelling to The +Hague with specimens of brassware, consigned to the correspondents of +our firm,” answered Foy, indifferently. + +“You are very glib,” sneered the sandy-whiskered man; “what is the mule +laden with? It may be Bibles for all I know.” + +“Nothing half so valuable, master,” replied Foy; “it is a church +chandelier in pieces.” + +“Unpack it and show me the pieces,” said the officer. + +Foy flushed with anger and set his teeth, but Martin, administering to +him a warning nudge in the ribs, submitted with prompt obedience. + +It was a long business, for each arm of the chandelier had been +carefully wrapped in hay bands, and the official would not pass them +until every one was undone, after which they must be done up again. +While the pair of them were engaged upon this tedious and unnecessary +task, two fresh travellers arrived at the gate, a long, bony person, +clothed in a priest-like garb with a hood that hid the head, and a +fierce, dissolute-looking individual of military appearance and armed +to the teeth. Catching sight of young van Goorl and his servant, the +long person, who seemed to ride very awkwardly with legs thrust +forward, whispered something to the soldier man, and they passed on +without question through the gate. + +When Foy and Martin followed them twenty minutes later, they were out +of sight, for the pair were well mounted and rode hard. + +“Did you recognise them?” asked Martin so soon as they were clear of +the crowd. + +“No,” said Foy; “who are they?” + +“The papist witch, Black Meg, dressed like a man, and the fellow who +came here from The Hague yesterday, whither they are going to report +that the Heer Adrian routed them, and that the Broekhovens with the +Jufvrouw Elsa got through unsearched.” + +“What does it all mean, Martin?” + +“It means, master, that we shall have a warm welcome yonder; it means +that some one guesses we know about this treasure, and that we shan’t +get the stuff away without trouble.” + +“Will they waylay us?” + +Martin shrugged his shoulders as he answered, “It is always well to be +ready, but I think not. Coming back they may waylay us, not going. Our +lives are of little use without the money; also they cannot be had for +the asking.” + +Martin was right, for travelling slowly they reached the city without +molestation, and, riding to the house of Dirk’s correspondent, put up +their horses; ate, rested, delivered the sample chandelier, and +generally transacted the business which appeared to be the object of +their journey. In the course of conversation they learned from their +host that things were going very ill here at The Hague for all who were +supposed to favour the New Religion. Tortures, burnings, abductions, +and murders were of daily occurrence, nor were any brought to judgment +for these crimes. Indeed, soldiers, spies, and government agents were +quartered on the citizens, doing what they would, and none dared to +lift a hand against them. Hendrik Brant, they heard also, was still at +large and carrying on business as usual in his shop, though rumour said +that he was a marked man whose time would be short. + +Foy announced that they would stay the night, and a little after sunset +called to Martin to accompany him, as he wished to walk in the Broad +Street to see the sights of the town. + +“Be careful, Mynheer Foy,” said their host in warning, “for there are +many strange characters about, men and women. Oh! yes, this mere is +full of pike, and fresh bait is snapped up sharply.” + +“We will be wary,” replied Foy, with the cheerful air of a young man +eager for excitement. “Hague pike don’t like Leyden perch, you know; +they stick in their throats.” + +“I hope so, I hope so,” said the host, “still I pray you be careful. +You will remember where to find the horses if you want them; they are +fed and I will keep them saddled. Your arrival here is known, and for +some reason this house is being watched.” + +Foy nodded and they started out; Foy going first, and Red Martin, +staring round him like a bewildered bumpkin, following at his heel, +with his great sword, which was called Silence, girt about his middle, +and hidden as much as possible beneath his jerkin. + +“I wish you wouldn’t look so big, Martin,” Foy whispered over his +shoulder; “everybody is staring at you and that red beard of yours, +which glows like a kitchen fire.” + +“I can’t help it, master,” said Martin, “my back aches with stooping as +it is, and, as for the beard, well, God made it so.” + +“At least you might dye it,” answered Foy; “if it were black you would +be less like a beacon on a church tower.” + +“Another day, master; it is a long business dyeing a beard like mine; I +think it would be quicker to cut it off.” Then he stopped, for they +were in the Broad Street. + +Here they found many people moving to and fro, but although the company +were so numerous it was difficult to distinguish them, for no moon +shone, and the place was lighted by lanterns set up on poles at long +distances from each other. Foy could see, however, that they were for +the most part folk of bad character, disreputable women, soldiers of +the garrison, half-drunk sailors from every country, and gliding in and +out among them all, priests and other observers of events. Before they +had been long in the crowd a man stumbled against Foy rudely, at the +same time telling him to get out of the path. But although his blood +leapt at the insult and his hand went to his sword hilt, Foy took no +notice, for he understood at once that it was sought to involve him in +a quarrel. Next a woman accosted him, a gaily-dressed woman, but she +had no bow upon her shoulder, so Foy merely shook his head and smiled. +For the rest of that walk, however, he was aware that this woman was +watching him, and with her a man whose figure he could not distinguish, +for he was wrapped in a black cloak. + +Thrice did Foy, followed by Martin, thus promenade the right side of +the Broad Street, till he was heartily weary of the game indeed, and +began to wonder if his cousin Brant’s plans had not miscarried. + +As he turned for the fourth time his doubts were answered, for he found +himself face to face with a small woman who wore upon her shoulder a +large red bow, and was followed by another woman, a buxom person +dressed in a peasant’s cap. The lady with the red bow, making pretence +to stumble, precipitated herself with an affected scream right into his +arms, and as he caught her, whispered, “Are you from Leyden, +sweetheart?” “Yes.” “Then treat me as I treat you, and follow always +where I lead. First make pretence to be rid of me.” + +As she finished whispering Foy heard a warning stamp from Martin, +followed by the footsteps of the pair who he knew were watching them, +which he could distinguish easily, for here at the end of the street +there were fewer people. So he began to act as best he could—it was not +very well, but his awkwardness gave him a certain air of sincerity. + +“No, no,” he said, “why should I pay for your supper? Come, be going, +my good girl, and leave me and my servant to see the town in peace.” + +“Oh! Mynheer, let me be your guide, I beg you,” answered she of the red +bow clasping her hands and looking up into his face. Just then he heard +the first woman who had accosted him speaking to her companion in a +loud voice. + +“Look,” she said, “Red Bow is trying her best. Ah! my dear, do you +think that you’ll get a supper out of a holy Leyden ranter, or a skin +off an eel for the asking?” + +“Oh! he isn’t such a selfish fish as he looks,” answered Red Bow over +her shoulder, while her eyes told Foy that it was his turn to play. + +So he played to the best of his ability, with the result that ten +minutes later any for whom the sight had interest might have observed a +yellow-haired young gallant and a black-haired young woman walking down +the Broad Street with their arms affectionately disposed around each +other’s middles. Following them was a huge and lumbering serving man +with a beard like fire, who, in a loyal effort to imitate the actions +of his master, had hooked a great limb about the neck of Red Bow’s +stout little attendant, and held her thus in a chancery which, if +flattering, must have been uncomfortable. As Martin explained to the +poor woman afterwards, it was no fault of his, since in order to reach +her waist he must have carried her under his arm. + +Foy and his companion chatted merrily enough, if in a somewhat jerky +fashion, but Martin attempted no talk. Only as he proceeded he was +heard to mutter between his teeth, “Lucky the Pastor Arentz can’t see +us now. He would never understand, he is so one-sided.” So at least Foy +declared subsequently in Leyden. + +Presently, at a hint from his lady, Foy turned down a side street, +unobserved, as he thought, till he heard a mocking voice calling after +them, “Good-night, Red Bow, hope you will have a fine supper with your +Leyden shopboy.” + +“Quick,” whispered Red Bow, and they turned another corner, then +another, and another. Now they walked down narrow streets, ill-kept and +unsavoury, with sharp pitched roofs, gabled and overhanging so much +that here and there they seemed almost to meet, leaving but a ribbon of +star-specked sky winding above their heads. Evidently it was a low +quarter of the town and a malodourous quarter, for the canals, spanned +by picturesque and high-arched bridges, were everywhere, and at this +summer season the water in them was low, rotten, and almost stirless. + +At length Red Bow halted and knocked upon a small recessed door, which +instantly was opened by a man who bore no light. + +“Come in,” he whispered, and all four of them passed into a darksome +passage. “Quick, quick!” said the man, “I hear footsteps.” + +Foy heard them also echoing down the empty street, and as the door +closed it seemed to him that they stopped in the deep shadow of the +houses. Then, holding each other by the hand, they crept along black +passages and down stairs till at length they saw light shining through +the crevices of an ill-fitting door. It opened mysteriously at their +approach, and when they had all entered, shut behind them. + +Foy uttered a sigh of relief for he was weary of this long flight, and +looked round him to discover that they were in a large windowless +cellar, well furnished after a fashion by oak benches and a table set +out with cold meats and flagons of wine. At the foot of this table +stood a middle-aged man, prematurely grey, and with a face worn as +though by constant care. + +“Welcome, Foy van Goorl,” said the man in a gentle voice. “Many years +have passed since last we met; still I should have known you anywhere, +though I think you would not have known me.” + +Foy looked at him and shook his head. + +“I thought so,” went on the man with a smile. “Well, I am Hendrik +Brant, your cousin, once the burgomaster of The Hague and its richest +citizen, but to-day a hunted rat who must receive his guests in secret +cellars. Tell me now, did my daughter, Elsa, reach your good father’s +house in safety, and is she well?” + +So Foy told him all that story. + +“As I thought, as I thought,” said Hendrik. “Ramiro knew of her journey +and guessed that she might carry some letter. Oh!” he went on, shaking +his fist in a kind of frenzy, and addressing the two women who had +played the parts of Red Bow and her servant, “who among you is the +traitor? Can it be that you, whom my bounty has fed, betray me? Nay, +girls, do not weep, I know that it is not so, and yet, in this city, +the very walls have ears, yes, even this deep vault gives up its +secrets. Well, if only I can save my fortune from those wolves, what do +I care? Then they may take my carcase and tear it. At least, my +daughter is safe—for a while, and now I have but one desire left on +earth—to rob them of my wealth also.” + +Then he turned to the girl decked out in the gay clothes, who, now that +the chase was over, sat upon a bench with her face hidden in her hand, +and said, “Tell me your story, Gretchen,” whereon she lifted her head +and repeated all that happened. + +“They press us hard,” muttered Brant, “but, friends, we will beat them +yet. Eat now, and drink while you may.” + +So they sat down and ate and drank while Hendrik watched them, and the +man who had led them to the vault listened without the door. + +When they had finished, Brant bade the two women, Red Bow and the +other, leave the cellar and send in the sentry, replacing him as +guards. He entered, a hard-faced, grizzled man, and, taking a seat at +the table, began to fill himself with food and wine. + +“Hearken, my cousin Foy,” said Brant presently, “this is the plan. A +league away, near to the mouth of the great canal, lie certain boats, a +score or over of them, laden with trading goods and timber, in the +charge of honest men who know nothing of their cargo, but who have +orders to fire them if they should be boarded. Among these boats is one +called the _Swallow_, small, but the swiftest on this coast, and handy +in a sea. Her cargo is salt, and beneath it eight kegs of powder, and +between the powder and the salt certain barrels, which barrels are +filled with treasure. Now, presently, if you have the heart for it—and +if you have not, say so, and I will go myself—this man here, Hans, +under cover of the darkness, will row you down to the boat _Swallow_. +Then you must board her, and at the first break of dawn hoist her sail +and stand out to sea, and away with her where the wind drives, tying +the skiff behind. Like enough you will find foes waiting for you at the +mouth of the canal, or elsewhere. Then I can give you only one +counsel—get out with the _Swallow_ if you can, and if you cannot, +escape in the skiff or by swimming, but before you leave her fire the +slow-matches that are ready at the bow and the stern, and let the +powder do its work and blow my wealth to the waters and the winds. Will +you do it? Think, think well before you answer.” + +“Did we not come from Leyden to be at your command, cousin?” said Foy +smiling. Then he added, “But why do you not accompany us on this +adventure? You are in danger here, and even if we get clear with the +treasure, what use is money without life?” + +“To me none, any way,” answered Brant; “but you do not understand. I +live in the midst of spies, I am watched day and night; although I came +here disguised and secretly, it is probable that even my presence in +this house is known. More, there is an order out that if I attempt to +leave the town by land or water, I am to be seized, whereon my house +will be searched instantly, and it will be found that my bullion is +gone. Think, lad, how great is this wealth, and you will understand why +the crows are hungry. It is talked of throughout the Netherlands, it +has been reported to the King in Spain, and I learn that orders have +come from him concerning its seizure. But there is another band who +would get hold of it first, Ramiro and his crew, and that is why I have +been left safe so long, because the thieves strive one against the +other and watch each other. Most of all, however, they watch me and +everything that is mine. For though they do not believe that I should +send the treasure away and stay behind, yet they are not sure.” + +“You think that they will pursue us, then?” asked Foy. + +“For certain. Messengers arrived from Leyden to announce your coming +two hours before you set foot in the town, and it will be wonderful +indeed if you leave it without a band of cut-throats at your heels. Be +not deceived, lad, this business is no light one.” + +“You say the little boat sails fast, master?” queried Martin. + +“She sails fast, but perhaps others are as swift. Moreover, it may +happen that you will find the mouth of the canal blocked by the +guardship, which was sent there a week ago with orders to search every +craft that passes from stem to stern. Or—you may slip past her.” + +“My master and I are not afraid of a few blows,” said Martin, “and we +are ready to take our risks like brave men; still, Mynheer Brant, this +seems to me a hazardous business, and one in which your money may well +get itself lost. Now, I ask you, would it not be better to take this +treasure out of the boat where you have hidden it, and bury it, and +convey it away by land?” + +Brant shook his head. “I have thought of that,” he said, “as I have +thought of everything, but it cannot now be done; also there is no time +to make fresh plans.” + +“Why?” asked Foy. + +“Because day and night men are watching the boats which are known to +belong to me, although they are registered in other names, and only +this evening an order was signed that they must be searched within an +hour of dawn. My information is good, as it should be since I pay for +it dearly.” + +“Then,” said Foy, “there is nothing more to be said. We will try to get +to the boat and try to get her away; and if we can get her away we will +try to hide the treasure, and if we can’t we will try to blow her up as +you direct and try to escape ourselves. Or—” and he shrugged his +shoulders. + +Martin said nothing, only he shook his great red head, nor did the +silent pilot at the table speak at all. + +Hendrik Brant looked at them, and his pale, careworn face began to +work. “Have I the right?” he muttered to himself, and for an instant or +two bent his head as though in prayer. When he lifted it again his mind +seemed to be made up. + +“Foy van Goorl,” he said, “listen to me, and tell your father, my +cousin and executor, what I say, since I have no time to write it; tell +him word for word. You are wondering why I do not let this pelf take +its chance without risking the lives of men to save it. It is because +something in my heart pushes me to another path. It may be imagination, +but I am a man standing on the edge of the grave, and to such I have +known it given to see the future. I think that you will win through +with the treasure, Foy, and that it will be the means of bringing some +wicked ones to their doom. Yes, and more, much more, but what it is I +cannot altogether see. Yet I am quite certain that thousands and tens +of thousands of our folk will live to bless the gold of Hendrik Brant, +and that is why I work so hard to save it from the Spaniards. Also that +is why I ask you to risk your lives to-night; not for the wealth’s +sake, for wealth is dross, but for what the wealth will buy in days to +come.” + +He paused a while, then went on: “I think also, cousin, that being, +they tell me, unaffianced, you will learn to love, and not in vain, +that dear child of mine, whom I leave in your father’s keeping and in +yours. More, since time is short and we shall never meet again, I say +to you plainly, that the thought is pleasing to me, young cousin Foy, +for I have a good report of you and like your blood and looks. Remember +always, however dark may be your sky, that before he passed to doom +Hendrik Brant had this vision concerning you and the daughter whom he +loves, and whom you will learn to love as do all who know her. Remember +also that priceless things are not lightly won, and do not woo her for +her fortune, since, I tell you, this belongs not to her but to our +people and our cause, and when the hour comes, for them it must be +used.” + +Foy listened, wondering, but he made no answer, for he knew not what to +say. Yet now, on the edge of his first great adventure, these words +were comfortable to him who had found already that Elsa’s eyes were +bright. Brant next turned towards Martin, but that worthy shook his red +head and stepped back a pace. + +“Thank you kindly, master,” he said, “but I will do without the +prophecies, which, good or ill, are things that fasten upon a man’s +mind. Once an astrologer cast my nativity, and foretold that I should +be drowned before I was twenty-five. I wasn’t, but, my faith! the miles +which I have walked round to bridges on account of that astrologer.” + +Brant smiled. “I have no foresight concerning you, good friend, except +that I judge your arm will be always strong in battle; that you will +love your masters well, and use your might to avenge the cause of God’s +slaughtered saints upon their murderers.” + +Martin nodded his head vigorously, and fumbled at the handle of the +sword Silence, while Brant went on: + +“Friend, you have entered on a dangerous quarrel on behalf of me and +mine, and if you live through it you will have earned high pay.” + +Then he went to the table, and, taking writing materials, he wrote as +follows: “To the Heer Dirk van Goorl and his heirs, the executors of my +will, and the holders of my fortune, which is to be used as God shall +show them. This is to certify that in payment of this night’s work +Martin, called the Red, the servant of the said Dirk van Goorl, or +those heirs whom he may appoint, is entitled to a sum of five thousand +florins, and I constitute such sum a first charge upon my estate, to +whatever purpose they may put it in their discretion.” This document he +dated, signed, and caused the pilot Hans to sign also as a witness. +Then he gave it to Martin, who thanked him by touching his forehead, +remarking at the same time— + +“After all, fighting is not a bad trade if you only stick to it long +enough. Five thousand florins! I never thought to earn so much.” + +“You haven’t got it yet,” interrupted Foy. “And now, what are you going +to do with that paper?” + +Martin reflected. “Coat?” he said, “no, a man takes off his coat if it +is hot, and it might be left behind. Boots?—no, that would wear it out, +especially if they got wet. Jersey?—sewn next the skin, no, same +reason. Ah! I have it,” and, drawing out the great sword Silence, he +took the point of his knife and began to turn a little silver screw in +the hilt, one of many with which the handle of walrus ivory was +fastened to its steel core. The screw came out, and he touched a +spring, whereon one quarter of the ivory casing fell away, revealing a +considerable hollow in the hilt, for, although Martin grasped it with +one hand, the sword was made to be held by two. + +“What is that hole for?” asked Foy. + +“The executioner’s drug,” replied Martin, “which makes a man happy +while he does his business with him, that is, if he can pay the fee. He +offered his dose to me, I remember, before—” Here Martin stopped, and, +having rolled up the parchment, hid it in the hollow. + +“You might lose your sword,” suggested Foy. + +“Yes, master, when I lose my life and exchange the hope of florins for +a golden crown,” replied Martin with a grin. “Till then I do not intend +to part with Silence.” + +Meanwhile Hendrik Brant had been whispering to the quiet man at the +table, who now rose and said: + +“Foster-brother, do not trouble about me; I take my chance and I do not +wish to survive you. My wife is burnt, one of my girls out there is +married to a man who knows how to protect them both, also the dowries +you gave them are far away and safe. Do not trouble about me who have +but one desire—to snatch the great treasure from the maw of the +Spaniard that in a day to come it may bring doom upon the Spaniard.” +Then he relapsed into a silence, which spread over the whole company. + +“It is time to be stirring,” said Brant presently. “Hans, you will lead +the way. I must bide here a while before I go abroad and show myself.” + +The pilot nodded. “Ready?” he asked, addressing Foy and Martin. Then he +went to the door and whistled, whereon Red Bow with her pretended +servant entered the vault. He spoke a word or two to them and kissed +them each upon the brow. Next he went to Hendrik Brant, and throwing +his arms about him, embraced him with far more passion than he had +shown towards his own daughters. + +“Farewell, foster-brother,” he said, “till we meet again here or +hereafter—it matters little which. Have no fear, we will get the stuff +through to England if may be, or send it to hell with some Spaniards to +seek it there. Now, comrades, come on and stick close to me, and if any +try to stop us cut them down. When we reach the boat do you take the +oars and row while I steer her. The girls come with us to the canal, +arm-in-arm with the two of you. If anything happens to me either of +them can steer you to the skiff called _Swallow_, but if naught happens +we will put them ashore at the next wharf. Come,” and he led the way +from the cellar. + +At the threshold Foy turned to look at Hendrik Brant. He was standing +by the table, the light shining full upon his pale face and grizzled +head, about which it seemed to cast a halo. Indeed, at that moment, +wrapped in his long, dark cloak, his lips moving in prayer, and his +arms uplifted to bless them as they went, he might well have been, not +a man, but some vision of a saint come back to earth. The door closed +and Foy never saw him again, for ere long the Inquisition seized him +and a while afterwards he died beneath their cruel hands. One of the +charges against him was, that more than twenty years before, he had +been seen reading the Bible at Leyden by Black Meg, who appeared and +gave the evidence. But they did not discover where his treasure was +hidden away. To win an easier death, indeed, he made them a long +confession that took them a still longer journey, but of the truth of +the matter he knew nothing, and therefore could tell them nothing. + +Now this scene, so strange and pathetic, ended at last, the five of +them were in the darkness of the street. Here once more Foy and Red Bow +clung to each other, and once more the arm of Martin was about the neck +of her who seemed to be the serving-maid, while ahead, as though he +were paid to show the way, went the pilot. Soon footsteps were heard, +for folk were after them. They turned once, they turned twice, they +reached the bank of a canal, and Hans, followed by Red Bow and her +sister, descended some steps and climbed into a boat which lay there +ready. Next came Martin, and, last of all, Foy. As he set foot upon the +first step, a figure shot out of the gloom towards him, a knife gleamed +in the air and a blow took him between the shoulders that sent him +stumbling headlong, for he was balanced upon the edge of the step. + +But Martin had heard and seen. He swung round and struck out with the +sword Silence. The assassin was far from him, still the tip of the long +steel reached the outstretched murderous hand, and from it fell a +broken knife, while he who held it sped on with a screech of pain. +Martin darted back and seized the knife, then he leapt into the boat +and pushed off. At the bottom of it lay Foy, who had fallen straight +into the arms of Red Bow, dragging her down with him. + +“Are you hurt, master?” asked Martin. + +“Not a bit,” replied Foy, “but I am afraid the lady is. She went +undermost.” + +“Mother’s gifts are good gifts!” muttered Martin as he pulled him and +the girl, whose breath had been knocked out of her, up to a seat. “You +ought to have an eight-inch hole through you, but that knife broke upon +the shirt. Look here,” and he threw the handle of the dagger on to his +knees and snatched at the sculls. + +Foy examined it in the faint light, and there, still hooked above the +guard, was a single severed finger, a long and skinny finger, to which +the point of the sword Silence had played surgeon, and on it a gold +ring. “This may be useful,” thought Foy, as he slipped handle and +finger into the pocket of his cloak. + +Then they all took oars and rowed till presently they drew near a +wharf. + +“Now, daughters, make ready,” said Hans, and the girls stood up. As +they touched the wharf Red Bow bent down and kissed Foy. + +“The rest were in play, this is in earnest,” she said, “and for luck. +Good-night, companion, and think of me sometimes.” + +“Good-night, companion,” answered Foy, returning the kiss. Then she +leapt ashore. They never met again. + +“You know what to do, girls,” said Hans; “do it, and in three days you +should be safe in England, where, perhaps, I may meet you, though do +not count on that. Whatever happens, keep honest, and remember me till +we come together again, here or hereafter, but, most of all, remember +your mother and your benefactor Hendrik Brant. Farewell.” + +“Farewell, father,” they answered with a sob, and the boat drifted off +down the dark canal, leaving the two of them alone upon the wharf. +Afterwards Foy discovered that it was the short sister who walked with +Martin that was married. Gallant little Red Bow married also, but +later. Her husband was a cloth merchant in London, and her grandson +became Lord Mayor of that city. + +And now, having played their part in it, these two brave girls are out +of the story. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV +SWORD SILENCE RECEIVES THE SECRET + + +For half an hour or more they glided down the canal unmolested and in +silence. Now it ran into a broader waterway along which they slid +towards the sea, keeping as much as possible under the shadow of one +bank, for although the night was moonless a faint grey light lay upon +the surface of the stream. At length Foy became aware that they were +bumping against the sides of a long line of barges and river boats +laden with timber and other goods. To one of these—it was the +fourth—the pilot Hans made fast, tying their row-boat to her stern. +Then he climbed to the deck, whispering to them to follow. + +As they scrambled on board, two grey figures arose and Foy saw the +flash of steel. Then Hans whistled like a plover, and, dropping their +swords they came to him and fell into talk. Presently Hans left them, +and, returning to Foy and Martin, said: + +“Listen: we must lie here a while, for the wind is against us, and it +would be too dangerous for us to try to row or pole so big a boat down +to the sea and across the bar in the darkness, for most likely we +should set her fast upon a shoal. Before dawn it will turn, and, if I +read the sky aright, blow hard off land.” + +“What have the bargemen to say?” asked Foy. + +“Only that for these four days they have been lying here forbidden to +move, and that their craft are to be searched to-morrow by a party of +soldiers, and the cargo taken out of them piecemeal.” + +“So,” said Foy, “well, I hope that by then what they seek will be far +away. Now show us this ship.” + +Then Hans took them down the hatchway, for the little vessel was +decked, being in shape and size not unlike a modern Norfolk herring +boat, though somewhat more slightly built. Then having lit a lantern, +he showed them the cargo. On the top were bags of salt. Dragging one or +two of these aside, Hans uncovered the heads of five barrels, each of +them marked with the initial _B_ in white paint. + +“That is what men will die for before to-morrow night,” he said. + +“The treasure?” asked Foy. + +He nodded. “These five, none of the others.” Then still lower down he +pointed out other barrels, eight of them, filled with the best +gunpowder, and showed them too where the slow matches ran to the little +cabin, the cook’s galley, the tiller and the prow, by means of any one +of which it could be fired. After this and such inspection of the ropes +and sails as the light would allow, they sat in the cabin waiting till +the wind should change, while the two watching men unmoored the vessel +and made her sails ready for hoisting. An hour passed, and still the +breeze blew from the sea, but in uncertain chopping gusts. Then it fell +altogether. + +“Pray God it comes soon,” said Martin, “for the owner of that finger in +your pocket will have laid the hounds on to our slot long ago, and, +look! the east grows red.” + +The silent, hard-faced Hans leant forward and stared up the darkling +water, his hand behind his ear. + +“I hear them,” he said presently. + +“Who?” asked Foy. + +“The Spaniards and the wind—both,” he answered. “Come, up with the +mainsail and pole her out to midstream.” + +So the three of them took hold of the tackle and ran aft with it, while +the rings and booms creaked and rattled as the great canvas climbed the +mast. Presently it was set, and after it the jib. Then, assisted by the +two watchmen thrusting from another of the boats, they pushed the +_Swallow_ from her place in the line out into mid-stream. But all this +made noise and took time, and now men appeared upon the bank, calling +to know who dared to move the boats without leave. As no one gave them +any answer, they fired a shot, and presently a beacon began to burn +upon a neighbouring mound. + +“Bad business,” said Hans, shrugging his shoulders. “They are warning +the Government ship at the harbour mouth. Duck, masters, duck; here +comes the wind,” and he sprang to the tiller as the boom swung over and +the little vessel began to gather way. + +“Yes,” said Martin, “and here with it come the Spaniards.” + +Foy looked. Through the grey mist that was growing lighter every +moment, for the dawn was breaking, he caught sight of a long boat with +her canvas spread which was sweeping round the bend of the stream +towards them and not much more than a quarter of a mile away. + +“They have had to pole down stream in the dark, and that is why they +have been so long in coming,” said Hans over his shoulder. + +“Well, they are here now at any rate,” answered Foy, “and plenty of +them,” he added, as a shout from a score of throats told them that they +were discovered. + +But now the _Swallow_ had begun to fly, making the water hiss upon +either side of her bows. + +“How far is it to the sea?” asked Foy. + +“About three miles,” Hans called back from the tiller. “With this wind +we should be there in fifteen minutes. Master,” he added presently, +“bid your man light the fire in the galley.” + +“What for,” asked Foy, “to cook breakfast?” + +The pilot shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Yes, if we live to eat +it.” But Foy saw that he was glancing at the slow-match by his side, +and understood. + +Ten minutes passed, and they had swept round the last bend and were in +the stretch of open water which ran down to the sea. By now the light +was strong, and in it they saw that the signal fire had not been lit in +vain. At the mouth of the cutting, just where the bar began, the +channel was narrowed in with earth to a width of not more than fifty +paces, and on one bank of it stood a fort armed with culverins. Out of +the little harbour of this fort a large open boat was being poled, and +in it a dozen or fifteen soldiers were hastily arming themselves. + +“What now?” cried Martin. “They are going to stop the mouth of the +channel.” + +The hard-featured Hans set his teeth and made no answer. Only he looked +backward at his pursuers and onward at those who barred the way. +Presently he called aloud: + +“Under hatches, both of you. They are going to fire from the fort,” and +he flung himself upon his back, steering with his uplifted arms. + +Foy and Martin tumbled down the hatchway, for they could do no good on +deck. Only Foy kept one eye above its level. + +“Look out!” he said, and ducked. + +As he spoke there was a puff of white smoke from the fort, followed by +the scream of a shot which passed ahead of them. Then came another puff +of smoke, and a hole appeared in their brown sail. After this the fort +did not fire again, for the gunners found no time to load their pieces, +only some soldiers who were armed with arquebuses began to shoot as the +boat swept past within a few yards of them. Heedless of their bullets, +Hans the pilot rose to his feet again, for such work as was before him +could not be done by a man lying on his back. By now the large open +boat from the fort was within two hundred yards of them, and, driven by +the gathering gale, the _Swallow_ rushed towards it with the speed of a +dart. Foy and Martin crawled from the hatchway and lay down near the +steersman under the shelter of the little bulwarks, watching the +enemy’s boat, which was in midstream just where the channel was +narrowest, and on the hither side of the broken water of the bar. + +“See,” said Foy, “they are throwing out anchors fore and aft. Is there +room to go past them?” + +“No,” answered Hans, “the water is too shallow under the bank, and they +know it. Bring me a burning brand.” + +Foy crept forward, and returned with the fire. + +“Now light the slow-match, master.” + +Foy opened his blue eyes and a cold shiver went down his back. Then he +set his teeth and obeyed. Martin looked at Hans, muttering, + +“Good for a young one!” + +Hans nodded and said, “Have no fear. Till that match burns to the level +of the deck we are safe. Now, mates, hold fast. I can’t go past that +boat, so I am going through her. We may sink on the other side, though +I am sure that the fire will reach the powder first. In that case you +can swim for it if you like, but I shall go with the _Swallow_.” + +“I will think about it when the time comes. Oh! that cursed +astrologer,” growled Martin, looking back at the pursuing ship, which +was not more than seven or eight hundred yards away. + +Meanwhile the officer in command of the boat, who was armed with a +musket, was shouting to them to pull down their sail and surrender; +indeed, not until they were within fifty yards of him did he seem to +understand their desperate purpose. Then some one in the boat called +out: “The devils are going to sink us,” and there was a rush to bow and +stern to get up the anchors. Only the officer stood firm, screaming at +them like a madman. It was too late; a strong gust of wind caught the +_Swallow_, causing her to heel over and sweep down on the boat like a +swooping falcon. + +Hans stood and shifted the tiller ever so little, calculating all +things with his eye. Foy watched the boat towards which they sprang +like a thing alive, and Martin, lying at his side, watched the burning +match. + +Suddenly the Spanish officer, when their prow was not more than twenty +paces from him, ceased to shout, and lifting his piece fired. Martin, +looking upwards with his left eye, thought that he saw Hans flinch, but +the pilot made no sound. Only he did something to the tiller, putting +all his strength on to it, and it seemed to the pair of them as though +the _Swallow_ was for an instant checked in her flight—certainly her +prow appeared to lift itself from the water. Suddenly there was a sound +of something snapping—a sound that could be heard even through the yell +of terror from the soldiers in the boat. It was the bowsprit which had +gone, leaving the jib flying loose like a great pennon. + +Then came the crash. Foy shut his eyes for a moment, hanging on with +both hands till the scraping and the trembling were done with. Now he +opened them again, and the first thing he saw was the body of the +Spanish officer hanging from the jagged stump of the bowsprit. He +looked behind. The boat had vanished, but in the water were to be seen +the heads of three or four men swimming. As for themselves they seemed +to be clear and unhurt, except for the loss of their bowsprit; indeed, +the little vessel was riding over the seas on the bar like any swan. +Hans glanced at the slow-match which was smouldering away perilously +near to the deck, whereon Martin stamped upon it, saying: + +“If we sink now it will be in deep water, so there is no need to fly up +before we go down.” + +“Go and see if she leaks,” said Hans. + +They went and searched the forehold but could not find that the +_Swallow_ had taken any harm worth noting. Indeed, her massive oaken +prow, with the weight of the gale-driven ship behind it, had crashed +through the frail sides of the open Spanish boat like a knife through +an egg. + +“That was good steering,” said Foy to Hans, when they returned, “and +nothing seems to be amiss.” + +Hans nodded. “I hit him neatly,” he muttered. “Look. He’s gone.” As he +spoke the _Swallow_ gave a sharp pitch, and the corpse of the Spaniard +fell with a heavy splash into the sea. + +“I am glad it has sunk,” said Foy; “and now let’s have some breakfast, +for I am starving. Shall I bring you some, friend Hans?” + +“No, master, I want to sleep.” + +Something in the tone of the man’s voice caused Foy to scrutinise his +face. His lips were turning blue. He glanced at his hands. Although +they still grasped the tiller tightly, these also were turning blue, as +though with cold; moreover, blood was dropping on the deck. + +“You are hit,” he said. “Martin, Martin, Hans is hit!” + +“Yes,” replied the man, “he hit me and I hit him, and perhaps presently +we shall be talking it over together. No, don’t trouble, it is through +the body and mortal. Well, I expected nothing less, so I can’t +complain. Now, listen, while my strength holds. Can you lay a course +for Harwich in England?” + +Martin and Foy shook their heads. Like most Hollanders they were good +sailormen, but they only knew their own coasts. + +“Then you had best not try it,” said Hans, “for there is a gale +brewing, and you will be driven on the Goodwin Sands, or somewhere down +that shore, and drowned and the treasure lost. Run up to the Haarlem +Mere, comrades. You can hug the land with this small boat, while that +big devil after you,” and he nodded towards the pursuing vessel, which +by now was crossing the bar, “must stand further out beyond the shoals. +Then slip up through the small gut—the ruined farmstead marks it—and so +into the mere. You know Mother Martha, the mad woman who is nicknamed +the Mare? She will be watching at the mouth of it; she always is. +Moreover, I caused her to be warned that we might pass her way, and if +you hoist the white flag with a red cross—it lies in the locker—or, +after nightfall, hang out four lamps upon your starboard side, she will +come aboard to pilot you, for she knows this boat well. To her also you +can tell your business without fear, for she will help you, and be as +secret as the dead. Then bury the treasure, or sink it, or blow it up, +or do what you can, but, in the name of God, to whom I go, I charge you +do not let it fall into the hands of Ramiro and his Spanish rats who +are at your heels.” + +As Hans spoke he sank down upon the deck. Foy ran to support him, but +he pushed him aside with a feeble hand. “Let me be,” he whispered. “I +wish to pray. I have set you a course. Follow it to the end.” + +Then Martin took the tiller while Foy watched Hans. In ten minutes he +was dead. + +Now they were running northwards with a fierce wind abeam of them, and +the larger Spanish ship behind, but standing further out to sea to +avoid the banks. Half an hour later the wind, which was gathering to a +gale, shifted several points to the north, so that they must beat up +against it under reefed canvas. Still they held on without accident, +Foy attending to the sail and Martin steering. The _Swallow_ was a good +sea boat, and if their progress was slow so was that of their pursuer, +which dogged them continually, sometimes a mile away and sometimes +less. At length, towards evening, they caught sight of a ruined house +that marked the channel of the little gut, one of the outlets of the +Haarlem Mere. + +“The sea runs high upon the bar and it is ebb tide,” said Foy. + +“Even so we must try it, master,” answered Martin. “Perhaps she will +scrape through,” and he put the _Swallow_ about and ran for the mouth +of the gut. + +Here the waves were mountainous and much water came aboard. Moreover, +three times they bumped upon the bar, till at length, to their joy, +they found themselves in the calm stream of the gut, and, by shifting +the sail, were able to draw it up, though very slowly. + +“At least we have got a start of them,” said Foy, “for they can never +get across until the tide rises.” + +“We shall need it all,” answered Martin; “so now hoist the white flag +and let us eat while we may.” + +While they ate the sun sank, and the wind blew so that scarcely could +they make a knot an hour, shift the sail as they might. Then, as there +was no sign of Mother Martha, or any other pilot, they hung out the +four lamps upon the starboard side, and, with a flapping sail, drifted +on gradually, till at length they reached the mouth of the great mere, +an infinite waste of waters—deep in some places, shallow in others, and +spotted everywhere with islets. Now the wind turned against them +altogether, and, the darkness closing in, they were forced to drop +anchor, fearing lest otherwise they should go ashore. One comfort they +had, however: as yet nothing could be seen of their pursuers. + +Then, for the first time, their spirits failed them a little, and they +stood together near the stern wondering what they should do. It was +while they rested thus that suddenly a figure appeared before them as +though it had risen from the deck of the ship. No sound of oars or +footsteps had reached their ears, yet there, outlined against the dim +sky, was the figure. + +“I think that friend Hans has come to life again,” said Martin with a +slight quaver in his voice, for Martin was terribly afraid of ghosts. + +“And I think that a Spaniard has found us,” said Foy, drawing his +knife. + +Then a hoarse voice spoke, saying, “Who are you that signal for a pilot +on my waters?” + +“The question is—who are you?” answered Foy, “and be so good as to tell +us quickly.” + +“I am the pilot,” said the voice, “and this boat by the rig of her and +her signals should be the _Swallow_ of The Hague, but why must I crawl +aboard of her across the corpse of a dead man?” + +“Come into the cabin, pilot, and we will tell you,” said Foy. + +“Very well, Mynheer.” So Foy led the way to the cabin, but Martin +stopped behind a while. + +“We have found our guide, so what is the use of the lamps?” he said to +himself as he extinguished them all, except one which he brought with +him into the cabin. Foy was waiting for him by the door and they +entered the place together. At the end of it the light of the lamp +showed them a strange figure clad in skins so shapeless and sack-like +that it was impossible to say whether the form beneath were male or +female. The figure was bareheaded, and about the brow locks of grizzled +hair hung in tufts. The face, in which were set a pair of wandering +grey eyes, was deep cut, tanned brown by exposure, scarred, and very +ugly, with withered lips and projecting teeth. + +“Good even to you, Dirk van Goorl’s son, and to you, Red Martin. I am +Mother Martha, she whom the Spaniards call the Mare and the +Lake-witch.” + +“Little need to tell us that, mother,” said Foy, “although it is true +that many years have gone by since I set eyes on you.” + +Martha smiled grimly as she answered, “Yes, many years. Well, what have +you fat Leyden burghers to do with a poor old night-hag, except of +course in times of trouble? Not that I blame you, for it is not well +that you, or your parents either, should be known to traffic with such +as I. Now, what is your business with me, for the signals show that you +have business, and why does the corpse of Hendrik Brant’s +foster-brother lie there in the stern?” + +“Because, to be plain, we have Hendrik Brant’s treasure on board, +mother, and for the rest look yonder—” and he pointed to what his eye +had just caught sight of two or three miles away, a faint light, too +low and too red for a star, that could only come from a lantern hung at +the masthead of a ship. + +Martha nodded. “Spaniards after you, poling through the gut against the +wind. Come on, there is no time to lose. Bring your boat round, and we +will tow the _Swallow_ to where she will lie safe to-night.” + +Five minutes later they were all three of them rowing the oar boat in +which they had escaped from The Hague towards some unknown point in the +darkness, slowly dragging after them the little ship _Swallow_. As they +went, Foy told Martha all the story of their mission and escape. + +“I have heard of this treasure before,” she said, “all the Netherlands +has heard of Brant’s hoard. Also dead Hans there let me know that +perhaps it might come this way, for in such matters he thought that I +could be trusted,” and she smiled grimly. “And now what would you do?” + +“Fulfil our orders,” said Foy. “Hide it if we can; if not, destroy it.” + +“Better the first than the last,” interrupted Martin. “Hide the +treasure, say I, and destroy the Spaniards, if Mother Martha here can +think of a plan.” + +“We might sink the ship,” suggested Foy. + +“And leave her mast for a beacon,” added Martin sarcastically. + +“Or put the stuff into the boat and sink that.” + +“And never find it again in this great sea,” objected Martin. + +All this while Martha steered the boat as calmly as though it were +daylight. They had left the open water, and were passing slowly in and +out among islets, yet she never seemed to be doubtful or to hesitate. +At length they felt the _Swallow_ behind them take the mud gently, +whereon Martha led the way aboard of her and threw out the anchor, +saying that here was her berth for the night. + +“Now,” she said, “bring up this gold and lay it in the boat, for if you +would save it there is much to do before dawn.” + +So Foy and Martin went down while Martha, hanging over the hatchway, +held the lighted lamp above them, since they dared not take it near the +powder. Moving the bags of salt, soon they came to the five barrels of +treasure marked B, and, strong though they were, it was no easy task +for the pair of them by the help of a pulley to sling them over the +ship’s side into the boat. At last it was done, and the place of the +barrels having been filled with salt bags, they took two iron spades +which were provided for such a task as this, and started, Martha +steering as before. For an hour or more they rowed in and out among +endless islands, at the dim shores of which Martha stared as they +passed, till at length she motioned to them to ship their oars, and +they touched ground. + +Leaping from the boat she made it fast and vanished among the reeds to +reconnoitre. Presently she returned again, saying that this was the +place. Then began the heavy labour of rolling the casks of treasure for +thirty yards or more along otter paths that pierced the dense growth of +reeds. + +Now, having first carefully cut out reed sods in a place chosen by +Martha, Foy and Martin set to their task of digging a great hole by the +light of the stars. Hard indeed they toiled at it, yet had it not been +for the softness of the marshy soil, they could not have got done while +the night lasted, for the grave that would contain those barrels must +be both wide and deep. After three feet of earth had been removed, they +came to the level of the lake, and for the rest of the time worked in +water, throwing up shovelfuls of mud. Still at last it was done, and +the five barrels standing side by side in the water were covered up +with soil and roughly planted over with the reed turf. + +“Let us be going,” said Martha. “There is no time to lose.” So they +straightened their backs and wiped the sweat from their brows. + +“There is earth lying about, which may tell its story,” said Martin. + +“Yes,” she replied, “if any see it within the next ten days, after +which in this damp place the mosses will have hidden it.” + +“Well, we have done our best,” said Foy, as he washed his mud-stained +boots in the water, “and now the stuff must take its chance.” + +Then once more they entered the boat and rowed away somewhat wearily, +Martha steering them. + +On they went and on, till Foy, tired out, nearly fell asleep at his +oar. Suddenly Martha tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up and +there, not two hundred yards away, its tapering mast showing dimly +against the sky, was the vessel that had pursued them from The Hague, a +single lantern burning on its stern. Martha looked and grunted; then +she leant forward and whispered to them imperiously. + +“It is madness,” gasped Martin. + +“Do as I bid you,” she hissed, and they let the boat drift with the +wind till it came to a little island within thirty yards of the +anchored vessel, an island with a willow tree growing upon its shore. +“Hold to the twigs of the tree,” she muttered, “and wait till I come +again.” Not knowing what else to do, they obeyed. + +Then Martha rose and they saw that she had slipped off her garment of +skins, and stood before them, a gaunt white figure armed with a +gleaming knife. Next she put the knife to her mouth, and, nipping it +between her teeth, slid into the water silently as a diving bird. A +minute passed, not more, and they saw that something was climbing up +the cable of the ship. + +“What is she going to do?” whispered Foy. + +“God in Heaven knows,” answered Martin, “but if she does not come back +good-bye to Heer Brant’s treasure, for she alone can find it again.” + +They waited, holding their breaths, till presently a curious choking +sound floated to them, and the lantern on the ship vanished. Two +minutes later a hand with a knife in it appeared over the gunwale of +the boat, followed by a grey head. Martin put out his great arm and +lifted, and, lo! the white form slid down between them like a big +salmon turned out of a net. + +“Put about and row,” it gasped, and they obeyed while the Mare clothed +herself again in her skin garment. + +“What have you done?” asked Foy. + +“Something,” she replied with a fierce chuckle. “I have stabbed the +watchman—he thought I was a ghost, and was too frightened to call out. +I have cut the cable, and I think that I have fired the ship. Ah! look! +but row—row round the corner of the island.” + +They gave way, and as they turned the bank of reeds glanced behind +them, to see a tall tongue of fire shooting up the cordage of the ship, +and to hear a babel of frightened and angry voices. + +Ten minutes later they were on board the _Swallow_, and from her deck +watching the fierce flare of the burning Spanish vessel nearly a mile +away. Here they ate and drank, for they needed food badly. + +“What shall we do now?” asked Foy when they had finished. + +“Nothing at present,” answered Martha, “but give me pen and paper.” + +They found them, and having shrouded the little window of the cabin, +she sat at the table and very slowly but with much skill drew a plan, +or rather a picture, of this portion of the Haarlem Mere. In that plan +were marked many islands according to their natural shapes, twenty of +them perhaps, and upon one of these she set a cross. + +“Take it and hide it,” said Martha, when it was finished, “so that if I +die you may know where to dig for Brant’s gold. With this in your hand +you cannot fail to find it, for I draw well. Remember that it lies +thirty paces due south of the only spot where it is easy to land upon +that island.” + +“What shall I do with this picture which is worth so much?” said Foy +helplessly, “for in truth I fear to keep the thing.” + +“Give it to me, master,” said Martin; “the secret of the treasure may +as well lie with the legacy that is charged on it.” Then once more he +unscrewed the handle of the sword Silence, and having folded up the +paper and wrapped it round with a piece of linen, he thrust it away +into the hollow hilt. + +“Now that sword is worth more than some people might think,” Martin +said as he restored it to the scabbard, “but I hope that those who come +to seek its secret may have to travel up its blade. Well, when shall we +be moving?” + +“Listen,” said Martha. “Would you two men dare a great deed upon those +Spaniards? Their ship is burnt, but there are a score or over of them, +and they have two large boats. Now at the dawn they will see the mast +of this vessel and attack it in the boats thinking to find the +treasure. Well, if as they win aboard we can manage to fire the +matches——” + +“There may be fewer Spaniards left to plague us,” suggested Foy. + +“And believing it to be blown up no one will trouble about that money +further,” added Martin. “Oh! the plan is good, but dangerous. Come, let +us talk it over.” + +The dawn broke in a flood of yellow light on the surface of the Haarlem +Mere. Presently from the direction of the Spanish vessel, which was +still burning sullenly, came a sound of beating oars. Now the three +watchers in the _Swallow_ saw two boatloads of armed men, one of them +with a small sail set, swooping down towards them. When they were +within a hundred yards Martha muttered, “It is time,” and Foy ran +hither and thither with a candle firing the slow-matches; also to make +sure he cast the candle among a few handfuls of oil-soaked shreds of +canvas that lay ready at the bottom of the hatchway. Then with the +others, without the Spaniards being able to see them, he slipped over +the side of the little vessel into the shallow water that was clothed +with tall reeds, and waded through it to the island. + +Once on firm land, they ran a hundred yards or so till they reached a +clump of swamp willows, and took shelter behind them. Indeed, Foy did +more, for he climbed the trunk of one of the willows high enough to see +over the reeds to the ship _Swallow_ and the lake beyond. By this time +the Spaniards were alongside the _Swallow_, for he could hear their +captain hailing him who leant over the taffrail, and commanding all on +board to surrender under pain of being put to death. But from the man +in the stern came no answer, which was scarcely strange, seeing that it +was the dead pilot, Hans, to whom they talked in the misty dawn, whose +body Martin had lashed thus to deceive them. So they fired at the +pilot, who took no notice, and then began to clamber on board the ship. +Presently all the men were out of the first boat—that with the sail set +on it—except two, the steersman and the captain, whom, from his dress +and demeanour, Foy took to be the one-eyed Spaniard, Ramiro, although +of this he was too far off to make sure. It was certain, however, that +this man did not mean to board the _Swallow_, for of a sudden he put +his boat about, and the wind catching the sail soon drew him clear of +her. + +“That fellow is cunning,” said Foy to Martin and Martha below, “and I +was a fool to light the tarred canvas, for he has seen the smoke +drawing up the hatchway.” + +“And having had enough fire for one night, thinks that he will leave +his mates to quench it,” added Martin. + +“The second boat is coming alongside,” went on Foy, “and surely the +mine should spring.” + +“Scarcely time yet,” answered Martin, “the matches were set for six +minutes.” + +Then followed a silence in which the three of them watched and listened +with beating hearts. In it they heard a voice call out that the +steersman was dead, and the answering voice of the officer in the boat, +whom Foy had been right in supposing to be Ramiro, warning them to +beware of treachery. Now suddenly arose a shout of “A mine! a mine!” +for they had found one of the lighted fuses. + +“They are running for their boat,” said Foy, “and the captain is +sailing farther off. Heavens! how they scream.” + +As the words passed his lips a tongue of flame shot to the very skies. +The island seemed to rock, a fierce rush of air struck Foy and shook +him from the tree. Then came a dreadful, thunderous sound, and lo! the +sky was darkened with fragments of wreck, limbs of men, a grey cloud of +salt and torn shreds of sail and cargo, which fell here, there, and +everywhere about and beyond them. + +In five seconds it was over, and the three of them, shaken but unhurt, +were clinging to each other on the ground. Then as the dark pall of +smoke drifted southward Foy scrambled up his tree again. But now there +was little to be seen, for the _Swallow_ had vanished utterly, and for +many yards round where she lay the wreckage-strewn water was black as +ink with the stirred mud. The Spaniards had gone also, nothing of them +was left, save the two men and the boat which rode unhurt at a +distance. Foy stared at them. The steersman was seated and wringing his +hands, while the captain, on whose armour the rays of the rising sun +now shone brightly, held to the mast like one stunned, and gazed at the +place where, a minute before, had been a ship and a troop of living +men. Presently he seemed to recover himself, for he issued an order, +whereon the boat’s head went about, and she began to glide away. + +“Now we had best try to catch him,” said Martha, who, by standing up, +could see this also. + +“Nay, let him be,” answered Foy, “we have sent enough men to their +account,” and he shuddered. + +“As you will, master,” grumbled Martin, “but I tell you it is not wise. +That man is too clever to be allowed to live, else he would have +accompanied the others on board and perished with them.” + +“Oh! I am sick,” replied Foy. “The wind from that powder has shaken me. +Settle it as you will with Mother Martha and leave me in peace.” + +So Martin turned to speak with Martha, but she was not there. Chuckling +to herself in the madness of her hate and the glory of this great +revenge, she had slipped away, knife in hand, to discover whether +perchance any of the powder-blasted Spaniards still lived. Fortunately +for them they did not, the shock had killed them all, even those who at +the first alarm had thrown themselves into the water. At length Martin +found her clapping her hands and crooning above a dead body, so +shattered that no one could tell to what manner of man it had belonged, +and led her away. + +But although she was keen enough for the chase, by now it was too late, +for, travelling before the strong wind, Ramiro and his boat had +vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XV +SEÑOR RAMIRO + + +If Foy van Goorl, by some magic, could have seen what was passing in +the mind of that fugitive in the boat as he sailed swiftly away from +the scene of death and ruin, bitterly indeed would he have cursed his +folly and inexperience which led him to disregard the advice of Red +Martin. + +Let us look at this man as he goes gnawing his hand in rage and +disappointment. There is something familiar about his face and bearing, +still gallant enough in a fashion, yet the most observant would find it +difficult to recognise in the Señor Ramiro the handsome and courtly +Count Juan de Montalvo of over twenty years before. A long spell of the +galleys changes the hardiest man, and by ill luck Montalvo, or Ramiro, +to call him by his new name, had been forced to serve nearly his full +time. He would have escaped earlier indeed, had he not been foolish +enough to join in a mutiny, which was discovered and suppressed. It was +in the course of this savage struggle for freedom that he lost his eye, +knocked out with a belaying pin by an officer whom he had just stabbed. +The innocent officer died and the rascal Ramiro recovered, but without +his good looks. + +To a person of gentle birth, however great a scoundrel he might be, the +galleys, which represented penal servitude in the sixteenth century, +were a very rough school. Indeed for the most part the man who went +into them blameless became bad, and the man who went into them bad +became worse, for, as the proverb says, those who have dwelt in hell +always smell of brimstone. Who can imagine the awfulness of it—the +chains, the arduous and continual labour, the whip of the +quarter-masters, the company of thieves and outcast ruffians, all +dreadful in its squalid sameness? + +Well, his strength and constitution, coupled with a sort of grim +philosophy, brought him through, and at length Ramiro found himself a +free man, middle-aged indeed, but intelligent and still strong, the +world once more before him. Yet what a world! His wife, believing him +dead, or perhaps wishing to believe it, had remarried and gone with her +husband to New Spain, taking his children with her, and his friends, +such of them as lived, turned their backs upon him. But although he had +been an unlucky man, for with him wickedness had not prospered, he +still had resource and courage. + +The Count Montalvo was a penniless outlaw, a byword and a scorn, and so +the Count Montalvo—died, and was buried publicly in the church of his +native village. Strangely enough, however, about the same time the +Señor Ramiro appeared in another part of Spain, where with success he +practised as a notary and man of affairs. Some years went by thus, till +at length, having realised a considerable sum of money by the help of +an ingenious fraud, of which the details are superfluous, an +inspiration took him and he sailed for the Netherlands. + +In those dreadful days, in order to further the ends of religious +persecution and of legalised theft, informers were rewarded with a +portion of the goods of heretics. Ramiro’s idea—a great one in its +way—was to organise this informing business, and, by interesting a +number of confederates who practically were shareholders in the +venture, to sweep into his net more fortunes, or shares of fortunes, +than a single individual, however industrious, could hope to secure. As +he had expected, soon he found plenty of worthy companions, and the +company was floated. For a while, with the help of local agencies and +spies, such as Black Meg and the Butcher, with whom, forgetting past +injuries, he had secretly renewed his acquaintance, it did very well, +the dividends being large and regular. In such times handsome sums were +realised, without risk, out of the properties of unfortunates who were +brought to the stake, and still more was secured by a splendid system +of blackmail extracted from those who wished to avoid execution, and +who, when they had been sucked dry, could either be burnt or let go, as +might prove most convenient. + +Also there were other methods of making money—by an intelligent method +of robbery, by contracts to collect fines and taxes and so forth. Thus +things went well, and, at length, after many years of suffering and +poverty, the Señor Ramiro, that experienced man of affairs, began to +grow rich, until, indeed, driven forward by a natural but unwise +ambition, a fault inherent to daring minds, he entered upon a dangerous +path. + +The wealth of Hendrik Brant, the goldsmith, was a matter of common +report, and glorious would be the fortune of him who could secure its +reversion. This Ramiro wished to win; indeed, there was no ostensible +reason why he should not do so, since Brant was undoubtedly a heretic, +and, therefore, legitimate game for any honourable servant of the +Church and King. Yet there were lions in the path, two large and +formidable lions, or rather a lion and the ghost of a lion, for one was +material and the other spiritual. The material lion was that the +Government, or in other words, his august kingship Philip, desired the +goldsmith’s thousands for himself, and was therefore likely to be +irritated by an interloper. The spiritual lion was that Brant was +connected with Lysbeth van Goorl, once known as Lysbeth de Montalvo, a +lady who had brought her reputed husband no luck. Often and often +during dreary hours of reflection beneath tropic suns, for which the +profession of galley-slave gave great leisure, the Señor Ramiro +remembered that very energetic curse which his new affianced wife had +bestowed upon him, a curse in which she prayed that through her he +might live in heavy labour, that through her and hers he might be +haunted by fears and misfortunes, and at the last die in misery. +Looking back upon the past it would certainly seem that there had been +virtue in this curse, for already through Lysbeth and his dealings with +her, he had suffered the last degradation and the toil, which could not +be called light, of nearly fourteen years of daily occupation in the +galleys. + +Well, he was clear of them, and thenceforward, the curse having +exhausted itself for the time being, he had prospered—at any rate to a +moderate extent. But if once more he began to interfere with Lysbeth +van Goorl and her relatives, might it not re-assert its power? That was +one question. Was it worth while to take his risk on the chance of +securing Brant’s fortune? That was another. Brant, it was true, was +only a cousin of Lysbeth’s husband, but when once you meddled with a +member of the family, it was impossible to know how soon other members +would become mixed up in the affair. + +The end may be guessed. The treasure was at hand and enormous, whereas +the wrath of a Heavenly or an earthly king was problematical and far +away. So greed, outstripping caution and superstitious fear, won the +race, and Ramiro threw himself into the adventure with a resource and +energy which in their way were splendid. + +Now, as always, he was a man who hated violence for its own sake. It +was no wish of his that the worthy Heer Brant should be unnecessarily +burnt or tortured. Therefore through his intermediaries, as Brant had +narrated in his letter, he approached him with a proposal which, under +the circumstances, was liberal enough—that Brant should hand over +two-thirds of his fortune to him and his confederates, on condition +that he was assisted to escape with the remaining third. To his +disgust, however, this obstinate Dutchman refused to buy his safety at +the price of a single stiver. Indeed, he answered with rude energy that +now as always he was in the hands of God, and if it pleased God that +his life should be sacrificed and his great wealth divided amongst +thieves, well, it must be so, but he, at least, would be no party to +the arrangement. + +The details of the plots and counter-plots, the attack of the Ramiro +company, the defences of Brant, the internecine struggles between the +members of the company and the agents of the Government, if set out at +length, would fill a considerable book. Of these we already know +something, and the rest may be divined. + +In the course of the affair Ramiro had made but one mistake, and that +sprang from what he was wont to consider the weakness of his nature. +Needless to say, it was that he had winked at the escape of Brant’s +daughter, Elsa. It may have been superstition that prompted him, or it +may have been pity, or perhaps it was a certain oath of mercy which he +had taken in an hour of need; at any rate, he was content that the girl +should not share the doom which overshadowed her father. He did not +think it at all likely that she would take with her any documents of +importance, and the treasure, of course, she could not take; still, to +provide against accidents he arranged for her to be searched upon the +road. + +As we know this search was a failure, and when on the morrow Black Meg +arrived to make report and to warn him that Dirk van Goorl’s son and +his great serving-man, whose strength was known throughout the +Netherlands, were on their road to The Hague, he was sure that after +all the girl had carried with her some paper or message. + +By this time the whereabouts of Brant’s treasure had been practically +solved. It was believed to lie in the string of vessels, although it +was not known that one of these was laden with powder as well as gold. +The plan of the Government agents was to search the vessels as they +passed out to sea and seize the treasure as contraband, which would +save much legal trouble, since under the law or the edicts wealth might +not be shipped abroad by heretics. The plan of Ramiro and his friends +was to facilitate the escape of the treasure to the open sea, where +they proposed to swoop down upon it and convey it to more peaceful +shores. + +When Foy and his party started down the canal in the boat Ramiro knew +that his opportunity had come, and at once unmoored the big ship and +followed. The attempted stabbing of Foy was not done by his orders, as +he wished the party to go unmolested and to be kept in sight. That was +a piece of private malice on the part of Black Meg, for it was she who +was dressed as a man. On various occasions in Leyden Foy had made +remarks upon Meg’s character which she resented, and about her personal +appearance, which she resented much more, and this was an attempt to +pay off old scores that in the issue cost her a finger, a good knife, +and a gold ring which had associations connected with her youth. + +At first everything had gone well. By one of the most daring and +masterly manoeuvres that Ramiro had ever seen in his long and varied +experience upon the seas, the little _Swallow_, with her crew of three +men, had run the gauntlet of the fort which was warned and waiting for +her; had sunk and sailed through the big Government boat and her crew +of lubberly soldiers, many of whom, he was glad to reflect, were +drowned; had crushed the officer, against whom he had a personal +grudge, like an egg-shell, and won through to the open sea. There he +thought he was sure of her, for he took it for granted that she would +run for the Norfolk coast, and knew that in the gale of wind which was +blowing his larger and well-manned vessel could pull her down. But then +the ill-luck—that ancient ill-luck which always dogged him when he +began to interfere with the affairs of Lysbeth and her +relatives—declared itself. + +Instead of attempting to cross the North Sea the little _Swallow_ +hugged the coast, where, for various nautical reasons connected with +the wind, the water, and the build of their respective ships, she had +the legs of him. Next he lost her in the gut, and after that we know +what happened. There was no disguising it; it was a most dreadful +fiasco. To have one’s vessel boarded, the expensive vessel in which so +large a proportion of the gains of his honourable company had been +invested, not only boarded, but fired, and the watchman stabbed by a +single naked devil of unknown sex or character was bad enough. And then +the end of it! + +To have found the gold-laden ship, to have been gulled into attacking +her, and—and—oh! he could scarcely bear to think of it! There was but +one consolation. Although too late to save the others, even through the +mist he had seen that wisp of smoke rising from the hold; yes, he, the +experienced, had smelt a rat, and, warned by some half-divine +intuition, had kept his distance with the result that he was still +alive. + +But the others! Those gallant comrades in adventure, where were they? +Well, to be frank, he did not greatly care. There was another question +of more moment. Where was the treasure? Now that his brain had cleared +after the shock and turmoil it was evident to him that Foy van Goorl, +Red Martin, and the white devil who had boarded his ship, would not +have destroyed so much wealth if they could help it, and still less +would they have destroyed themselves. Therefore, to pursue the matter +to a logical conclusion, it seemed probable that they had spent the +night in sinking or burying the money, and preparing the pretty trap +into which he had walked. So the secret was in their hands, and as they +were still alive very possibly means could be found to induce them to +reveal its hiding-place. There was still hope; indeed, now that he came +to weigh things, they were not so bad. + +To begin with, almost all the shareholders in the affair had perished +by the stern decree of Providence, and he was the natural heir of their +interests. In other words, the treasure, if it was recovered, was +henceforth his property. Further, when they came to hear the story, the +Government would set down Brant’s fortune as hopelessly lost, so that +the galling competition from which he had suffered so much was at an +end. + +Under these circumstances what was to be done? Very soon, as he sailed +away over the lake in the sweet air of the morning, the Señor Ramiro +found an answer to the question. + +The treasure had left The Hague, he must leave The Hague. The secret of +its disposal was at Leyden, henceforth he must live at Leyden. Why not? +He knew Leyden well. It was a pleasant place, but, of course, he might +be recognised there; though, after so long, this was scarcely probable, +for was not the Count de Montalvo notoriously dead and buried? Time and +accident had changed him; moreover, he could bring art to the +assistance of nature. In Leyden, too, he had confederates—Black Meg to +wit, for one; also he had funds, for was he not the treasurer of the +company that this very morning had achieved so remarkable and +unsought-for an ascension? + +There was only one thing against the scheme. In Leyden lived Lysbeth +van Goorl and her husband, and with them a certain young man whose +parentage he could guess. More, her son Foy knew the hiding-place of +Brant’s hoard, and from him or his servant Martin that secret must be +won. So once again he was destined to match himself against Lysbeth—the +wronged, the dreaded, the victorious Lysbeth, whose voice of +denunciation still rang in his ear, whose eyes of fire still scorched +his soul, the woman whom he feared above everything on earth. He fought +her once for money, and, although he won the money, it had done him +little good, for in the end she worsted him. Now, if he went to Leyden, +he must fight her again for money, and what would be the issue of that +war? Was it worth while to take the risk? Would not history repeat +itself? If he hurt her, would she not crush him? But the treasure, that +mighty treasure, which could give him so much, and, above all, could +restore to him the rank and station he had forfeited, and which he +coveted more than anything in life. For, low as he had fallen, Montalvo +could not forget that he had been born a gentleman. + +He would take his chance; he would go to Leyden. Had he weighed the +matter in the gloom of night, or even in a dull and stormy hour, +perhaps—nay probably—he would have decided otherwise. But this morning +the sun shone brightly, the wind made a merry music in the reeds; on +the rippling surface of the lake the marsh-birds sang, and from the +shore came a cheerful lowing of kine. In such surroundings his fears +and superstitions vanished. He was master of himself, and he knew that +all depended upon himself, the rest was dream and nonsense. Behind him +lay the buried gold; before him rose the towers of Leyden, where he +could find its key. A God! that haunting legend of a God of vengeance, +in which priests and others affected to believe? Now that he came to +think of it, what rubbish was here, for as any agent of the Inquisition +knew well, the vengeance always fell upon those who trusted in this +same God; a hundred torture dens, a thousand smoking fires bore witness +to the fact. And if there was a God, why, recognising his personal +merits, only this morning He had selected him out of many to live on +and be the inheritor of the wealth of Hendrik Brant. Yes, he would go +to Leyden and fight the battle out. + +At the entry of the gut the Señor Ramiro landed from his boat. At first +he had thought of killing his companion, so that he might remain the +sole survivor of the catastrophe, but on reflection he abandoned this +idea, as the man was a faithful creature of his own who might be +useful. So he bade him return to The Hague to tell the story of the +destruction of the ship _Swallow_ with the treasure, her attackers and +her crew, whoever they might have been. He was to add, moreover, that +so far as he knew the Captain Ramiro had perished also, as he, the +steersman, was left alone in charge of the boat when the vessel blew +up. Then he was to come to Leyden, bringing with him certain goods and +papers belonging to him, Ramiro. + +This plan seemed to have advantages. No one would continue to hunt for +the treasure. No one except himself and perhaps Black Meg would know +that Foy van Goorl and Martin had been on board the _Swallow_ and +escaped; indeed as yet he was not quite sure of it himself. For the +rest he could either lie hidden, or if it proved desirable, announce +that he still lived. Even if his messenger should prove faithless and +tell the truth, it would not greatly matter, seeing that he knew +nothing which could be of service to anybody. + +And so the steersman sailed away, while Ramiro, filled with memories, +reflections, and hopes, walked quietly through the Morsch Poort into +the good city of Leyden. + +That evening, but not until dark had fallen, two other travellers +entered Leyden, namely, Foy and Martin. Passing unobserved through the +quiet streets, they reached the side door of the house in the Bree +Straat. It was opened by a serving-woman, who told Foy that his mother +was in Adrian’s room, also that Adrian was very much better. So +thither, followed more slowly by Martin, went Foy, running upstairs +three steps at a time, for had he not a great story to tell! + +The interior of the room as he entered it made an attractive picture +which even in his hurry caught Foy’s eye and fixed itself so firmly in +his mind that he never forgot its details. To begin with, the place was +beautifully furnished, for his brother had a really good taste in +tapestry, pictures, and other such adornments. Adrian himself lay upon +a richly carved oak bed, pale from loss of blood, but otherwise little +the worse. Seated by the side of the bed, looking wonderfully sweet in +the lamplight, which cast shadows from the curling hair about her brows +on to the delicate face beneath, was Elsa Brant. She had been reading +to Adrian from a book of Spanish chivalry such as his romantic soul +loved, and he, resting on his elbow in the snowy bed, was contemplating +her beauty with his languishing black eyes. Yet, although he only saw +her for a moment before she heard his entry and looked up, it was +obvious to Foy that Elsa remained quite unconscious of the handsome +Adrian’s admiration, indeed, that her mind wandered far away from the +magnificent adventures and highly coloured love scenes of which she was +reading in her sweet, low voice. Nor was he mistaken, for, in fact, the +poor child was thinking of her father. + +At the further end of the room, talking together earnestly in the deep +and curtained window-place, stood his mother and his father. Clearly +they were as much preoccupied as the younger couple, and it was not +difficult for Foy to guess that fears for his own safety upon his +perilous errand were what concerned them most, and behind them other +unnumbered fears. For the dwellers in the Netherlands in those days +must walk from year to year through a valley of shadows so grim that +our imagination can scarcely picture them. + +“Sixty hours and he is not back,” Lysbeth was saying. + +“Martin said we were not to trouble ourselves before they had been gone +for a hundred,” answered Dirk consolingly. + +Just then Foy, surveying them from the shadowed doorway, stepped +forward, saying in his jovial voice: + +“Sixty hours to the very minute.” + +Lysbeth uttered a little scream of joy and ran forward. Elsa let the +book fall on to the floor and rose to do the same, then remembered and +stood still, while Dirk remained where he was till the women had done +their greetings, betraying his delight only by a quick rubbing of his +hands. Adrian alone did not look particularly pleased, not, however, +because he retained any special grudge against his brother for his +share in the fracas of a few nights before, since, when once his +furious gusts of temper had passed, he was no malevolently minded man. +Indeed he was glad that Foy had come back safe from his dangerous +adventure, only he wished that he would not blunder into the bedroom +and interrupt his delightful occupation of listening, while the +beautiful Elsa read him romance and poetry. + +Since Foy was gone upon his mission, Adrian had been treated with the +consideration which he felt to be his due. Even his stepfather had +taken the opportunity to mumble some words of regret for what had +happened, and to express a hope that nothing more would be said about +the matter, while his mother was sympathetic and Elsa most charming and +attentive. Now, as he knew well, all this would be changed. Foy, the +exuberant, unrefined, plain-spoken, nerve-shaking Foy, would become the +centre of attention, and overwhelm them with long stories of very dull +exploits, while Martin, that brutal bull of a man who was only fit to +draw a cart, would stand behind and play the part of chorus, saying +“Ja” and “Neen” at proper intervals. Well, he supposed that he must put +up with it, but oh! what a weariness it was. + +Another minute, and Foy was wringing him by the hand, saying in his +loud voice, “How are you, old fellow? You look as well as possible, +what are you lying in this bed for and being fed with pap by the +women?” + +“For the love of Heaven, Foy,” interrupted Adrian, “stop crushing my +fingers and shaking me as though I were a rat. You mean it kindly, I +know, but—” and Adrian dropped back upon the pillow, coughed and looked +hectic and interesting. + +Then both the women fell upon Foy, upbraiding him for his roughness, +begging him to remember that if he were not careful he might kill his +brother, whose arteries were understood to be in a most precarious +condition, till the poor man covered his ears with his hands and waited +till he saw their lips stop moving. + +“I apologise,” he said. “I won’t touch him, I won’t speak loud near +him. Adrian, do you hear?” + +“Who could help it?” moaned the prostrate Adrian. + +“Cousin Foy,” interrupted Elsa, clasping her hands and looking up into +his face with her big brown eyes, “forgive me, but I can wait no +longer. Tell me, did you see or hear anything of my father yonder at +The Hague?” + +“Yes, cousin, I saw him,” answered Foy presently. + +“And how was he—oh! and all the rest of them?” + +“He was well.” + +“And free and in no danger?” + +“And free, but I cannot say in no danger. We are all of us in danger +nowadays, cousin,” replied Foy in the same quiet voice. + +“Oh! thank God for that,” said Elsa. + +“Little enough to thank God for,” muttered Martin, who had entered the +room and was standing behind Foy looking like a giant at a show. Elsa +had turned her face away, so Foy struck backwards with all his force, +hitting Martin in the pit of the stomach with the point of his elbow. +Martin doubled himself up, recoiled a step and took the hint. + +“Well, son, what news?” said Dirk, speaking for the first time. + +“News!” answered Foy, escaping joyfully from this treacherous ground. +“Oh! lots of it. Look here,” and plunging his hands into his pockets he +produced first the half of the broken dagger and secondly a long skinny +finger of unwholesome hue with a gold ring on it. + +“Bah!” said Adrian. “Take that horrid thing away.” + +“Oh! I beg your pardon,” answered Foy, shuffling the finger back into +his pocket, “you don’t mind the dagger, do you? No? Well, then, mother, +that mail shirt of yours is the best that was ever made; this knife +broke on it like a carrot, though, by the way, it’s uncommonly sticky +wear when you haven’t changed it for three days, and I shall be glad +enough to get it off.” + +“Evidently Foy has a story to tell,” said Adrian wearily, “and the +sooner he rids his mind of it the sooner he will be able to wash. I +suggest, Foy, that you should begin at the beginning.” + +So Foy began at the beginning, and his tale proved sufficiently moving +to interest even the soul-worn Adrian. Some portions of it he softened +down, and some of it he suppressed for the sake of Elsa—not very +successfully, indeed, for Foy was no diplomatist, and her quick +imagination filled the gaps. Another part—that which concerned her +future and his own—of necessity he omitted altogether. He told them +very briefly, however, of the flight from The Hague, of the sinking of +the Government boat, of the run through the gale to the Haarlem Mere +with the dead pilot on board and the Spanish ship behind, and of the +secret midnight burying of the treasure. + +“Where did you bury it?” asked Adrian. + +“I have not the slightest idea,” said Foy. “I believe there are about +three hundred islets in that part of the Mere, and all I know is that +we dug a hole in one of them and stuck it in. However,” he went on in a +burst of confidence, “we made a map of the place, that is—” Here he +broke off with a howl of pain, for an accident had happened. + +While this narrative was proceeding, Martin, who was standing by him +saying “Ja” and “Neen” at intervals, as Adrian foresaw he would, had +unbuckled the great sword Silence, and in an abstracted manner was +amusing himself by throwing it towards the ceiling hilt downwards, and +as it fell catching it in his hand. Now, most unaccountably, he looked +the other way and missed his catch, with the result that the handle of +the heavy weapon fell exactly upon Foy’s left foot and then clattered +to the ground. + +“You awkward beast!” roared Foy, “you have crushed my toes,” and he +hopped towards a chair upon one leg. + +“Your pardon, master,” said Martin. “I know it was careless; my mother +always told me that I was careless, but so was my father before me.” + +Adrian, overcome by the fearful crash, closed his eyes and sighed. + +“Look,” said Lysbeth in a fury, “he is fainting; I knew that would be +the end of all your noise. If you are not careful we shall have him +breaking another vessel. Go out of the room, all of you. You can finish +telling the story downstairs,” and she drove them before her as a +farmer’s wife drives fowls. + +“Martin,” said Foy on the stairs, where they found themselves together +for a minute, for at the first signs of the storm Dirk had preceded +them, “why did you drop that accursed great sword of yours upon my +foot?” + +“Master,” countered Martin imperturbably, “why did you hit me in the +pit of the stomach with your elbow?” + +“To keep your tongue quiet.” + +“And what is the name of my sword?” + +“Silence.” + +“Well, then, I dropped the sword ‘Silence’ for the same reason. I hope +it hasn’t hurt you much, but if it did I can’t help it.” + +Foy wheeled round. “What do you mean, Martin?” + +“I mean,” answered the great man with energy, “that you have no right +to tell what became of that paper which Mother Martha gave us.” + +“Why not? I have faith in my brother.” + +“Very likely, master, but that isn’t the point. We carry a great +secret, and this secret is a trust, a dangerous trust; it would be +wrong to lay its burden upon the shoulders of other folk. What people +don’t know they can’t tell, master.” + +Foy still stared at him, half in question, half in anger, but Martin +made no further reply in words. Only he went through certain curious +motions, motions as of a man winding slowly and laboriously at +something like a pump wheel. Foy’s lips turned pale. + +“The rack?” he whispered. Martin nodded, and answered beneath his +breath, + +“They may all of them be on it yet. You let the man in the boat escape, +and that man was the Spanish spy, Ramiro; I am sure of it. If they +don’t know they can’t tell, and though we know we shan’t tell; we shall +die first, master.” + +Now Foy trembled and leaned against the wall. “What would betray us?” +he asked. + +“Who knows, master? A woman’s torment, a man’s—” and he put a strange +meaning into his voice, “a man’s—jealousy, or pride, or vengeance. Oh! +bridle your tongue and trust no one, no, not your father or mother, or +sweetheart, or—” and again that strange meaning came into Martin’s +voice, “or brother.” + +“Or you?” queried Foy, looking up. + +“I am not sure. Yes, I think you may trust me, though there is no +knowing how the rack might change a man’s mind.” + +“If all this be so,” said Foy, with a flush of sudden passion, “I have +said too much already.” + +“A great deal too much, master. If I could have managed it I should +have dropped the sword Silence on your toe long before. But I couldn’t, +for the Heer Adrian was watching me, and I had to wait till he closed +his eyes, which he did to hear the better without seeming to listen.” + +“You are unjust to Adrian, Martin, as you always have been, and I am +angry with you. Say, what is to be done now?” + +“Now, master,” replied Martin cheerfully, “you must forget the teaching +of the Pastor Arentz, and tell a lie. You must take up your tale where +you left it off, and say that we made a map of the hiding-place, but +that—I—being a fool—managed to drop it while we were lighting the +fuses, so that it was blown away with the ship. I will tell the same +story.” + +“Am I to say this to my father and mother?” + +“Certainly, and they will quite understand why you say it. My mistress +was getting uneasy already, and that was why she drove us from the +room. You will tell them that the treasure is buried but that the +secret of its hiding-place was lost.” + +“Even so, Martin, it is not lost; Mother Martha knows it, and they all +will guess that she does know it.” + +“Why, master, as it happened you were in such a hurry to get on with +your story that I think you forgot to mention that she was present at +the burying of the barrels. Her name was coming when I dropped the +sword upon your foot.” + +“But she boarded and fired the Spanish ship—so the man Ramiro and his +companion would probably have seen her.” + +“I doubt, master, that the only person who saw her was he whose gizzard +she split, and he will tell no tales. Probably they think it was you or +I who did that deed. But if she was seen, or if they know that she has +the secret, then let them get it from Mother Martha. Oh! mares can +gallop and ducks can dive and snakes can hide in the grass. When they +can catch the wind and make it give up its secrets, when they can charm +from sword Silence the tale of the blood which it has drunk throughout +the generations, when they can call back the dead saints from heaven +and stretch them anew within the torture-pit, then and not before, they +will win knowledge of the hoard’s hiding-place from the lips of the +witch of Haarlem Meer. Oh! master, fear not for her, the grave is not +so safe.” + +“Why did you not caution me before, Martin?” + +“Because, master,” answered Martin stolidly, “I did not think that you +would be such a fool. But I forgot that you are young—yes, I forget +that you are young and good, too good for the days we live in. It is my +fault. On my head be it.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI +THE MASTER + + +In the sitting-room, speaking more slowly and with greater caution, Foy +continued the story of their adventures. When he came to the tale of +how the ship _Swallow_ was blown up with all the Spanish boarders, Elsa +clasped her hands, saying, “Horrible! Horrible! Think of the poor +creatures hurled thus into eternity.” + +“And think of the business they were on,” broke in Dirk grimly, adding, +“May God forgive me who cannot feel grieved to hear of the death of +Spanish cut-throats. It was well managed, Foy, excellently well +managed. But go on.” + +“I think that is about all,” said Foy shortly, “except that two of the +Spaniards got away in a boat, one of whom is believed to be the head +spy and captain, Ramiro.” + +“But, son, up in Adrian’s chamber just now you said something about +having made a map of the hiding-place of the gold. Where is it, for it +should be put in safety?” + +“Yes, I know I did,” answered Foy, “but didn’t I tell you?” he went on +awkwardly. “Martin managed to drop the thing in the cabin of the +_Swallow_ while we were lighting the fuses, so it was blown up with the +ship, and there is now no record of where the stuff was buried.” + +“Come, come, son,” said Dirk. “Martha, who knows every island on the +great lake, must remember the spot.” + +“Oh! no, she doesn’t,” answered Foy. “The truth is that she didn’t come +with us when we buried the barrels. She stopped to watch the Spanish +ship, and just told us to land on the first island we came to and dig a +hole, which we did, making a map of the place before we left, the same +that Martin dropped.” + +All this clumsy falsehood Foy uttered with a wooden face and in a voice +which would not have convinced a three-year-old infant, priding himself +the while upon his extraordinary cleverness. + +“Martin,” asked Dirk, suspiciously, “is this true?” + +“Absolutely true, master,” replied Martin; “it is wonderful how well he +remembers.” + +“Son,” said Dirk, turning white with suppressed anger, “you have always +been a good lad, and now you have shown yourself a brave one, but I +pray God that I may not be forced to add that you are false-tongued. Do +you not see that this looks black? The treasure which you have hidden +is the greatest in all the Netherlands. Will not folk say, it is not +wonderful that you should have forgotten its secret until—it suits you +to remember?” + +Foy took a step forward, his face crimson with indignation, but the +heavy hand of Martin fell upon his shoulder and dragged him back as +though he were but a little child. + +“I think, Master Foy,” he said, fixing his eyes upon Lysbeth, “that +your lady mother wishes to say something.” + +“You are right, Martin; I do. Do you not think, husband, that in these +days of ours a man might have other reasons for hiding the truth than a +desire to enrich himself by theft?” + +“What do you mean, wife?” asked Dirk. “Foy here says that he has buried +this great hoard with Martin, but that he and Martin do not know where +they buried it, and have lost the map they made. Whatever may be the +exact wording of the will, that hoard belongs to my cousin here, +subject to certain trusts which have not yet arisen, and may never +arise, and I am her guardian while Hendrik Brant lives and his executor +when he dies. Therefore, legally, it belongs to me also. By what right, +then, do my son and my servant hide the truth from me, if, indeed, they +are hiding the truth? Say what you have to say straight out, for I am a +plain man and cannot read riddles.” + +“Then I will say it, husband, though it is but my guess, for I have had +no words with Foy or Martin, and if I am wrong they can correct me. I +know their faces, and I think with you that they are not speaking the +truth. I think that they do not wish us to know it—not that they may +keep the secret of this treasure for themselves, but because such a +secret might well bring those who know of it to the torment and the +stake. Is it not so, my son?” + +“Mother,” answered Foy, almost in a whisper, “it is so. The paper is +not lost, but do not seek to learn its hiding-place, for there are +wolves who would tear your bodies limb from limb to get the knowledge +out of you; yes, even Elsa’s, even Elsa’s. If the trial must come let +it fall on me and Martin, who are fitter to bear it. Oh! father, surely +you know that, whatever we may be, neither of us is a thief.” + +Dirk advanced to his son, and kissed him on the forehead. + +“My son,” he said, “pardon me, and you, Red Martin, pardon me also. I +spoke in my haste. I spoke as a fool, who, at my age, should have known +better. But, oh! I tell you that I wish that this cursed treasure, +these cases of precious gems and these kegs of hoarded gold, had been +shivered to the winds of heaven with the timbers of the ship _Swallow_. +For, mark you, Ramiro has escaped, and with him another man, and they +will know well that having the night to hide it, you did not destroy +those jewels with the ship. They will track you down, these Spanish +sleuthhounds, filled with the lust of blood and gold, and it will be +well if the lives of every one of us do not pay the price of the secret +of the burying-place of the wealth of Hendrik Brant.” + +He ceased, pale and trembling, and a silence fell upon the room and all +in it, a sad and heavy silence, for in his voice they caught the note +of prophecy. Martin broke it. + +“It may be so, master,” he said; “but, your pardon, you should have +thought of that before you undertook this duty. There was no call upon +you to send the Heer Foy and myself to The Hague to bring away this +trash, but you did it as would any other honest man. Well, now it is +done, and we must take our chance, but I say this—if you are wise, my +masters, yes, and you ladies also, before you leave this room you will +swear upon the Bible, every one of you, never to whisper the word +treasure, never to think of it except to believe that it is gone—lost +beneath the waters of the Haarlemer Meer. Never to whisper it, no, +mistress, not even to the Heer Adrian, your son who lies sick abed +upstairs.” + +“You have learnt wisdom somewhere of late years, Martin, since you +stopped drinking and fighting,” said Dirk drily, “and for my part +before God I swear it.” + +“And so do I.” “And I.” “And I.” “And I,” echoed the others, Martin, +who spoke last, adding, “Yes, I swear that I will never speak of it; +no, _not even to my young master, Adrian, who lies sick abed +upstairs._” + +Adrian made a good, though not a very quick recovery. He had lost a +great deal of blood, but the vessel closed without further +complications, so that it remained only to renew his strength by rest +and ample food. For ten days or so after the return of Foy and Martin, +he was kept in bed and nursed by the women of the house. Elsa’s share +in this treatment was to read to him from the Spanish romances which he +admired. Very soon, however, he found that he admired Elsa herself even +more than the romances, and would ask her to shut the book that he +might talk to her. So long as his conversation was about himself, his +dreams, plans and ambitions, she fell into it readily enough; but when +he began to turn it upon _herself_, and to lard it with compliment and +amorous innuendo, then she demurred, and fled to the romances for +refuge. + +Handsome as he might be, Adrian had no attractions for Elsa. About him +there was something too exaggerated for her taste; moreover he was +Spanish, Spanish in his beauty, Spanish in the cast of his mind, and +all Spaniards were hateful to her. Deep down in her heart also lay a +second reason for this repugnance; the man reminded her of another man +who for months had been a nightmare to her soul, the Hague spy, Ramiro. +This Ramiro she had observed closely. Though she had not seen him very +often his terrible reputation was familiar to her. She knew also, for +her father had told her as much, that it was he who was drawing the +nets about him at The Hague, and who plotted day and night to rob him +of his wealth. + +At first sight there was no great resemblance between the pair. How +could there be indeed between a man on the wrong side of middle age, +one-eyed, grizzled, battered, and bearing about with him an atmosphere +of iniquity, and a young gentleman, handsome, distinguished, and +wayward, but assuredly no criminal? Yet the likeness existed. She had +seen it first when Adrian was pointing out to her how, were he a +general, he would dispose his forces for the capture of Leyden, and +from that moment her nature rose in arms against him. Also it came out +in other ways, in little tricks of voice and pomposities of manner +which Elsa caught at unexpected moments, perhaps, as she told herself, +because she had trained her mind to seek these similarities. Yet all +the while she knew that the fancy was ridiculous, for what could these +two men have in common with each other? + +In those days, however, Elsa did not think much of Adrian, or of +anybody except her beloved father, whose only child she was, and whom +she adored with all the passion of her heart. She knew the terrible +danger in which he stood, and guessed that she had been sent away that +she should not share his perils. Now she had but one desire and one +prayer—that he might escape in safety, and that she might return to him +again. Once only a message came from him, sent through a woman she had +never seen, the wife of a fisherman, who delivered it by word of mouth. +This was the message: + +“Give my love and blessing to my daughter Elsa, and tell her that so +far I am unharmed. To Foy van Goorl say, I have heard the news. Well +done, thou good and faithful servant! Let him remember what I told him, +and be sure that he will not strive in vain, and that he shall not lack +for his reward here or hereafter.” + +That was all. Tidings reached them that the destruction of so many men +by the blowing up of the _Swallow_, and by her sinking of the +Government boat as she escaped, had caused much excitement and fury +among the Spaniards. But, as those who had been blown up were +free-lances, and as the boat was sunk while the _Swallow_ was flying +from them, nothing had been done in the matter. Indeed, nothing could +be done, for it was not known who manned the _Swallow_, and, as Ramiro +had foreseen, her crew were supposed to have been destroyed with her in +the Haarlemer Meer. + +Then, after a while, came other news that filled Elsa’s heart with a +wild hope, for it was reported that Hendrik Brant had disappeared, and +was believed to have escaped from The Hague. Nothing more was heard of +him, however, which is scarcely strange, for the doomed man had gone +down the path of rich heretics into the silent vaults of the +Inquisition. The net had closed at last, and through the net fell the +sword. + +But if Elsa thought seldom of Adrian, except in gusts of spasmodic +dislike, Adrian thought of Elsa, and little besides. So earnestly did +he lash his romantic temperament, and so deeply did her beauty and +charm appeal to him, that very soon he was truly in love with her. Nor +did the fact that, as he believed, she was, potentially, the greatest +heiress in the Netherlands, cool Adrian’s amorous devotion. What could +suit him better in his condition, than to marry this rich and lovely +lady? + +So Adrian made up his mind that he would marry her, for, in his vanity, +it never occurred to him that she might object. Indeed, the only +thought that gave him trouble was the difficulty of reducing her wealth +into possession. Foy and Martin had buried it somewhere in the +Haarlemer Meer. But they said, for this he had ascertained by repeated +inquiries, although the information was given grudgingly enough, that +the map of the hiding-place had been destroyed in the explosion on the +_Swallow_. Adrian did not believe this story for a moment. He was +convinced that they were keeping the truth from him, and as the +prospective master of that treasure he resented this reticence +bitterly. Still, it had to be overcome, and so soon as he was engaged +to Elsa he intended to speak very clearly upon this point. Meanwhile, +the first thing was to find a suitable opportunity to make his +declaration in due form, which done he would be prepared to deal with +Foy and Martin. + +Towards evening it was Elsa’s custom to walk abroad. As at that hour +Foy left the foundry, naturally he accompanied her in these walks, +Martin following at a little distance in case he should be wanted. Soon +those excursions became delightful to both of them. To Elsa, +especially, it was pleasant to escape from the hot house into the cool +evening air, and still more pleasant to exchange the laboured +tendernesses and highly coloured compliments of Adrian for the cheerful +honesty of Foy’s conversation. + +Foy admired his cousin as much as did his half-brother, but his +attitude towards her was very different. He never said sweet things; he +never gazed up into her eyes and sighed, although once or twice, +perhaps by accident, he did squeeze her hand. His demeanour towards her +was that of a friend and relative, and the subject of their talk for +the most part was the possibility of her father’s deliverance from the +dangers which surrounded him, and other matters of the sort. + +The time came at last when Adrian was allowed to leave his room, and as +it chanced it fell to Elsa’s lot to attend him on this first journey +downstairs. In a Dutch home of the period and of the class of the Van +Goorl’s, all the women-folk of whatever degree were expected to take a +share in the household work. At present Elsa’s share was to nurse to +Adrian, who showed so much temper at every attempt which was made to +replace her by any other woman, that, in face of the doctor’s +instructions, Lysbeth did not dare to cross his whim. + +It was with no small delight, therefore, that Elsa hailed the prospect +of release, for the young man with his grandiose bearing and amorous +sighs wearied her almost beyond endurance. Adrian was not equally +pleased; indeed he had feigned symptoms which caused him to remain in +bed an extra week, merely in order that he might keep her near him. But +now the inevitable hour had come, and Adrian felt that it was incumbent +upon him to lift the veil and let Elsa see some of the secret of his +soul. He had prepared for the event; indeed the tedium of his +confinement had been much relieved by the composition of lofty and +heart-stirring addresses, in which he, the noble cavalier, laid his +precious self and fortune at the feet of this undistinguished, but rich +and attractive maid. + +Yet now when the moment was with him, and when Elsa gave him her hand +to lead him from the room, behold! all these beautiful imaginings had +vanished, and his knees shook with no fancied weakness. Somehow Elsa +did not look as a girl ought to look who was about to be proposed to; +she was too cold and dignified, too utterly unconscious of anything +unusual. It was disconcerting—but—it must be done. + +By a superb effort Adrian recovered himself and opened with one of the +fine speeches, not the best by any means, but the only specimen which +he could remember. + +“Without,” he began, “the free air waits to be pressed by my cramped +wings, but although my heart bounds wild as that of any haggard hawk, I +tell you, fairest Elsa, that in yonder gilded cage,” and he pointed to +the bed, “I——” + +“Heaven above us! Heer Adrian,” broke in Elsa in alarm, “are you—are +you—getting giddy?” + +“She does not understand. Poor child, how should she?” he murmured in a +stage aside. Then he started again. “Yes, most adorable, best beloved, +I am giddy, giddy with gratitude to those fair hands, giddy with +worship of those lovely eyes——” + +Now Elsa, unable to contain her merriment any longer, burst out +laughing, but seeing that her adorer’s face was beginning to look as it +did in the dining-room before he broke the blood vessel, she checked +herself, and said: + +“Oh! Heer Adrian, don’t waste all this fine poetry upon me. I am too +stupid to understand it.” + +“Poetry!” he exclaimed, becoming suddenly natural, “it isn’t poetry.” + +“Then what is it?” she asked, and next moment could have bitten her +tongue out. + +“It is—it is—love!” and he sank upon his knees before her, where, she +could not but notice, he looked very handsome in the subdued light of +the room, with his upturned face blanched by sickness, and his southern +glowing eyes. “Elsa, I love you and no other, and unless you return +that love my heart will break and I shall die.” + +Now, under ordinary circumstances, Elsa would have been quite competent +to deal with the situation, but the fear of over-agitating Adrian +complicated it greatly. About the reality of his feelings at the +moment, at any rate, it seemed impossible to be mistaken, for the man +was shaking like a leaf. Still, she must make an end of these advances. + +“Rise, Heer Adrian,” she said gently, holding out her hand to help him +to his feet. + +He obeyed, and glancing at her face, saw that it was very calm and cold +as winter ice. + +“Listen, Heer Adrian,” she said. “You mean this kindly, and doubtless +many a maid would be flattered by your words, but I must tell you that +I am in no mood for love-making.” + +“Because of another man?” he queried, and suddenly becoming theatrical +again, added, “Speak on, let me hear the worst; I will not quail.” + +“There is no need to,” replied Elsa in the same quiet voice, “because +there is no other man. I have never yet thought of marriage, I have no +wish that way, and if I had, I should forget it now when from hour to +hour I do not know where my dear father may be, or what fate awaits +him. He is my only lover, Heer Adrian,” and as Elsa spoke her soft +brown eyes filled with tears. + +“Ah!” said Adrian, “would that I might fly to save him from all +dangers, as I rescued you, lady, from the bandits of the wood.” + +“I would you might,” she replied, smiling sadly at the double meaning +of the words, “but, hark, your mother is calling us. I know, Heer +Adrian,” she added gently, “that you will understand and respect my +dreadful anxiety, and will not trouble me again with poetry and +love-talk, for if you do I shall be—angry.” + +“Lady,” he answered, “your wishes are my law, and until these clouds +have rolled from the blue heaven of your life I will be as silent as +the watching moon. And, by the way,” he added rather nervously, +“perhaps you will be silent also—about our talk, I mean, as we do not +want that buffoon, Foy, thrusting his street-boy fun at us.” + +Elsa bowed her head. She was inclined to resent the “we” and other +things in this speech, but, above all, she did not wish to prolong this +foolish and tiresome interview, so, without more words, she took her +admirer by the hand and guided him down the stairs. + +It was but three days after this ridiculous scene, on a certain +afternoon, when Adrian had been out for the second time, that the evil +tidings came. Dirk had heard them in the town, and returned home +well-nigh weeping. Elsa saw his face and knew at once. + +“Oh! is he dead?” she gasped. + +He nodded, for he dared not trust himself to speak. + +“How? Where?” + +“In the Poort prison at The Hague.” + +“How do you know?” + +“I have seen a man who helped to bury him.” + +She looked up as though to ask for further details, but Dirk turned +away muttering, “He is dead, he is dead, let be.” + +Then she understood, nor did she ever seek to know any more. Whatever +he had suffered, at least now he was with the God he worshipped, and +with the wife he lost. Only the poor orphan, comforted by Lysbeth, +crept from the chamber, and for a week was seen no more. When she +appeared again she seemed to be herself in all things, only she never +smiled and was very indifferent to what took place about her. Thus she +remained for many days. + +Although this demeanour on Elsa’s part was understood and received with +sympathy and more by the rest of the household, Adrian soon began to +find it irksome and even ridiculous. So colossal was this young man’s +vanity that he was unable quite to understand how a girl could be so +wrapped up in the memories of a murdered father, that no place was left +in her mind for the tendernesses of a present adorer. After all, this +father, what was he? A middle-aged and, doubtless, quite uninteresting +burgher, who could lay claim to but one distinction, that of great +wealth, most of which had been amassed by his ancestors. + +Now a rich man alive has points of interest, but a rich man dead is +only interesting to his heirs. Also, this Brant was one of these +narrow-minded, fanatical, New Religion fellows who were so wearisome to +men of intellect and refinement. True, he, Adrian, was himself of that +community, for circumstances had driven him into the herd, but oh! he +found them a dreary set. Their bald doctrines of individual effort, of +personal striving to win a personal redemption, did not appeal to him; +moreover, they generally ended at the stake. Now about the pomp and +circumstance of the Mother Church there was something attractive. Of +course, as a matter of prejudice he attended its ceremonials from time +to time and found them comfortable and satisfying. Comfortable also +were the dogmas of forgiveness to be obtained by an act of penitential +confession, and the sense of a great supporting force whose whole +weight was at the disposal of the humblest believer. + +In short, there was nothing picturesque about the excellent departed +Hendrik, nothing that could justify the young woman in wrapping herself +up in grief for him to the entire exclusion of a person who _was_ +picturesque and ready, at the first opportunity, to wrap himself up in +her. + +After long brooding, assisted by a close study of the romances of the +period, Adrian convinced himself that in all this there was something +unnatural, that the girl must be under a species of spell which in her +own interest ought to be broken through. But how? That was the +question. Try as he would he could do nothing. Therefore, like others +in a difficulty, he determined to seek the assistance of an expert, +namely, Black Meg, who, among her other occupations, for a certain fee +payable in advance, was ready to give advice as a specialist in affairs +of the heart. + +To Black Meg accordingly he went, disguised, secretly and by night, for +he loved mystery, and in truth it was hardly safe that he should visit +her by the light of day. Seated in a shadowed chamber he poured out his +artless tale to the pythoness, of course concealing all names. He might +have spared himself this trouble, as he was an old client of Meg’s, a +fact that no disguise could keep from her. Before he opened his lips +she knew perfectly what was the name of his inamorata and indeed all +the circumstances connected with the pair of them. + +The wise woman listened in patience, and when he had done, shook her +head, saying that the case was too hard for her. She proposed, however, +to consult a Master more learned than herself, who, by great good +fortune, was at that moment in Leyden, frequenting her house in fact, +and begged that Adrian would return at the same hour on the morrow. + +Now, as it chanced, oddly enough Black Meg had been commissioned by the +said Master to bring about a meeting between himself and this very +young man. + +Adrian returned accordingly, and was informed that the Master, after +consulting the stars and other sources of divination, had become so +deeply interested in the affair that, for pure love of the thing and +not for any temporal purpose of gain, he was in attendance to advise in +person. Adrian was overjoyed, and prayed that he might be introduced. +Presently a noble-looking form entered the room, wrapped in a long +cloak. Adrian bowed, and the form, after contemplating him +earnestly—very earnestly, if he had known the truth—acknowledged the +salute with dignity. Adrian cleared his throat and began to speak, +whereon the sage stopped him. + +“Explanations are needless, young man,” he said, in a measured and +melodious voice, “for my studies of the matter have already informed me +of more than you can tell. Let me see; your name is Adrian van +Goorl—no, called Van Goorl; the lady you desire to win is Elsa Brant, +the daughter of Hendrik Brant, a heretic and well-known goldsmith, who +was recently executed at The Hague. She is a girl of much beauty, but +one unnaturally insensible to the influence of love, and who does not +at present recognise your worth. There are, also, unless I am mistaken, +other important circumstances connected with the case. + +“This lady is a great heiress, but her fortune is at present missing; +it is, I have reason to believe, hidden in the Haarlemer Meer. She is +surrounded with influences that are inimical to you, all of which, +however, can be overcome if you will place yourself unreservedly in my +hands, for, young man, I accept no half-confidences, nor do I ask for +any fee. When the fortune is recovered and the maiden is your happy +wife, then we will talk of payment for services rendered, and not +before.” + +“Wonderful, wonderful!” gasped Adrian; “most learned señor, every word +you say is true.” + +“Yes, friend Adrian, and I have not told you all the truth. For +instance—but, no, this is not the time to speak. The question is, do +you accept my terms?” + +“What terms, señor?” + +“The old terms, without which no wonder can be worked—faith, absolute +faith.” + +Adrian hesitated a little. Absolute faith seemed a large present to +give a complete stranger at a first interview. + +“I read your thought and I respect it,” went on the sage, who, to tell +truth, was afraid he had ventured a little too far. “There is no hurry; +these affairs cannot be concluded in a day.” + +Adrian admitted that they could not, but intimated that he would be +glad of a little practical and immediate assistance. The sage buried +his face in his hands and thought. + +“The first thing to do,” he said presently, “is to induce a favourable +disposition of the maiden’s mind towards yourself, and this, I think, +can best be brought about—though the method is one which I do not often +use—by means of a love philtre carefully compounded to suit the +circumstances of the case. If you will come here to-morrow at dusk, the +lady of this house—a worthy woman, though rough of speech and no true +adept—will hand it to you.” + +“It isn’t poisonous?” suggested Adrian doubtfully. + +“Fool, do I deal in poisons? It will poison the girl’s heart in your +favour, that is all.” + +“And how is it to be administered?” asked Adrian. + +“In the water or the wine she drinks, and afterwards you must speak to +her again as soon as possible. Now that is settled,” he went on airily, +“so, young friend, good-bye.” + +“Are you sure that there is no fee?” hesitated Adrian. + +“No, indeed,” answered the sage, “at any rate until all is +accomplished. Ah!” and he sighed, “did you but know what a delight it +is to a weary and world-worn traveller to help forward the bright +ambitions of youth, to assist the pure and soaring soul to find the +mate destined to it by heaven—ehem!—you wouldn’t talk of fees. Besides, +I will be frank; from the moment that I entered this room and saw you, +I recognised in you a kindred nature, one which under my guidance is +capable of great things, of things greater than I care to tell. Ah! +what a vision do I see. You, the husband of the beautiful Elsa and +master of her great wealth, and I at your side guiding you with my +wisdom and experience—then what might not be achieved? Dreams, +doubtless dreams, though how often have my dreams been prophetic! +Still, forget them, and at least, young man, we will be friends,” and +he stretched out his hand. + +“With all my heart,” answered Adrian, taking those cool, agile-looking +fingers. “For years I have sought someone on whom I could rely, someone +who would understand me as I feel you do.” + +“Yes, yes,” sighed the sage, “I do indeed understand you.” + +“To think,” he said to himself after the door had closed behind the +delighted and flattered Adrian, “to think that I can be the father of +such a fool as that. Well, it bears out my theories about +cross-breeding, and, after all, in this case a good-looking, gullible +fool will be much more useful to me than a young man of sense. Let me +see; the price of the office is paid and I shall have my appointment +duly sealed as the new Governor of the Gevangenhuis by next week at +furthest, so I may as well begin to collect evidence against my worthy +successor, Dirk van Goorl, his adventurous son Foy, and that red-headed +ruffian, Martin. Once I have them in the Gevangenhuis it will go hard +if I can’t squeeze the secret of old Brant’s money out of one of the +three of them. The women wouldn’t know, they wouldn’t have told the +women, besides I don’t want to meddle with them, indeed nothing would +persuade me to that”—and he shivered as though at some wretched +recollection. “But there must be evidence; there is such noise about +these executions and questionings that they won’t allow any more of +them in Leyden without decent evidence; even Alva and the Blood Council +are getting a bit frightened. Well, who can furnish better testimony +than that jackass, my worthy son, Adrian? Probably, however, he has a +conscience somewhere, so it may be as well not to let him know that +when he thinks himself engaged in conversation he is really in the +witness box. Let me see, we must take the old fellow, Dirk, on the +ground of heresy, and the youngster and the serving man on a charge of +murdering the king’s soldiers and assisting the escape of heretics with +their goods. Murder sounds bad, and, especially in the case of a young +man, excites less sympathy than common heresy.” + +Then he went to the door, calling, “Meg, hostess mine, Meg.” + +He might have saved himself the trouble, however, since, on opening it +suddenly, that lady fell almost into his arms. + +“What!” he said, “listening, oh, fie! and all for nothing. But there, +ladies will be curious and”—this to himself—“I must be more careful. +Lucky I didn’t talk aloud.” + +Then he called her in, and having inspected the chamber narrowly, +proceeded to make certain arrangements. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII +BETROTHED + + +At nightfall on the morrow Adrian returned as appointed, and was +admitted into the same room, where he found Black Meg, who greeted him +openly by name and handed to him a tiny phial containing a fluid clear +as water. This, however, was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that it +was water and nothing else. + +“Will it really work upon her heart?” asked Adrian, eyeing the stuff. + +“Ay,” answered the hag, “that’s a wondrous medicine, and those who +drink it go crazed with love for the giver. It is compounded according +to the Master’s own receipt, from very costly tasteless herbs that grow +only in the deserts of Arabia.” + +Adrian understood, and fumbled in his pocket. Meg stretched out her +hand to receive the honorarium. It was a long, skinny hand, with long, +skinny fingers, but there was this peculiarity about it, that one of +these fingers chanced to be missing. She saw his eyes fixed upon the +gap, and rushed into an explanation. + +“I have met with an accident,” Meg explained. “In cutting up a pig the +chopper caught this finger and severed it.” + +“Did you wear a ring on it?” asked Adrian. + +“Yes,” she replied, with sombre fury. + +“How very strange!” ejaculated Adrian. + +“Why?” + +“Because I have seen a finger, a woman’s long finger with a gold ring +on it, that might have come off your hand. I suppose the pork-butcher +picked it up for a keepsake.” + +“May be, Heer Adrian, but where is it now?” + +“Oh! it is, or was, in a bottle of spirits tied by a thread to the +cork.” + +Meg’s evil face contorted itself. “Get me that bottle,” she said +hoarsely. “Look you, Heer Adrian, I am doing much for you, do this for +me.” + +“What do you want it for?” + +“To give it Christian burial,” she replied sourly. “It is not fitting +or lucky that a person’s finger should stand about in a bottle like a +caul or a lizard. Get it, I say get it—I ask no question where—or, +young man, you will have little help in your love affairs from me.” + +“Do you wish the dagger hilt also?” he asked mischievously. + +She looked at him out of the corners of her black eyes. This Adrian +knew too much. + +“I want the finger and the ring on it which I lost in chopping up the +pig.” + +“Perhaps, mother, you would like the pig, too. Are you not making a +mistake? Weren’t you trying to cut his throat, and didn’t he bite off +the finger?” + +“If I want the pig, I’ll search his stye. You bring that bottle, or——” + +She did not finish her sentence, for the door opened, and through it +came the sage. + +“Quarrelling,” he said in a tone of reproof. “What about? Let me +guess,” and he passed his hand over his shadowed brow. “Ah! I see, +there is a finger in it, a finger of fate? No, not that,” and, moved by +a fresh inspiration, he grasped Meg’s hand, and added, “Now I have it. +Bring it back, friend Adrian, bring it back; a dead finger is most +unlucky to all save its owner. As a favour to me.” + +“Very well,” said Adrian. + +“My gifts grow,” mused the master. “I have a vision of this honest hand +and of a great sword—but, there, it is not worth while, too small a +matter. Leave us, mother. It shall be returned, my word on it. Yes, +gold ring and all. And now, young friend, let us talk. You have the +philtre? Well, I can promise you that it is a good one, it would almost +bring Galatea from her marble. Pygmalion must have known that secret. +But tell me something of your life, your daily thoughts and daily +deeds, for when I give my friendship I love to live in the life of my +friends.” + +Thus encouraged, Adrian told him a great deal, so much, indeed, that +the Señor Ramiro, nodding in the shadow of his hood, began to wonder +whether the spy behind the cupboard door, expert as he was, could +possibly make his pen keep pace with these outpourings. Oh! it was a +dreary task, but he kept to it, and by putting in a sentence here and +there artfully turned the conversation to matters of faith. + +“No need to fence with me,” he said presently. “I know how you have +been brought up, how through no fault of your own you have wandered out +of the warm bosom of the true Church to sit at the clay feet of the +conventicle. You doubt it? Well, let me look again, let me look. Yes, +only last week you were seated in a whitewashed room overhanging the +market-place. I see it all—an ugly little man with a harsh voice is +preaching, preaching what I think blasphemy. Baskets—baskets? What have +baskets to do with him?” + +“I believe he used to make them,” interrupted Adrian, taking the bait. + +“That may be it, or perhaps he will be buried in one; at any rate he is +strangely mixed up with baskets. Well, there are others with you, a +middle-aged, heavy-faced man, is he not Dirk van Goorl, your +stepfather? And—wait—a young fellow with rather a pleasant face, also a +relation. I see his name, but I can’t spell it. F—F—o—i, faith in the +French tongue, odd name for a heretic.” + +“F-o-y—Foy,” interrupted Adrian again. + +“Indeed! Strange that I should have mistaken the last letter, but in +the spirit sight and hearing these things chance: then there is a great +man with a red beard.” + +“No, Master, you’re wrong,” said Adrian with emphasis; “Martin was not +there; he stopped behind to watch the house.” + +“Are you sure?” asked the seer doubtfully. “I look and I seem to see +him,” and he stared blankly at the wall. + +“So you might see him often enough, but not at last week’s meeting.” + +It is needless to follow the conversation further. The seer, by aid of +a ball of crystal that he produced from the folds of his cloak, +described his spirit visions, and the pupil corrected them from his +intimate knowledge of the facts, until the Señor Ramiro and his +confederates in the cupboard had enough evidence, as evidence was +understood in those days, to burn Dirk, Foy, and Martin three times +over, and, if it should suit him, Adrian also. Then for that night they +parted. + +Next evening Adrian was back again with the finger in the bottle, which +Meg grabbed as a pike snatches at a frog, and further fascinating +conversation ensued. Indeed, Adrian found this well of mystic lore +tempered with shrewd advice upon love affairs and other worldly +matters, and with flattery of his own person and gifts, singularly +attractive. + +Several times did he return thus, for as it chanced Elsa had been +unwell and kept her room, so that he discovered no opportunity of +administering the magic philtre that was to cause her heart to burn +with love for him. + +At length, when even the patient Ramiro was almost worn out by the +young gentleman’s lengthy visits, the luck changed. Elsa appeared one +day at dinner, and with great adroitness Adrian, quite unseen of +anyone, contrived to empty the phial into her goblet of water, which, +as he rejoiced to see, she drank to the last drop. + +But no opportunity such as he sought ensued, for Elsa, overcome, +doubtless, by an unwonted rush of emotion, retired to battle it in her +own chamber. Since it was impossible to follow and propose to her +there, Adrian, possessing his soul in such patience as he could +command, sat in the sitting-room to await her return, for he knew that +it was not her habit to go out until five o’clock. As it happened, +however, Elsa had other arrangements for the afternoon, since she had +promised to accompany Lysbeth upon several visits to the wives of +neighbours, and then to meet her cousin Foy at the factory and walk +with him in the meadows beyond the town. + +So while Adrian, lost in dreams, waited in the sitting-room Elsa and +Lysbeth left the house by the side door. + +They had paid three of their visits when their path chanced to lead +them past the old town prison which was called the Gevangenhuis. This +place formed one of the gateways of the city, for it was built in the +walls and opened on to the moat, water surrounding it on all sides. In +front of its massive door, that was guarded by two soldiers, a small +crowd had gathered on the drawbridge and in the street beyond, +apparently in expectation of somebody or something. Lysbeth looked at +the three-storied frowning building and shuddered, for it was here that +heretics were put upon their trial, and here, too, many of them were +done to death after the dreadful fashion of the day. + +“Hasten,” she said to Elsa, as she pushed through the crowd, “for +doubtless some horror passes here.” + +“Have no fear,” answered an elderly and good-natured woman who +overheard her, “we are only waiting to hear the new governor of the +prison read his deed of appointment.” + +As she spoke the doors were thrown open and a man—he was a well-known +executioner named Baptiste—came out carrying a sword in one hand and a +bunch of keys on a salver in the other. After him followed the governor +gallantly dressed and escorted by a company of soldiers and the +officials of the prison. Drawing a scroll from beneath his cloak he +began to read it rapidly and in an almost inaudible voice. + +It was his commission as governor of the prison signed by Alva himself, +and set out in full his powers, which were considerable, his +responsibilities which were small, and other matters, excepting only +the sum of money that he had paid for the office, that, given certain +conditions, was, as a matter of fact, sold to the highest bidder. As +may be guessed, this post of governor of a gaol in one of the large +Netherland cities was lucrative enough to those who did not object to +such a fashion of growing rich. So lucrative was it, indeed, that the +salary supposed to attach to the office was never paid; at least its +occupant was expected to help himself to it out of heretical pockets. + +As he finished reading through the paper the new governor looked up, to +see, perhaps, what impression he had produced upon his audience. Now +Elsa saw his face for the first time and gripped Lysbeth’s arm. + +“It is Ramiro,” she whispered, “Ramiro the spy, the man who dogged my +father at The Hague.” + +As well might she have spoken to a statue. Indeed, of a sudden Lysbeth +seemed to be smitten into stone, for there she stood staring with a +blanched and meaningless face at the face of the man opposite to her. +Well might she stare, for she also knew him. Across the gulf of years, +one-eyed, bearded, withered, scarred as he was by suffering, passion +and evil thoughts, she knew him, for there before her stood one whom +she deemed dead, the wretch whom she had believed to be her husband, +Juan de Montalvo. Some magnetism drew his gaze to her; out of all the +faces of that crowd it was hers that leapt to his eye. He trembled and +grew white; he turned away, and swiftly was gone back into the hell of +the Gevangenhuis. Like a demon he had come out of it to survey the +human world beyond, and search for victims there; like a demon he went +back into his own place. So at least it seemed to Lysbeth. + +“Come, come,” she muttered and, drawing the girl with her, passed out +of the crowd. + +Elsa began to talk in a strained voice that from time to time broke +into a sob. + +“That is the man,” she said. “He hounded down my father; it was his +wealth he wanted, but my father swore that he would die before he +should win it, and he is dead—dead in the Inquisition, and that man is +his murderer.” + +Lysbeth made no answer, never a word she uttered, till presently they +halted at a mean and humble door. Then she spoke for the first time in +cold and constrained accents. + +“I am going in here to visit the Vrouw Jansen; you have heard of her, +the wife of him whom they burned. She sent to me to say that she is +sick, I know not of what, but there is smallpox about; I have heard of +four cases of it in the city, so, cousin, it is wisest that you should +not enter here. Give me the basket with the food and wine. Look, yonder +is the factory, quite close at hand, and there you will find Foy. Oh! +never mind Ramiro. What is done is done. Go and walk with Foy, and for +a while forget—Ramiro.” + +At the door of the factory Elsa found Foy awaiting her, and they walked +together through one of the gates of the city into the pleasant meadows +that lay beyond. At first they did not speak much, for each of them was +occupied with thoughts which pressed their tongues to silence. When +they were clear of the town, however, Elsa could contain herself no +more; indeed, the anguish awakened in her mind by the sight of Ramiro +working upon nerves already overstrung had made her half-hysterical. +She began to speak; the words broke from her like water from a dam +which it has breached. She told Foy that she had seen the man, and +more—much more. All the misery which she had suffered, all the love for +the father who was lost to her. + +At last Elsa ceased outworn, and, standing still there upon the river +bank she wrung her hands and wept. Till now Foy had said nothing, for +his good spirits and cheerful readiness seemed to have forsaken him. +Even now he said nothing. All he did was to put his arms about this +sweet maid’s waist, and, drawing her to him, to kiss her upon brow and +eyes and lips. She did not resist; it never seemed to occur to her to +show resentment; indeed, she let her head sink upon his shoulder like +the head of a little child, and there sobbed herself to silence. At +last she lifted her face and asked very simply: + +“What do you want with me, Foy van Goorl?” + +“What?” he repeated; “why I want to be your husband.” + +“Is this a time for marrying and giving in marriage?” she asked again, +but almost as though she were speaking to herself. + +“I don’t know that it is,” he replied, “but it seems the only thing to +do, and in such days two are better than one.” + +She drew away and looked at him, shaking her head sadly. “My father,” +she began—— + +“Yes,” he interrupted brightening, “thank you for mentioning him, that +reminds me. He wished this, so I hope now that he is gone you will take +the same view.” + +“It is rather late to talk about that, isn’t it, Foy?” she stammered, +looking at his shoulder and smoothing her ruffled hair with her small +white hand. “But what do you mean?” + +So word for word, as nearly as he could remember it, he told her all +that Hendrik Brant had said to him in the cellar at The Hague before +they had entered upon the desperate adventure of their flight to the +Haarlemer Meer. “He wished it, you see,” he ended. + +“My thought was always his thought, and—Foy—I wish it also.” + +“Priceless things are not lightly won,” said he, quoting Brant’s words +as though by some afterthought. + +“There he must have been talking of the treasure, Foy,” she answered, +her face lightening to a smile. + +“Ay, of the treasure, sweet, the treasure of your dear heart.” + +“A poor thing, Foy, but I think that—it rings true.” + +“It had need, Elsa, yet the best of coin may crack with rough usage.” + +“Mine will wear till death, Foy.” + +“I ask no more, Elsa. When I am dead, spend it elsewhere; I shall find +it again above where there is no marrying or giving in marriage.” + +“There would be but small change left to spend, Foy, so look to your +own gold and—see that you do not alter its image and superscription, +for metal will melt in the furnace, and each queen has her stamp.” + +“Enough,” he broke in impatiently. “Why do you talk of such things, and +in these riddles which puzzle me?” + +“Because, because, we are not married yet, and—the words are not +mine—precious things are dearly won. Perfect love and perfect peace +cannot be bought with a few sweet words and kisses; they must be earned +in trial and tribulation.” + +“Of which I have no doubt we shall find plenty,” Foy replied +cheerfully. “Meanwhile, the kisses make a good road to travel on.” + +After this Elsa did not argue any more. + +At length they turned and walked homeward through the quiet evening +twilight, hand clasped in hand, and were happy in their way. It was not +a very demonstrative way, for the Dutch have never been excitable, or +at least they do not show their excitement. Moreover, the conditions of +this betrothal were peculiar; it was as though their hands had been +joined from a deathbed, the deathbed of Hendrik Brant, the martyr of +The Hague, whose new-shed blood cried out to Heaven for vengeance. This +sense pressing on both of them did not tend towards rapturous outbursts +of youthful passion, and even if they could have shaken it off and let +their young blood have rein, there remained another sense—that of +dangers ahead of them. + +“Two are better than one,” Foy had said, and for her own reasons she +had not wished to argue the point, still Elsa felt that to it there was +another side. If two could comfort each other, could help each other, +could love each other, could they not also suffer for each other? In +short, by doubling their lives, did they not also double their +anxieties, or if children should come, treble and quadruple them? This +is true of all marriage, but how much more was it true in such days and +in such a case as that of Foy and Elsa, both of them heretics, both of +them rich, and, therefore, both liable at a moment’s notice to be haled +to the torment and the stake? Knowing these things, and having but just +seen the hated face of Ramiro, it is not wonderful that although she +rejoiced as any woman must that the man to whom her soul turned had +declared himself her lover, Elsa could only drink of this joyful cup +with a chastened and a fearful spirit. Nor is it wonderful that even in +the hour of his triumph Foy’s buoyant and hopeful nature was chilled by +the shadow of her fears and the forebodings of his own heart. + +When Lysbeth parted from Elsa that afternoon she went straight to the +chamber of the Vrouw Jansen. It was a poor place, for after the +execution of her husband his wretched widow had been robbed of all her +property and now existed upon the charity of her co-religionists. +Lysbeth found her in bed, an old woman nursing her, who said that she +thought the patient was suffering from a fever. Lysbeth leant over the +bed and kissed the sick woman, but started back when she saw that the +glands of her neck were swollen into great lumps, while the face was +flushed and the eyes so bloodshot as to be almost red. Still she knew +her visitor, for she whispered: + +“What is the matter with me, Vrouw van Goorl? Is it the smallpox coming +on? Tell me, friend, the doctor would not speak.” + +“I fear that it is worse; it is the plague,” said Lysbeth, startled +into candour. + +The poor girl laughed hoarsely. “Oh! I hoped it,” she said. “I am glad, +I am glad, for now I shall die and go to join him. But I wish that I +had caught it before,” she rambled on to herself, “for then I would +have taken it to him in prison and they couldn’t have treated him as +they did.” Suddenly she seemed to come to herself, for she added, “Go +away, Vrouw van Goorl, go quickly or you may catch my sickness.” + +“If so, I am afraid that the mischief is done, for I have kissed you,” +answered Lysbeth. “But I do not fear such things, though perhaps if I +took it, this would save me many a trouble. Still, there are others to +think of, and I will go.” So, having knelt down to pray awhile by the +patient, and given the old nurse the basket of soup and food, Lysbeth +went. + +Next morning she heard that the Vrouw Jansen was dead, the pest that +struck her being of the most fatal sort. + +Lysbeth knew that she had run great risk, for there is no disease more +infectious than the plague. She determined, therefore, that so soon as +she reached home she would burn her dress and other articles of +clothing and purify herself with the fumes of herbs. Then she dismissed +the matter from her mind, which was already filled with another +thought, a dominant, soul-possessing thought. + +Oh God, Montalvo had returned to Leyden! Out of the blackness of the +past, out of the gloom of the galleys, had arisen this evil genius of +her life; yes, and, by a strange fatality, of the life of Elsa Brant +also, since it was he, she swore, who had dragged down her father. +Lysbeth was a brave woman, one who had passed through many dangers, but +her whole heart turned sick with terror at the sight of this man, and +sick it must remain till she, or he, were dead. She could well guess +what he had come to seek. It was that cursed treasure of Hendrik +Brant’s which had drawn him. She knew from Elsa that for a year at +least the man Ramiro had been plotting to steal this money at The +Hague. He had failed there, failed with overwhelming and shameful loss +through the bravery and resource of her son Foy and their henchman, Red +Martin. Now he had discovered their identity; he was aware that they +held the secret of the hiding-place of that accursed hoard, they and no +others, and he had established himself in Leyden to wring it out of +them. It was clear, clear as the setting orb of the red sun before her. +She knew the man—had she not lived with him?—and there could be no +doubt about it, and—he was the new governor of the Gevangenhuis. +Doubtless he has purchased that post for his own dark purposes and—to +be near them. + +Sick and half blind with the intensity of her dread, Lysbeth staggered +home. She must tell Dirk, that was her one thought; but no, she had +been in contact with the plague, first she must purify herself. So she +went to her room, and although it was summer, lit a great fire on the +hearth, and in it burned her garments. Then she bathed and fumigated +her hair and body over a brazier of strong herbs, such as in those days +of frequent and virulent sickness housewives kept at hand, after which +she dressed herself afresh and went to seek her husband. She found him +at a desk in his private room reading some paper, which at her approach +he shuffled into a drawer. + +“What is that, Dirk?” she asked with sudden suspicion. + +He pretended not to hear, and she repeated the query. + +“Well, wife, if you wish to know,” he answered in his blunt fashion, +“it is my will.” + +“Why are you reading your will?” she asked again, beginning to tremble, +for her nerves were afire, and this simple accident struck her as +something awful and ominous. + +“For no particular reason, wife,” he replied quietly, “only that we all +must die, early or late. There is no escape from that, and in these +times it is more often early than late, so it is as well to be sure +that everything is in order for those who come after us. Now, since we +are on the subject, which I have never cared to speak about, listen to +me.” + +“What about, husband?” + +“Why, about my will. Look you, Hendrik Brant and his treasure have +taught me a lesson. I am not a man of his substance, or a tenth of it, +but in some countries I should be called rich, for I have worked hard +and God has prospered me. Well, of late I have been realising where I +could, also the bulk of my savings is in cash. But the cash is not +here, not in this country at all. You know my correspondents, Munt and +Brown, of Norwich, in England, to whom we ship our goods for the +English market. They are honest folk, and Munt owes me everything, +almost to his life. Well, they have the money, it has reached them +safely, thanks be to God, and with it a counterpart of this my will +duly attested, and here is their letter of acknowledgment stating that +they have laid it out carefully at interest upon mortgage on great +estates in Norfolk where it lies to my order, or that of my heirs, and +that a duplicate acknowledgment has been filed in their English +registries in case this should go astray. Little remains here except +this house and the factory, and even on those I have raised money. +Meanwhile the business is left to live on, and beyond it the rents +which will come from England, so that whether I be living or dead you +need fear no want. But what is the matter with you, Lysbeth? You look +strange.” + +“Oh! husband, husband,” she gasped, “Juan de Montalvo is here again. He +has appeared as the new governor of the gaol. I saw him this afternoon, +I cannot be mistaken, although he has lost an eye and is much changed.” + +Dirk’s jaw dropped and his florid face whitened. “Juan de Montalvo!” he +said. “I heard that he was dead long ago.” + +“You are mistaken, husband, a devil never dies. He is seeking Brant’s +treasure, and he knows that we have its secret. You can guess the rest. +More, now that I think of it, I have heard that a strange Spaniard is +lodging with Hague Simon, he whom they call the Butcher, and Black Meg, +of whom we have cause to know. Doubtless it is he, and—Dirk, death +overshadows us.” + +“Why should he know of Brant’s treasure, wife?” + +“Because _he is Ramiro_, the man who dogged him down, the man who +followed the ship _Swallow_ to the Haarlemer Meer. Elsa was with me +this afternoon, she knew him again.” + +Dirk thought a while, resting his head upon his hand. Then he lifted it +and said: + +“I am very glad that I sent the money to Munt and Brown, Heaven gave me +that thought. Well, wife, what is your counsel now?” + +“My counsel is that we should fly from Leyden—all of us, yes, this very +night before worse happens.” + +He smiled. “That cannot be; there are no means of flight, and under the +new laws we could not pass the gates; that trick has been played too +often. Still, in a day or two, when I have had time to arrange, we +might escape if you still wish to go.” + +“To-night, to-night,” she urged, “or some of us stay for ever.” + +“I tell you, wife, it is not possible. Am I a rat that I should be +bolted from my hole thus by this ferret of a Montalvo? I am a man of +peace and no longer young, but let him beware lest I stop here long +enough to pass a sword through him.” + +“So be it, husband,” she replied, “but I think it is through my heart +that the sword will pass,” and she burst out weeping. + +Supper that night was a somewhat melancholy meal. Dirk and Lysbeth sat +at the ends of the table in silence. On one side of fit were placed Foy +and Elsa, who were also silent for a very different reason, while +opposite to them was Adrian, who watched Elsa with an anxious and +inquiring eye. + +That the love potion worked he was certain, for she looked confused and +a little flushed; also, as would be natural under the circumstances, +she avoided his glance and made pretence to be interested in Foy, who +seemed rather more stupid than usual. Well, so soon as he could find +his chance all this would be cleared up, but meanwhile the general +gloom and silence were affecting his nerves. + +“What have you been doing this afternoon, mother?” Adrian asked +presently. + +“I, son?” she replied with a start, “I have been visiting the unhappy +Vrouw Jansen, whom I found very sick.” + +“What is the matter with her, mother?” + +Lysbeth’s mind, which had wandered away, again returned to the subject +at hand with an effort. + +“The matter? Oh! she has the plague.” + +“The plague!” exclaimed Adrian, springing to his feet, “do you mean to +say you have been consorting with a woman who has the plague?” + +“I fear so,” she answered with a smile, “but do not be frightened, +Adrian, I have burnt my clothes and fumigated myself.” + +Still Adrian was frightened. His recent experience of sickness had been +ample, and although he was no coward he had a special dislike of +infectious diseases, which at the time were many. + +“It is horrible,” he said, “horrible. I only hope that we—I mean +you—may escape. The house is unbearably close. I am going to walk in +the courtyard,” and away he went, for the moment, at any rate, +forgetting all about Elsa and the love potion. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII +FOY SEES A VISION + + +Never since that day when, many years before, she had bought the safety +of the man she loved by promising herself in marriage to his rival, had +Lysbeth slept so ill as she did upon this night. Montalvo was alive. +Montalvo was here, here to strike down and destroy those whom she +loved, and triple armed with power, authority, and desire to do the +deed. Well she knew that when there was plunder to be won, he would not +step aside or soften until it was in his hands. Yet there was hope in +this; he was not a cruel man, as she knew also, that is to say, he had +no pleasure in inflicting suffering for its own sake; such methods he +used only as a means to an end. If he could get the money, all of it, +she was sure that he would leave them alone. Why should he not have it? +Why should all their lives be menaced because of this trust which had +been thrust upon them? + +Unable to endure the torments of her doubts and fears, Lysbeth woke her +husband, who was sleeping peacefully at her side, and told him what was +passing in her mind. + +“It is a true saying,” answered Dirk with a smile, “that even the best +of women are never quite honest when their interest pulls the other +way. What, wife, would you have us buy our own peace with Brant’s +fortune, and thus break faith with a dead man and bring down his curse +upon us?” + +“The lives of men are more than gold, and Elsa would consent,” she +answered sullenly; “already this pelf is stained with blood, the blood +of Hendrik Brant himself, and of Hans the pilot.” + +“Yes, wife, and since you mention it, with the blood of a good many +Spaniards also, who tried to steal the stuff. Let’s see; there must +have been several drowned at the mouth of the river, and quite twenty +went up with the _Swallow_, so the loss has not been all on our side. +Listen, Lysbeth, listen. It was my cousin, Hendrik Brant’s, belief that +in the end this great fortune of his would do some service to our +people or our country, for he wrote as much in his will and repeated it +to Foy. I know not when or in what fashion this may come about; how can +I know? But first will I die before I hand it over to the Spaniard. +Moreover, I cannot, since its secret was never told to me.” + +“Foy and Martin have it.” + +“Lysbeth,” said Dirk sternly, “I charge you as you love me not to work +upon them to betray their trust; no, not even to save my life or your +own—if we must die, let us die with honour. Do you promise?” + +“I promise,” she answered with dry lips, “but on this condition only, +that you fly from Leyden with us all, to-night if may be.” + +“Good,” answered Dirk, “a halfpenny for a herring; you have made your +promise, and I’ll give you mine; that’s fair, although I am old to seek +a new home in England. But it can’t be to-night, wife, for I must make +arrangements. There is a ship sailing to-day, and we might catch her +to-morrow at the river’s mouth, after she has passed the officers, for +her captain is a friend of mine. How will that do?” + +“I had rather it had been to-night,” said Lysbeth. “While we are in +Leyden with that man we are not safe from one hour to the next.” + +“Wife, we are never safe. It is all in the hands of God, and, +therefore, we should live like soldiers awaiting the hour to march, and +rejoice exceedingly when it pleases our Captain to sound the call.” + +“I know,” she answered; “but, oh! Dirk, it would be hard—to part.” + +He turned his head aside for a moment, then said in a steady voice, +“Yes, wife, but it will be sweet to meet again and part no more.” + +While it was still early that morning Dirk summoned Foy and Martin to +his wife’s chamber. Adrian for his own reasons he did not summon, +making the excuse that he was still asleep, and it would be a pity to +disturb him; nor Elsa, since as yet there was no necessity to trouble +her. Then, briefly, for he was given to few words, he set out the gist +of the matter, telling them that the man Ramiro whom they had beaten on +the Haarlemer Meer was in Leyden, which Foy knew already, for Elsa had +told him as much, and that he was no other than the Spaniard named the +Count Juan de Montalvo, the villain who had deceived Lysbeth into a +mock marriage by working on her fears, and who was the father of +Adrian. All this time Lysbeth sat in a carved oak chair listening with +a stony face to the tale of her own shame and betrayal. She made no +sign at all beyond a little twitching of her fingers, till Foy, +guessing what she suffered in her heart, suddenly went to his mother +and kissed her. Then she wept a few silent tears, for an instant laid +her hand upon his head as though in blessing, and, motioning him back +to his place, became herself again—stern, unmoved, observant. + +Next Dirk, taking up his tale, spoke of his wife’s fears, and of her +belief that there was a plot to wring out of them the secret of Hendrik +Brant’s treasure. + +“Happily,” he said, addressing Foy, “neither your mother nor I, nor +Adrian, nor Elsa, know that secret; you and Martin know it alone, you +and perhaps one other who is far away and cannot be caught. We do not +know it, and we do not wish to know it, and whatever happens to any of +us, it is our earnest hope that neither of you will betray it, even if +our lives, or your lives, hang upon the words, for we hold it better +that we should keep our trust with a dead man at all costs than that we +should save ourselves by breaking faith. Is it not so, wife?” + +“It is so,” answered Lysbeth hoarsely. + +“Have no fear,” said Foy. “We will die before we betray.” + +“We will try to die before we betray,” grumbled Martin in his deep +voice, “but flesh is frail and God knows.” + +“Oh! I have no doubt of you, honest man,” said Dirk with a smile, “for +you have no mother and father to think of in this matter.” + +“Then, master, you are foolish,” replied Martin, “for I repeat it—flesh +is frail, and I always hated the look of a rack. However, I have a +handsome legacy charged upon this treasure, and perhaps the thought of +that would support me. Alive or dead, I should not like to think of my +money being spent by any Spaniard.” + +While Martin spoke the strangeness of the thing came home to Foy. Here +were four of them, two of whom knew a secret and two who did not, while +those who did not implored those who did to impart to them nothing of +the knowledge which, if they had it, might serve to save them from a +fearful doom. Then for the first time in his young and inexperienced +life he understood how great erring men and women can be and what +patient majesty dwells in the human heart, that for the sake of a trust +it does not seek can yet defy the most hideous terrors of the body and +the soul. Indeed, that scene stamped itself upon his mind in such +fashion that throughout his long existence he never quite forgot it for +a single day. His mother, clad in her frilled white cap and grey gown, +seated cold-faced and resolute in the oaken chair. His father, to whom, +although he knew it not, he was now speaking for the last time, +standing by her, his hand resting upon her shoulder and addressing them +in his quiet, honest voice. Martin standing also but a little to one +side and behind, the light of the morning playing upon his great red +beard; his round, pale eyes glittering as was their fashion when +wrathful, and himself, Foy, leaning forward to listen, every nerve in +his body strung tight with excitement, love, and fear. + +Oh! he never forgot it, which is not strange, for so great was the +strain upon him, so well did he know that this scene was but the +prelude to terrible events, that for a moment, only for a moment, his +steady reason was shaken and he saw a vision. Martin, the huge, +patient, ox-like Martin, was changed into a red Vengeance; he saw him, +great sword aloft, he heard the roar of his battle cry, and lo! before +him men went down to death, and about him the floor seemed purple with +their blood. His father and his mother, too; they were no longer human, +they were saints—see the glory which shone over them, and look, too, +the dead Hendrik Brant was whispering in their ears. And he, Foy, he +was beside Martin playing his part in those red frays as best he might, +and playing it not in vain. + +Then all passed, and a wave of peace rolled over him, a great sense of +duty done, of honour satisfied, of reward attained. Lo! the play was +finished, and its ultimate meaning clear, but before he could read and +understand—it had gone. + +He gasped and shook himself, gripping his hands together. + +“What have you seen, son?” asked Lysbeth, watching his face. + +“Strange things, mother,” Foy answered. “A vision of war for Martin and +me, of glory for my father and you, and of eternal peace for us all.” + +“It is a good omen, Foy,” she said. “Fight your fight and leave us to +fight ours. ‘Through much tribulation we must enter into the Kingdom of +God,’ where at last there is a rest remaining for us all. It is a good +omen. Your father was right and I was wrong. Now I have no more to +fear; I am satisfied.” + +None of them seemed to be amazed or to find these words wonderful and +out of the common. For them the hand of approaching Doom had opened the +gates of Distance, and they knew everyone that through these some light +had broken on their souls, a faint flicker of dawn from beyond the +clouds. They accepted it in thankfulness. + +“I think that is all I have to say,” said Dirk in his usual voice. “No, +it is not all,” and he told them of his plan for flight. They listened +and agreed to it, yet to them it seemed a thing far off and unreal. +None of them believed that this escape would ever be carried out. All +of them believed that here in Leyden they would endure the fiery trial +of their faith and win each of them its separate crown. + +When everything was discussed, and each had learned the lesson of what +he must do that day, Foy asked if Adrian was to be told of the scheme. +To this his father answered hastily that the less it was spoken of the +better, therefore he proposed to tell Adrian late that night only, when +he could make up his mind whether he would accompany them or stay in +Leyden. + +“Then he shan’t go out to-night, and will come with us as far as the +ship only if I can manage it,” muttered Martin beneath his breath, but +aloud he said nothing. Somehow it did not seem to him to be worth while +to make trouble about it, for he knew that if he did his mistress and +Foy, who believed so heartily in Adrian, would be angry. + +“Father and mother,” said Foy again, “while we are gathered here there +is something I wish to say to you.” + +“What is it, son?” asked Dirk. + +“Yesterday I became affianced to Elsa Brant, and we wish to ask your +consent and blessing.” + +“That will be gladly given, son, for I think this very good news. Bring +her here, Foy,” answered Dirk. + +But although in his hurry Foy did not notice it, his mother said +nothing. She liked Elsa well indeed—who would not?—but oh! this brought +them a step nearer to that accursed treasure, the treasure which from +generation to generation had been hoarded up that it might be a doom to +men. If Foy were affianced to Elsa, it was his inheritance as well as +hers, for those trusts of Hendrik Brant’s will were to Lysbeth things +unreal and visionary, and its curse would fall upon him as well as upon +her. Moreover it might be said that he was marrying her to win the +wealth. + +“This betrothal does not please you; you are sad, wife,” said Dirk, +looking at her quickly. + +“Yes, husband, for now I think that we shall never get out of Leyden. I +pray that Adrian may not hear of it, that is all.” + +“Why, what has he to do with the matter?” + +“Only that he is madly in love with the girl. Have you not seen it? +And—you know his temper.” + +“Adrian, Adrian, always Adrian,” answered Dirk impatiently. “Well, it +is a very fitting match, for if she has a great fortune hidden +somewhere in a swamp, which in fact she has not, since the bulk of it +is bequeathed to me to be used for certain purposes; he has, or will +have, moneys also—safe at interest in England. Hark! here they come, +so, wife, put on a pleasant face; they will think it unlucky if you do +not smile.” + +As he spoke Foy re-entered the room, leading Elsa by the hand, and she +looked as sweet a maid as ever the sun shone on. So they told their +story, and kneeling down before Dirk, received his blessing in the old +fashion, and very glad were they in the after years to remember that it +had been so received. Then they turned to Lysbeth, and she also lifted +up her hand to bless them, but ere it touched their heads, do what she +would to check it, a cry forced its way to her lips, and she said: + +“Oh! children, doubtless you love each other well, but is this a time +for marrying and giving in marriage?” + +“My own words, my very words,” exclaimed Elsa, springing to her feet +and turning pale. + +Foy looked vexed. Then recovering himself and trying to smile, he said: + +“And I give them the same answer—that two are better than one; +moreover, this is a betrothal, not a marriage.” + +“Ay,” muttered Martin behind, thinking aloud after his fashion, +“betrothal is one thing and marriage another,” but low as he spoke Elsa +overheard him. + +“Your mother is upset,” broke in Dirk, “and you can guess why, so do +not disturb her more at present. Let us to our business, you and Martin +to the factory to make arrangements there as I have told you, and I, +after I have seen the captain, to whatever God shall call me to do. So, +till we meet again, farewell, my son—and daughter,” he added, smiling +at Elsa. + +They left the room, but as Martin was following them Lysbeth called him +back. + +“Go armed to the factory, Martin,” she said, “and see that your young +master wears that steel shirt beneath his jerkin.” + +Martin nodded and went. + +Adrian woke up that morning in an ill mood. He had, it is true, +administered his love potion with singular dexterity and success, but +as yet he reaped no fruit from his labours, and was desperately afraid +lest the effect of the magic draught might wear off. When he came +downstairs it was to find that Foy and Martin were already departed to +the factory, and that his stepfather had gone out, whither he knew not. +This was so much to the good, for it left the coast clear. Still he was +none the better off, since either his mother and Elsa had taken their +breakfast upstairs, or they had dispensed with that meal. His mother he +could spare, especially after her recent contact with a plague patient, +but under the circumstances Elsa’s absence was annoying. Moreover, +suddenly the house had become uncomfortable, for every one in it seemed +to be running about carrying articles hither and thither in a fashion +so aimless that it struck him as little short of insane. Once or twice +also he saw Elsa, but she, too, was carrying things, and had no time +for conversation. + +At length Adrian wearied of it and departed to the factory with the +view of making up his books, which, to tell the truth, had been +somewhat neglected of late, to find that here, too, the same confusion +reigned. Instead of attending to his ordinary work, Martin was marching +to and fro bearing choice pieces of brassware, which were being packed +into crates, and he noticed, for Adrian was an observant young man, +that he was not wearing his usual artisan’s dress. Why, he wondered to +himself, should Martin walk about a factory upon a summer’s day clad in +his armour of quilted bull’s hide, and wearing his great sword Silence +strapped round his middle? Why, too, should Foy have removed the books +and be engaged in going through them with a clerk? Was he auditing +them? If so, he wished him joy of the job, since to bring them to a +satisfactory balance had proved recently quite beyond his own powers. +Not that there was anything wrong with the books, for he, Adrian, had +kept them quite honestly according to his very imperfect lights, only +things must have been left out, for balance they would not. Well, on +the whole, he was glad, since a man filled with lover’s hopes and fears +was in no mood for arithmetical exercises, so, after hanging about for +a while, he returned home to dinner. + +The meal was late, an unusual occurrence, which annoyed him; moreover, +neither his mother nor his stepfather appeared at table. At length Elsa +came in looking pale and worried, and they began to eat, or rather to +go through the form of eating, since neither of them seemed to have any +appetite. Nor, as the servant was continually in the room, and as Elsa +took her place at one end of the long table while he was at the other, +had their _tête-à-tête_ any of the usual advantages. + +At last the waiting-woman went away, and, after a few moment’s pause, +Elsa rose to follow. By this time Adrian was desperate. He would bear +it no more; things must be brought to a head. + +“Elsa,” he said, in an irritated voice, “everything seems to be very +uncomfortable here to-day, there is so much disturbance in the house +that one might imagine we were going to shut it up and leave Leyden.” + +Elsa looked at him out of the corners of her eyes; probably by this +time she had learnt the real cause of the disturbance. + +“I am sorry, Heer Adrian,” she said, “but your mother is not very well +this morning.” + +“Indeed; I only hope she hasn’t caught the plague from the Jansen +woman; but that doesn’t account for everybody running about with their +hands full, like ants in a broken nest, especially as it is not the +time of year when women turn all the furniture upside down and throw +the curtains out of the windows in the pretence that they are cleaning +them. However, we are quiet here for a while, so let us talk.” + +Elsa became suspicious. “Your mother wants me, Heer Adrian,” she said, +turning towards the door. + +“Let her rest, Elsa, let her rest; there is no medicine like sleep for +the sick.” + +Elsa pretended not to hear him, so, as she still headed for the door, +by a movement too active to be dignified, he placed himself in front of +it, adding, “I have said that I want to speak with you.” + +“And I have said that I am busy, Heer Adrian, so please let me pass.” + +Adrian remained immovable. “Not until I have spoken to you,” he said. + +Now as escape was impossible Elsa drew herself up and asked in a cold +voice: + +“What is your pleasure? I pray you, be brief.” + +Adrian cleared his throat, reflecting that she was keeping the workings +of the love potion under wonderful control; indeed to look at her no +one could have guessed that she had recently absorbed this magic +Eastern medicine. However, something must be done; he had gone too far +to draw back. + +“Elsa,” he said boldly, though no hare could have been more frightened, +“Elsa,” and he clasped his hands and looked at the ceiling, “I love you +and the time has come to say so.” + +“If I remember right it came some time ago, Heer Adrian,” she replied +with sarcasm. “I thought that by now you had forgotten all about it.” + +“Forgotten!” he sighed, “forgotten! With you ever before my eyes how +can I forget?” + +“I am sure I cannot say,” she answered, “but I know that I wish to +forget this folly.” + +“Folly! She calls it folly!” he mused aloud. “Oh, Heaven, folly is the +name she gives to the life-long adoration of my bleeding heart!” + +“You have known me exactly five weeks, Heer Adrian——” + +“Which, sweet lady, makes me desire to know you for fifty years.” + +Elsa sighed, for she found the prospect dreary. + +“Come,” he went on with a gush, “forego this virgin coyness, you have +done enough and more than enough for honour, now throw aside pretence, +lay down your arms and yield. No hour, I swear, of this long fight will +be so happy to you as that of your sweet surrender, for remember, dear +one, that I, your conqueror, am in truth the conquered. I, +abandoning——” + +He got no further, for at this point the sorely tried Elsa lost control +of herself, but not in the fashion which he hoped for and expected. + +“Are you crazed, Heer Adrian,” she asked, “that you should insist thus +in pouring this high-flown nonsense into my ears when I have told you +that it is unwelcome to me? I understand that you ask me for my love. +Well, once for all I tell you that I have none to give.” + +This was a blow, since it was impossible for Adrian to put a favourable +construction upon language so painfully straightforward. His +self-conceit was pierced at last and collapsed like a pricked bladder. + +“None to give!” he gasped, “none to give! You don’t mean to tell me +that you have given it to anybody else?” + +“Yes, I do,” she answered, for by now Elsa was thoroughly angry. + +“Indeed,” he replied loftily. “Let me see; last time it was your +lamented father who occupied your heart. Perhaps now it is that +excellent giant, Martin, or even—no, it is too absurd”—and he laughed +in his jealous rage, “even the family buffoon, my worthy brother Foy.” + +“Yes,” she replied quietly, “it is Foy.” + +“Foy! Foy! Hear her, ye gods! My successful rival, mine, is the +yellow-headed, muddy-brained, unlettered Foy—and they say that women +have souls! Of your courtesy answer me one question. Tell me when did +this strange and monstrous thing happen? When did you declare yourself +vanquished by the surpassing charms of Foy?” + +“Yesterday afternoon, if you want to know,” she said in the same calm +and ominous voice. + +Adrian heard, and an inspiration took him. He dashed his hand to his +brow and thought a moment; then he laughed loud and shrilly. + +“I have it,” he said. “It is the love charm which has worked +perversely. Elsa, you are under a spell, poor woman; you do not know +the truth. I gave you the philtre in your drinking water, and Foy, the +traitor Foy, has reaped its fruits. Dear girl, shake yourself free from +this delusion, it is I whom you really love, not that base thief of +hearts, my brother Foy.” + +“What do you say? You gave me a philtre? You dare to doctor my drink +with your heathen nastiness? Out of the way, sir! Stand off, and never +venture to speak to me again. Well will it be for you if I do not tell +your brother of your infamy.” + +What happened after this Adrian could never quite remember, but a +vision remained of himself crouching to one side, and of a door flung +back so violently that it threw him against the wall; a vision, too, of +a lady sweeping past him with blazing eyes and lips set in scorn. That +was all. + +For a while he was crushed, quite crushed; the blow had gone home. +Adrian was not only a fool, he was also the vainest of fools. That any +young woman on whom he chose to smile should actually reject his +advances was bad and unexpected, but that the other man should be +Foy—oh! this was infamous and inexplicable. He was handsomer than Foy, +no one would dream of denying it. He was cleverer and better read, had +he not mastered the contents of every known romance—high-souled works +which Foy bluntly declared were rubbish and refused even to open? Was +he not a poet? But remembering a certain sonnet he did not follow this +comparison. In short, how was it conceivable that a woman looking upon +himself, a very type of the chivalry of Spain, silver-tongued, a +follower—nay, a companion of the Muses, one to whom in every previous +adventure of the heart to love had been to conquer, could still prefer +that broad-faced, painfully commonplace, if worthy, young +representative of the Dutch middle classes, Foy van Goorl? + +It never occurred to Adrian to ask himself another question, namely, +how it comes about that eight young women out of ten are endowed with +an intelligence or instinct sufficiently keen to enable them to +discriminate between an empty-headed popinjay of a man, intoxicated +with the fumes of his own vanity, and an honest young fellow of stable +character and sterling worth? Not that Adrian was altogether +empty-headed, for in some ways he was clever; also beneath all this +foam and froth the Dutch strain inherited from his mother had given a +certain ballast and determination to his nature. Thus, when his heart +was thoroughly set upon a thing, he could be very dogged and patient. +Now it _was_ set upon Elsa Brant, he did truly desire to win her above +any other woman, and that he had left a different impression upon her +mind was owing largely to the affected air and grandiloquent style of +language culled from his precious romances which he thought it right to +assume when addressing a lady upon matters of the affections. + +For a little while he was prostrate, his heart seemed swept clean of +all hope and feeling. Then his furious temper, the failing that, above +every other, was his curse and bane, came to his aid and occupied it +like the seven devils of Scripture, bringing in its train his +re-awakened vanity, hatred, jealousy, and other maddening passions. It +could not be true, there must be an explanation, and, of course, the +explanation was that Foy had been so fortunate, or so cunning as to +make advances to Elsa soon after she had swallowed the love philtre. +Adrian, like most people in his day, was very superstitious and +credulous. It never even occurred to him to doubt the almost +universally accepted power and efficacy of this witch’s medicine, +though even now he understood what a fool he was when, in his first +outburst of rage, he told Elsa that he had trusted to such means to win +her affections, instead of letting his own virtues and graces do their +natural work. + +Well, the mischief was done, the poison was swallowed, but—most poisons +have their antidotes. Why was he lingering here? He must consult his +friend, the Master, and at once. + +Ten minutes later Adrian was at Black Meg’s house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX +THE FRAY IN THE SHOT TOWER + + +The door was opened by Hague Simon, the bald-headed, great-paunched +villain who lived with Black Meg. In answer to his visitor’s anxious +inquiries the Butcher said, searching Adrian’s face with his pig-like +eyes the while, that he could not tell for certain whether Meg was or +was not at home. He rather thought that she was consulting the spirits +with the Master, but they might have passed out without his knowing it, +“for they had great gifts—great gifts,” and he wagged his fat head as +he showed Adrian into the accustomed room. + +It was an uncomfortable kind of chamber which, in some unexplained way, +always gave Adrian the impression that people, or presences, were +stirring in it whom he could not see. Also in this place there happened +odd and unaccountable noises; creakings, and sighings which seemed to +proceed from the walls and ceiling. Of course, such things were to be +expected in a house where sojourned one of the great magicians of the +day. Still he was not altogether sorry when the door opened and Black +Meg entered, although some might have preferred the society of almost +any ghost. + +“What is it, that you disturb me at such an hour?” she asked sharply. + +“What is it? What isn’t it?” Adrian replied, his rage rising at the +thought of his injuries. “That cursed philtre of yours has worked all +wrong, that’s what it is. Another man has got the benefit of it, don’t +you understand, you old hag? And, by Heaven! I believe he means to +abduct her, yes, that’s the meaning of all the packing and fuss, blind +fool that I was not to guess it before. The Master—I will see the +Master. He must give me an antidote, another medicine——” + +“You certainly look as though you want it,” interrupted Black Meg +drily. “Well, I doubt whether you can see him; it is not his hour for +receiving visitors; moreover, I don’t think he’s here, so I shall have +to signal for him.” + +“I must see him. I will see him,” shouted Adrian. + +“I daresay,” replied Black Meg, squinting significantly at his pocket. + +Enraged as he was Adrian took the hint. + +“Woman, you seek gold,” he said, quoting involuntarily from the last +romance he had read, and presenting her with a handful of small silver, +which was all he had. + +Meg took the silver with a sniff, on the principle that something is +better than nothing, and departed gloomily. Then followed more +mysterious noises; voices whispered, doors opened and shut, furniture +creaked, after which came a period of exasperating and rather +disagreeable silence. Adrian turned his face to the wall, for the only +window in the room was so far above his head that he was unable to look +out of it; indeed, it was more of a skylight than a window. Thus he +remained a while gnawing at the ends of his moustache and cursing his +fortune, till presently he felt a hand upon his shoulder. + +“Who the devil is that?” he exclaimed, wheeling round to find himself +face to face with the draped and majestic form of the Master. + +“The devil! That is an ill word upon young lips, my friend,” said the +sage, shaking his head in reproof. + +“I daresay,” replied Adrian, “but what the—I mean how did you get here? +I never heard the door open.” + +“How did I get here? Well, now you mention it, I wonder how I did. The +door—what have I to do with doors?” + +“I am sure I don’t know,” answered Adrian shortly, “but most people +find them useful.” + +“Enough of such material talk,” interrupted the sage with sternness. +“Your spirit cried to mine, and I _am_ here, let that suffice.” + +“I suppose that Black Meg fetched you,” went on Adrian, sticking to his +point, for the philtre fiasco had made him suspicious. + +“Verily, friend Adrian, you can suppose what you will; and now, as I +have little time to spare, be so good as to set out the matter. Nay, +what need, I know all, for have I not—is this the case? You +administered the philtre to the maid and neglected my instructions to +offer yourself to her at once. Another saw it and took advantage of the +magic draught. While the spell was on her he proposed, he was +accepted—yes, your brother Foy. Oh! fool, careless fool, what else did +you expect?” + +“At any rate I didn’t expect that,” replied Adrian in a fury. “And now, +if you have all the power you pretend, tell me what I am to do.” + +Something glinted ominously beneath the hood, it was the sage’s one +eye. + +“Young friend,” he said, “your manner is brusque, yes, even rude. But I +understand and I forgive. Come, we will take counsel together. Tell me +what has happened.” + +Adrian told him with much emphasis, and the recital of his adventures +seemed to move the Master deeply, at any rate he turned away, hiding +his face in his hands, while his back trembled with the intensity of +his feelings. + +“The matter is grave,” he said solemnly, when at length the lovesick +and angry swain had finished. “There is but one thing to be done. Your +treacherous rival—oh! what fraud and deceit are hidden beneath that +homely countenance—has been well advised, by whom I know not, though I +suspect one, a certain practitioner of the Black Magic, named Arentz——” + +“Ah!” ejaculated Adrian. + +“I see you know the man. Beware of him. He is, indeed, a wolf in +sheep’s clothing, who wraps his devilish incantations in a cloak of +seditious doctrine. Well, I have thwarted him before, for can Darkness +stand before Light? and, by the help of those who aid me, I may thwart +him again. Now, attend and answer my questions clearly, slowly and +truthfully. If the girl is to be saved to you, mark this, young friend, +your cunning rival must be removed from Leyden for a while until the +charm works out its power.” + +“You don’t mean—” said Adrian, and stopped. + +“No, no. I mean the man no harm. I mean only that he must take a +journey, which he will do fast enough, when he learns that his +witchcrafts and other crimes are known. Now answer, or make an end, for +I have more business to attend to than the love-makings of a foo—of a +headstrong youth. First: What you have told me of the attendances of +Dirk van Goorl, your stepfather, and others of his household, namely, +Red Martin and your half-brother Foy, at the tabernacle of your enemy, +the wizard Arentz, is true, is it not?” + +“Yes,” answered Adrian, “but I do not see what that has to do with the +matter.” + +“Silence!” thundered the Master. Then he paused a while, and Adrian +seemed to hear certain strange squeakings proceeding from the walls. +The sage remained lost in thought until the squeakings ceased. Again he +spoke: + +“What you have told me of the part played by the said Foy and the said +Martin as to their sailing away with the treasure of the dead heretic, +Hendrik Brant, and of the murders committed by them in the course of +its hiding in the Haarlemer Meer, is true, is it not?” + +“Of course it is,” answered Adrian, “but——” + +“Silence!” again thundered the sage, “or by my Lord Zoroaster, I throw +up the case.” + +Adrian collapsed, and there was another pause. + +“You believe,” he went on again, “that the said Foy and the said Dirk +van Goorl, together with the said Martin, are making preparations to +abduct that innocent and unhappy maid, the heiress, Elsa Brant, for +evil purposes of their own?” + +“I never told you so,” said Adrian, “but I think it is a fact; at least +there is a lot of packing going on.” + +“You never told me! Do you not understand that there is no need for you +to tell me anything?” + +“Then, in the name of your Lord Zoroaster, why do you ask?” exclaimed +the exasperated Adrian. + +“That you will know presently,” he answered musing. + +Once more Adrian heard the strange squeaking as of young and hungry +rats. + +“I think that I will not take up your time any more,” he said, growing +thoroughly alarmed, for really the proceedings were a little odd, and +he rose to go. + +The Master made no answer, only, which was curious conduct for a sage, +he began to whistle a tune. + +“By your leave,” said Adrian, for the magician’s back was against the +door. “I have business——” + +“And so have I,” replied the sage, and went on whistling. + +Then suddenly the side of one of the walls seemed to fall out, and +through the opening emerged a man wrapped in a priest’s robe, and after +him, Hague Simon, Black Meg, and another particularly evil-looking +fellow. + +“Got it all down?” asked the Master in an easy, everyday kind of voice. + +The monk bowed, and producing several folios of manuscript, laid them +on the table together with an ink-horn and a pen. + +“Very well. And now, my young friend, be so good as to sign there, at +the foot of the writing.” + +“Sign what?” gasped Adrian. + +“Explain to him,” said the Master. “He is quite right; a man should +know what he puts his name to.” + +Then the monk spoke in a low, business-like voice. + +“This is the information of Adrian, called Van Goorl, as taken down +from his own lips, wherein, among other things, he deposes to certain +crimes of heresy, murder of the king’s subjects, an attempted escape +from the king’s dominions, committed by his stepfather, Dirk van Goorl, +his half-brother, Foy van Goorl, and their servant, a Frisian known as +Red Martin. Shall I read the papers? It will take some time.” + +“If the witness so desires,” said the Master. + +“What is that document for?” whispered Adrian in a hoarse voice. + +“To persuade your treacherous rival, Foy van Goorl, that it will be +desirable in the interests of his health that he should retire from +Leyden for a while,” sneered his late mentor, while the Butcher and +Black Meg sniggered audibly. Only the monk stood silent, like a black +watching fate. + +“I’ll not sign!” shouted Adrian. “I have been tricked! There is +treachery!” and he bent forward to spring for the door. + +Ramiro made a sign, and in another instant the Butcher’s fat hands were +about Adrian’s throat, and his thick thumbs were digging viciously at +the victim’s windpipe. Still Adrian kicked and struggled, whereon, at a +second sign, the villainous-looking man drew a great knife, and, coming +up to him, pricked him gently on the nose. + +Then Ramiro spoke to him very suavely and quietly. + +“Young friend,” he said, “where is that faith in me which you promised, +and why, when I wish you to sign this quite harmless writing, do you so +violently refuse?” + +“Because I won’t betray my stepfather and brother,” gasped Adrian. “I +know why you want my signature,” and he looked at the man in a priest’s +robe. + +“You won’t betray them,” sneered Ramiro. “Why, you young fool, you have +already betrayed them fifty times over, and what is more, which you +don’t seem to remember, you have betrayed yourself. Now look here. If +you choose to sign that paper, or if you don’t choose, makes little +difference to me, for, dear pupil, I would almost as soon have your +evidence by word of mouth.” + +“I may be a fool,” said Adrian, turning sullen; “yes, I see now that I +have been a fool to trust in you and your sham arts, but I am not fool +enough to give evidence against my own people in any of your courts. +What I have said I said never thinking that it would do them harm.” + +“Not caring whether it would do them harm or no,” corrected Ramiro, “as +you had your own object to gain—the young lady whom, by the way, you +were quite ready to doctor with a love medicine.” + +“Because love blinded me,” said Adrian loftily. + +Ramiro put his hand upon his shoulder and shook him slightly as he +answered: + +“And has it not struck you, you vain puppy, that other things may blind +you also—hot irons, for instance?” + +“What do you mean?” gasped Adrian. + +“I mean that the rack is a wonderful persuader. Oh! it makes the most +silent talk and the most solemn sing. Now take your choice. Will you +sign or will you go to the torture chamber?” + +“What right have you to question me?” asked Adrian, striving to build +up his tottering courage with bold words. + +“Just this right—that I to whom you speak am the Captain and Governor +of the Gevangenhuis in this town, an official who has certain powers.” + +Adrian turned pale but said nothing. + +“Our young friend has gone to sleep,” remarked Ramiro, reflectively. +“Here you, Simon, twist his arm a little. No, not the right arm; he may +want that to sign with, which will be awkward if it is out of joint: +the other.” + +With an ugly grin the Butcher, taking his fingers from Adrian’s throat, +gripped his captive’s left wrist, and very slowly and deliberately +began to screw it round. + +Adrian groaned. + +“Painful, isn’t it?” said Ramiro. “Well, I have no more time to waste, +break his arm.” + +Then Adrian gave in, for he was not fitted to bear torture; his +imagination was too lively. + +“I will sign,” he whispered, the perspiration pouring from his pale +face. + +“Are you quite sure you do it willingly?” queried his tormentor, +adding, “another little half-turn, please, Simon; and you, Mistress +Meg, if he begins to faint, just prick him in the thigh with your +knife.” + +“Yes, yes,” groaned Adrian. + +“Very good. Now here is the pen. Sign.” + +So Adrian signed. + +“I congratulate you upon your discretion, pupil,” remarked Ramiro, as +he scattered sand on the writing and pocketed the paper. “To-day you +have learned a very useful lesson which life teaches to most of us, +namely, that the inevitable must rule our little fancies. Let us see; I +think that by now the soldiers will have executed their task, so, as +you have done what I wished, you can go, for I shall know where to find +you if I want you. But, if you will take my advice, which I offer as +that of one friend to another, you will hold your tongue about the +events of this afternoon. Unless you speak of it, nobody need ever know +that you have furnished certain useful information, for in the +Gevangenhuis the names of witnesses are not mentioned to the accused. +Otherwise you may possibly come into trouble with your heretical +friends and relatives. Good afternoon. Brother, be so good as to open +the door for this gentleman.” + +A minute later Adrian found himself in the street, towards which he had +been helped by the kick of a heavy boot. His first impulse was to run, +and he ran for half a mile or more without stopping, till at length he +paused breathless in a deserted street, and, leaning against the wheel +of an unharnessed waggon, tried to think. Think! How could he think? +His mind was one mad whirl; rage, shame, disappointed passion, all +boiled in it like bones in a knacker’s cauldron. He had been fooled, he +had lost his love, and, oh! infamy, he had betrayed his kindred to the +hell of the Inquisition. They would be tortured and burnt. Yes, even +his mother and Elsa might be burned, since those devils respected +neither age nor sex, and their blood would be upon his head. It was +true that he had signed under compulsion, but who would believe that, +for had they not taken down his talk word for word? For once Adrian saw +himself as he was; the cloaks of vanity and self-love were stripped +from his soul, and he knew what others would think when they came to +learn the story. He thought of suicide; there was water, here was +steel, the deed would not be difficult. No, he could not; it was too +horrible. Moreover, how dared he enter the other world so unprepared, +so steeped in every sort of evil? What, then, could he do to save his +character and those whom his folly had betrayed? He looked round him; +there, not three hundred yards away, rose the tall chimney of the +factory. Perhaps there was yet time; perhaps he could still warn Foy +and Martin of the fate which awaited them. + +Acting on the impulse of the moment, Adrian started forward, running +like a hare. As he approached the building he saw that the workmen had +left, for the big doors were shut. He raced round to the small +entrance; it was open—he was through it, and figures were moving in the +office. God be praised! They were Foy and Martin. To them he sped, a +white-faced creature with gaping mouth and staring eyes, to look at +more like a ghost than a human being. + +Martin and Foy saw him and shrank back. Could this be Adrian, they +thought, or was it an evil vision? + +“Fly!” he gasped. “Hide yourselves! The officers of the Inquisition are +after you!” Then another thought struck him, and he stammered, “My +father and mother. I must warn them!” and before they could speak he +had turned and was gone, as he went crying, “Fly! Fly!” + +Foy stood astonished till Martin struck him on the shoulder, and said +roughly: + +“Come, let us get out of this. Either he is mad, or he knows something. +Have you your sword and dagger? Quick, then.” + +They passed through the door, which Martin paused to lock, and into the +courtyard. Foy reached the gate first, and looked through its open +bars. Then very deliberately he shot the bolts and turned the great +key. + +“Are you brain-sick,” asked Martin, “that you lock the gate on us?” + +“I think not,” replied Foy, as he came back to him. “It is too late to +escape. Soldiers are marching down the street.” + +Martin ran and looked through the bars. It was true enough. There they +came, fifty men or more, a whole company, headed straight for the +factory, which it was thought might be garrisoned for defence. + +“Now I can see no help but to fight for it,” Martin said cheerfully, as +he hid the keys in the bucket of the well, which he let run down to the +water. + +“What can two men do against fifty?” asked Foy, lifting his steel-lined +cap to scratch his head. + +“Not much, still, with good luck, something. At least, as nothing but a +cat can climb the walls, and the gateway is stopped, I think we may as +well die fighting as in the torture-chamber of the Gevangenhuis, for +that is where they mean to lodge us.” + +“I think so too,” answered Foy, taking courage. “Now how can we hurt +them most before they quiet us?” + +Martin looked round reflectively. In the centre of the courtyard stood +a building not unlike a pigeon-house, or the shelter that is sometimes +set up in the middle of a market beneath which merchants gather. In +fact it was a shot tower, where leaden bullets of different sizes were +cast and dropped through an opening in the floor into a shallow tank +below to cool, for this was part of the trade of the foundry. + +“That would be a good place to hold,” he said; “and crossbows hang upon +the walls.” + +Foy nodded, and they ran to the tower, but not without being seen, for +as they set foot upon its stair, the officer in command of the soldiers +called upon them to surrender in the name of the King. They made no +answer, and as they passed through the doorway, a bullet from an +arquebus struck its woodwork. + +The shot tower stood upon oaken piles, and the chamber above, which was +round, and about twenty feet in diameter, was reached by a broad ladder +of fifteen steps, such as is often used in stables. This ladder ended +in a little landing of about six feet square, and to the left of the +landing opened the door of the chamber where the shot were cast. They +went up into the place. + +“What shall we do now?” said Foy, “barricade the door?” + +“I can see no use in that,” answered Martin, “for then they would +batter it down, or perhaps burn a way through it. No; let us take it +off its hinges and lay it on blocks about eight inches high, so that +they may catch their shins against it when they try to rush us.” + +“A good notion,” said Foy, and they lifted off the narrow oaken door +and propped it up on four moulds of metal across the threshold, +weighting it with other moulds. Also they strewed the floor of the +landing with three-pound shot, so that men in a hurry might step on +them and fall. Another thing they did, and this was Foy’s notion. At +the end of the chamber were the iron baths in which the lead was +melted, and beneath them furnaces ready laid for the next day’s +founding. These Foy set alight, pulling out the dampers to make them +burn quickly, and so melt the leaden bars which lay in the troughs. + +“They may come underneath,” he said, pointing to the trap through which +the hot shot were dropped into the tank, “and then molten lead will be +useful.” + +Martin smiled and nodded. Then he took down a crossbow from the walls, +for in those days, when every dwelling and warehouse might have to be +used as a place of defence, it was common to keep a good store of +weapons hung somewhere ready to hand, and went to the narrow window +which overlooked the gate. + +“As I thought,” he said. “They can’t get in and don’t like the look of +the iron spikes, so they are fetching a smith to burst it open. We must +wait.” + +Very soon Foy began to fidget, for this waiting to be butchered by an +overwhelming force told upon his nerves. He thought of Elsa and his +parents, whom he would never see again; he thought of death and all the +terrors and wonders that might lie beyond it; death whose depths he +must so soon explore. He had looked to his crossbow, had tested the +string and laid a good store of quarrels on the floor beside him; he +had taken a pike from the walls and seen to its shaft and point; he had +stirred the fires beneath the leaden bars till they roared in the sharp +draught. + +“Is there nothing more to do?” he asked. + +“Yes,” replied Martin, “we might say our prayers; they will be the +last,” and suiting his action to the word, the great man knelt down, an +example which Foy followed. + +“Do you speak,” said Foy, “I can’t think of anything.” + +So Martin began a prayer which is perhaps worthy of record:— + +“O Lord,” he said, “forgive me all my sins, which are too many to +count, or at least I haven’t the time to try, and especially for +cutting off the head of the executioner with his own sword, although I +had no death quarrel with him, and for killing a Spaniard in a boxing +match. O Lord, I thank you very much because you have arranged for us +to die fighting instead of being tortured and burnt in the gaol, and I +pray that we may be able to kill enough Spaniards first to make them +remember us for years to come. O Lord, protect my dear master and +mistress, and let the former learn that we have made an end of which he +would approve, but if may be, hide it from the Paster Arentz, who might +think that we ought to surrender. That is all I have to say. Amen.” + +Then Foy did his own praying, and it was hearty enough, but we need +scarcely stop to set down its substance. + +Meanwhile the Spaniards had found a blacksmith, who was getting to work +upon the gate, for they could see him through the open upper bars. + +“Why don’t you shoot?” asked Foy. “You might catch him with a bolt.” + +“Because he is a poor Dutchman whom they have pressed for the job, +while they stand upon one side. We must wait till they break down the +gate. Also we must fight well when the time comes, Master Foy, for, +see, folk are watching us, and they will expect it,” and he pointed +upwards. + +Foy looked. The foundry courtyard was surrounded by tall gabled houses, +and of these the windows and balconies were already crowded with +spectators. Word had gone round that the Inquisition had sent soldiers +to seize one of the young Van Goorls and Red Martin—that they were +battering at the gates of the factory. Therefore the citizens, some of +them their own workmen, gathered there, for they did not think that Red +Martin and Foy van Goorl would be taken easily. + +The hammering at the gate went on, but it was very stout and would not +give. + +“Martin,” said Foy presently, “I am frightened. I feel quite sick. I +know that I shall be no good to you when the pinch comes.” + +“Now I am sure that you are a brave man,” answered Martin with a short +laugh, “for otherwise you would never have owned that you feel afraid. +Of course you feel afraid, and so do I. It is the waiting that does it; +but when once the first blow has been struck, why, you will be as happy +as a priest. Look you, master. So soon as they begin to rush the +ladder, do you get behind me, close behind, for I shall want all the +room to sweep with my sword, and if we stand side by side we shall only +hinder each other, while with a pike you can thrust past me, and be +ready to deal with any who win through.” + +“You mean that you want to shelter me with your big carcase,” answered +Foy. “But you are captain here. At least I will do my best,” and +putting his arms about the great man’s middle, he hugged him +affectionately. + +“Look! look!” cried Martin. “The gate is down. Now, first shot to you,” +and he stepped to one side. + +As he spoke the oaken doors burst open and the Spanish soldiers began +to stream through them. Suddenly Foy’s nerve returned to him and he +grew steady as a rock. Lifting his crossbow he aimed and pulled the +trigger. The string twanged, the quarrel rushed forth with a whistling +sound, and the first soldier, pierced through breastplate and through +breast, sprang into the air and fell forward. Foy stepped to one side +to string his bow. + +“Good shot,” said Martin taking his place, while from the spectators in +the windows went up a sudden shout. Martin fired and another man fell. +Then Foy fired again and missed, but Martin’s next bolt struck the last +soldier through the arm and pinned him to the timber of the broken +gate. After this they could shoot no more, for the Spaniards were +beneath them. + +“To the doorway,” said Martin, “and remember what I told you. Away with +the bows, cold steel must do the rest.” + +Now they stood by the open door, Martin, a helmet from the walls upon +his head, tied beneath his chin with a piece of rope because it was too +small for him, the great sword Silence lifted ready to strike, and Foy +behind gripping the long pike with both hands. Below them from the +gathered mob of soldiers came a confused clamour, then a voice called +out an order and they heard footsteps on the stair. + +“Look out; they are coming,” said Martin, turning his head so that Foy +caught sight of his face. It was transfigured, it was terrible. The +great red beard seemed to bristle, the pale blue unshaded eyes rolled +and glittered, they glittered like the blue steel of the sword Silence +that wavered above them. In that dread instant of expectancy Foy +remembered his vision of the morning. Lo! it was fulfilled, for before +him stood Martin, the peaceful, patient giant, transformed into a Red +Vengeance. + +A man reached the head of the ladder, stepped upon one of the loose +cannon-balls and fell with an oath and a crash. But behind him came +others. Suddenly they turned the corner, suddenly they burst into view, +three or four of them together. Gallantly they rushed on. The first of +them caught his feet in the trap of the door and fell headlong across +it. Of him Martin took no heed, but Foy did, for before ever the +soldier could rise he had driven his pike down between the man’s +shoulders, so that he died there upon the door. At the next Martin +struck, and Foy saw this one suddenly grow small and double up, which, +if he had found leisure to examine the nature of that wound, would have +surprised him very little. Another man followed so quickly that Martin +could not lift the sword to meet him. But he pointed with it, and next +instant was shaking his carcase off its blade. + +After this Foy could keep no count. Martin slashed with the sword, and +when he found a chance Foy thrust with the pike, till at length there +were none to thrust at, for this was more than the Spaniards had +bargained. Two of them lay dead in the doorway, and others had been +dragged or had tumbled down the ladder, while from the onlookers at the +windows without, as they caught sight of them being brought forth slain +or sorely wounded, went up shout upon shout of joy. + +“So far we have done very well,” said Martin quietly, “but if they come +up again, we must be cooler and not waste our strength so much. Had I +not struck so hard, I might have killed another man.” + +But the Spaniards showed no sign of coming up any more; they had seen +enough of that narrow way and of the red swordsman who awaited them in +the doorway round the corner. Indeed it was a bad place for attackers, +since they could not shoot with arquebuses or arrows, but must pass in +to be slaughtered like sheep at the shambles in the dim room beyond. +So, being cautious men who loved their lives, they took a safer +counsel. + +The tank beneath the shot-tower, when it was not in use, was closed +with a stone cover, and around this they piled firewood and peats from +a stack in the corner of the yard, and standing in the centre out of +the reach of arrows, set light to it. Martin lay down watching them +through a crack in the floor. Then he signed to Foy, and whispered, and +going to the iron baths, Foy drew from them two large buckets of molten +lead, each as much as a man could carry. Again Martin looked through +the crack, waiting till several of the burners were gathered beneath. +Then, with a swift motion he lifted up the trap-door, and as those +below stared upwards wondering, full into their faces came the buckets +of molten lead. Down went two of them never to speak more, while others +ran out shrieking and aflame, tearing at their hair and garments. + +After this the Spaniards grew more wary, and built their fires round +the oak piers till the flames eating up them fired the building, and +the room above grew full of little curling wreaths of smoke. + +“Now we must choose,” said Martin, “whether we will be roasted like +fowls in an oven, or go down and have our throats cut like pigs in the +open.” + +“For my part, I prefer to die in the air,” coughed Foy. + +“So say I, master. Listen. We can’t get down the stair, for they are +watching for us there, so we must drop from the trap-door and charge +through the fire. Then, if we are lucky, back to back and fight it +out.” + +Half a minute later two men bearing naked swords in their hands might +be seen bursting through the barrier of flaming wood. Out they came +safely enough, and there in an open space not far from the gateway, +halted back to back, rubbing the water from their smarting eyes. On +them, a few seconds later, like hounds on a wounded boar, dashed the +mob of soldiers, while from every throat of the hundreds who were +watching went up shrill cries of encouragement, grief, and fear. Men +fell before them, but others rushed in. They were down, they were up +again, once more they were down, and this time only one of them rose, +the great man Martin. He staggered to his feet, shaking off the +soldiers who tried to hold him, as a dog in the game-pit shakes off +rats. He was up, he stood across the body of his companion, and once +more that fearful sword was sweeping round, bringing death to all it +touched. They drew back, but a soldier, old in war, creeping behind him +suddenly threw a cloak over his head. Then the end came, and slowly, +very slowly, they overmatched his strength, and bore him down and bound +him, while the watching mob groaned and wept with grief. + + + + +CHAPTER XX +IN THE GEVANGENHUIS + + +When Adrian left the factory he ran on to the house in the Bree Straat. + +“Oh! what has happened?” said his mother as he burst into the room +where she and Elsa were at work. + +“They are coming for him,” he gasped. “The soldiers from the +Gevangenhuis. Where is he? Let him escape quickly—my stepfather.” + +Lysbeth staggered and fell back into her chair. + +“How do you know?” she asked. + +At the question Adrian’s head swam and his heart stood still. Yet his +lips found a lie. + +“I overheard it,” he said; “the soldiers are attacking Foy and Martin +in the factory, and I heard them say that they were coming here for +him.” + +Elsa moaned aloud, then she turned on him like a tiger, asking: + +“If so, why did you not stay to help them?” + +“Because,” he answered with a touch of his old pomposity, “my first +duty was towards my mother and you.” + +“He is out of the house,” broke in Lysbeth in a low voice that was +dreadful to hear. “He is out of the house, I know not where. Go, son, +and search for him. Swift! Be swift!” + +So Adrian went forth, not sorry to escape the presence of these +tormented women. Here and there he wandered to one haunt of Dirk’s +after another, but without success, till at length a noise of tumult +drew him, and he ran towards the sound. Presently he was round the +corner, and this was what he saw. + +Advancing down the wide street leading to the Gevangenhuis came a body +of Spanish soldiers, and in the centre of them were two figures whom it +was easy for Adrian to recognise—Red Martin and his brother Foy. +Martin, although his bull-hide jerkin was cut and slashed and his +helmet had gone, seemed to be little hurt, for he was still upright and +proud, walking along with his arms lashed behind him, while a Spanish +officer held the point of a sword, his own sword Silence, near his +throat ready to drive it home should he attempt to escape. With Foy the +case was different. At first Adrian thought that he was dead, for they +were carrying him upon a ladder. Blood fell from his head and legs, +while his doublet seemed literally to be rent to pieces with sword-cuts +and dagger-thrusts; and in truth had it not been for the shirt of mail +which he wore beneath, he must have been slain several times over. But +Foy was not dead, for as Adrian watched he saw his head turn upon the +ladder and his hand rise up and fall again. + +But this was not all, for behind appeared a cart drawn by a grey horse, +and in it were the bodies of Spanish soldiers—how many Adrian could not +tell, but there they lay with their harness still on them. After these +again, in a long and melancholy procession, marched other Spanish +soldiers, some of them sorely wounded, and, like Foy, carried upon +doors or ladders, and others limping forward with the help of their +comrades. No wonder that Martin walked proudly to his doom, since +behind him came the rich harvest of the sword Silence. Also, there were +other signs to see and hear, since about the cavalcade surged and +roared a great mob of the citizens of Leyden. + +“Bravo, Martin! Well fought, Foy van Goorl!” they shouted, “We are +proud of you! We are proud of you!” Then from the back of the crowd +someone cried, “Rescue them!” “Kill the Inquisition dogs!” “Tear the +Spaniards to pieces!” + +A stone flew through the air, then another and another, but at a word +of command the soldiers faced about and the mob drew back, for they had +no leader. So it went on till they were within a hundred yards of the +Gevangenhuis. + +“Don’t let them be murdered,” cried the voice. “A rescue! a rescue!” +and with a roar the crowd fell upon the soldiers. It was too late, for +the Spaniards, trained to arms, closed up and fought their way through, +taking their prisoners with them. But they cost them dear, for the +wounded men, and those who supported them, were cut off. They were cut +off, they were struck down. In a minute they were dead, every one of +them, and although they still held its fortresses and walls, from that +hour the Spaniards lost their grip of Leyden, nor did they ever win it +back again. From that hour to this Leyden has been free. Such were the +first fruits of the fight of Foy and Martin against fearful odds. + +The great doors of oak and iron of the Gevangenhuis clashed to behind +the prisoners, the locks were shot, and the bars fell home, while +outside raved the furious crowd. + +The place was not large nor very strong, merely a drawbridge across the +narrow arm of a moat, a gateway with a walled courtyard beyond, and +over it a three-storied house built in the common Dutch fashion, but +with straight barrel windows. To the right, under the shadow of the +archway, which, space being limited, was used as an armoury, and hung +with weapons, lay the court-room where prisoners were tried, and to the +left a vaulted place with no window, not unlike a large cellar in +appearance. This was the torture-chamber. Beyond was the courtyard, and +at the back of it rose the prison. In this yard were waiting the new +governor of the jail, Ramiro, and with him a little red-faced, pig-eyed +man dressed in a rusty doublet. He was the Inquisitor of the district, +especially empowered as delegate of the Blood Council and under various +edicts and laws to try and to butcher heretics. + +The officer in command of the troops advanced to make his report. + +“What is all that noise?” asked the Inquisitor in a frightened, squeaky +voice. “Is this city also in rebellion?” + +“And where are the rest of you?” said Ramiro, scanning the thin files. + +“Sir,” answered the officer saluting, “the rest of us are dead. Some +were killed by this red rogue and his companion, and the mob have the +others.” + +Then Ramiro began to curse and to swear, as well he might, for he knew +that when this story reached headquarters, his credit with Alva and the +Blood Council would be gone. + +“Coward!” he yelled, shaking his fist in the face of the officer. +“Coward to lose a score or more of men in taking a brace of heretics.” + +“Don’t blame me, sir,” answered the man sullenly, for the word stirred +his bile, “blame the mob and this red devil’s steel, which went through +us as though we were wet clay,” and he handed him the sword Silence. + +“It fits the man,” muttered Montalvo, “for few else could wield such a +blade. Go hang it in the doorway, it may be wanted in evidence,” but to +himself he thought, “Bad luck again, the luck that follows me whenever +I pit myself against Lysbeth van Hout.” Then he gave an order, and the +two prisoners were taken away up some narrow stairs. + +At the top of the first flight was a solid door through which they +passed, to find themselves in a large and darksome place. Down the +centre of this place ran a passage. On either side of the passage, +dimly lighted by high iron-barred windows, were cages built of massive +oaken bars, and measuring each of them eight or ten feet square, very +dens such as might have served for wild beasts, but filled with human +beings charged with offences against the doctrines of the Church. Those +who chance to have seen the prison of the Inquisition at The Hague as +it still stands to-day, will know what they were like. + +Into one of these dreadful holes they were thrust, Foy, wounded as he +was, being thrown roughly upon a heap of dirty straw in the corner. +Then, having bolted and locked the door of their den, the soldiers left +them. + +As soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Martin stared about +him. The conveniences of the dungeon were not many; indeed, being built +above the level of the ground, it struck the imagination as even more +terrible than any subterranean vault devoted to the same dreadful +purpose. By good fortune, however, in one corner of it stood an +earthenware basin and a large jug of water. + +“I will take the risk of its being poisoned,” thought Martin to +himself, as lifting the jug he drank deep of it, for what between +fighting, fire and fury there seemed to be no moisture left in him. +Then, his burning thirst satisfied at last, he went to where Foy lay +unconscious and began to pour water, little by little, into his mouth, +which, senseless as he was, he swallowed mechanically and presently +groaned a little. Next, as well as he could, Martin examined his +comrade’s wounds, to find that what had made him insensible was a cut +upon the right side of the head, which, had it not been for his +steel-lined cap, must certainly have killed him, but as it was, beyond +the shock and bruise, seemed in no way serious. + +His second hurt was a deep wound in the left thigh, but being on the +outside of the limb, although he bled much it had severed no artery. +Other injuries he had also upon the forearms and legs, also beneath the +chain shirt his body was bruised with the blows of swords and daggers. +But none of these were dangerous. + +Martin stripped him as tenderly as he might and washed his wounds. Then +he paused, for both of them were wearing garments of flannel, which is +unsuitable for the dressing of hurts. + +“You need linen,” said a woman’s voice, speaking from the next den. +“Wait awhile and I will give you my smock.” + +“How can I take your garment, lady, whoever you may be,” answered +Martin, “to bind about the limbs of a man even if he is wounded?” + +“Take it and welcome,” said the unknown in sweet, low tones, “I want it +no more; they are going to execute me to-night.” + +“Execute you to-night?” muttered Martin. + +“Yes,” replied the voice, “in the court-room or one of the cellars, I +believe, as they dare not do it outside because of the people. By +beheading—am I not fortunate? Only by beheading.” + +“Oh! God, where art Thou?” groaned Martin. + +“Don’t be sorry for me,” answered the voice, “I am very glad. There +were three of us, my father, my sister, and I, and—you can guess—well, +I wish to join them. Also it is better to die than to go through what I +have suffered again. But here is the garment. I fear that it is stained +about the neck, but it will serve if you tear it into strips,” and a +trembling, delicate hand, which held the linen, was thrust between the +oaken bars. + +Even in that light, however, Martin saw that the wrist was cut and +swollen. He saw it, and because of that tender, merciful hand he +registered an oath about priests and Spaniards, which, as it chanced, +he lived to keep very thoroughly. Also, he paused awhile wondering +whether if all this was of any good, wondering if it would not be best +to let Foy die at once, or even to kill him. + +“What are you thinking about, sir?” asked the lady on the other side of +the bars. + +“I am thinking,” answered Martin, “that perhaps my young master here +would be better dead, and that I am a fool to stop the bleeding.” + +“No, no,” said the sweet voice, “do your utmost and leave the rest to +God. It pleases God that I should die, which matters little as I am but +a weak girl; it may please Him that this young man shall live to be of +service to his country and his faith. I say, bind up his wounds, good +sir.” + +“Perhaps you are right,” answered Martin. “Who knows, there’s a key to +every lock, if only it can be found.” Then he set to work upon Foy’s +wounds, binding them round with strips of the girl’s garment dipped in +water, and when he had done the best he could he clothed him again, +even to the chain shirt. + +“Are you not hurt yourself?” asked the voice presently. + +“A little, nothing to speak of; a few cuts and bruises, that’s all; +this bull’s hide turned their swords.” + +“Tell me whom you have been fighting,” she said. + +So, to while away the time while Foy still lay senseless, Martin told +her the story of the attack upon the shot tower, of how they had driven +the Spaniards down the ladder, of how they had drenched them with +molten lead, and of their last stand in the courtyard when they were +forced from the burning building. + +“Oh! what a fearful fight—two against so many,” said the voice with a +ring of admiration in it. + +“Yes,” answered Martin, “it was a good fight—the hottest that ever I +was in. For myself I don’t much care, for they’ve paid a price for my +carcase. I didn’t tell you, did I, that the mob set on them as they +haled us here and pulled four wounded men and those who carried them to +bits? Oh! yes, they have paid a price, a very good price for a Frisian +boor and a Leyden burgher.” + +“God pardon their souls,” murmured the unknown. + +“That’s as He likes,” said Martin, “and no affair of mine; I had only +to do with their bodies and—” At this moment Foy groaned, sat up and +asked for something to drink. + +Martin gave him water from the pitcher. + +“Where am I?” he asked, and he told him. + +“Martin, old fellow,” said Foy in an uncertain voice, “we are in a very +bad way, but as we have lived through this”—here his characteristic +hopefulness asserted itself—“I believe, I believe that we shall live +through the rest.” + +“Yes, young sir,” echoed the thin, faint notes out of the darkness +beyond the bars, “I believe, too, that you will live through the rest, +and I am praying that it may be so.” + +“Who is that?” asked Foy drowsily. + +“Another prisoner,” answered Martin. + +“A prisoner who will soon be free,” murmured the voice again through +the blackness, for by now night had fallen, and no light came from the +hole above. + +Then Foy fell into sleep or stupor, and there was silence for a long +while, until they heard the bolts and bars of the door of the dungeon +creaking, and the glint of a lantern appeared floating on the gloom. +Several men tramped down the narrow gangway, and one of them, unlocking +their cage, entered, filled the jug of water from a leathern jack, and +threw down some loaves of black bread and pieces of stockfish, as food +is thrown to dogs. Having examined the pair of them he grunted and went +away, little knowing how near he had been to death, for the heart of +Martin was mad. But he let him go. Then the door of the next cell was +opened, and a man said, “Come out. It is time.” + +“It is time and I am ready,” answered the thin voice. “Good-bye, +friends, God be with you.” + +“Good-bye, lady,” answered Martin; “may you soon be with God.” Then he +added, by an afterthought, “What is your name? I should like to know.” + +“Mary,” she replied, and began to sing a hymn, and so, still singing +the hymn, she passed away to her death. They never saw her face, they +never learned who she might be, this poor girl who was but an item +among the countless victims of perhaps the most hideous tyranny that +the world has ever known—one of Alva’s slaughtered sixty thousand. But +many years afterwards, when Foy was a rich man in a freer land, he +built a church and named it Mary’s kirk. + +The long night wore away in silence, broken only by the groans and +prayers of prisoners in dens upon the same floor, or with the solemn +rhythm of hymns sung by those above, till at length the light, creeping +through the dungeon lattices, told them that it was morning. At its +first ray Martin awoke much refreshed, for even there his health and +weariness had brought sleep to him. Foy also awoke, stiff and sore, but +in his right mind and very hungry. Then Martin found the loaves and the +stockfish, and they filled themselves, washing down the meal with +water, after which he dressed Foy’s wounds, making a poultice for them +out of the crumb of the bread, and doctored his own bruises as best he +could. + +It must have been ten o’clock or later when again the doors were +opened, and men appeared who commanded that they should follow them. + +“One of us can’t walk,” said Martin; “still, perhaps I can manage,” +and, lifting Foy in his arms as though he had been a baby, he passed +with the jailers out of the den, down the stair, and into the +court-room. Here, seated behind a table, they found Ramiro and the +little, squeaky-voiced, red-faced Inquisitor. + +“Heaven above us!” said the Inquisitor, “what a great hairy ruffian; it +makes me feel nervous to be in the same place with him. I beg you, +Governor Ramiro, instruct your soldiers to be watching and to stab him +at the first movement.” + +“Have no fear, noble sir,” answered Ramiro, “the villain is quite +unarmed.” + +“I daresay, I daresay, but let us get on. Now what is the charge +against these people? Ah! I see, heresy like the last upon the evidence +of—oh! well, never mind. Well, we will take that as proved, and, of +course, it is enough. But what more? Ah! here it is. Escaped from The +Hague with the goods of a heretic, killed sundry of his Majesty’s +lieges, blew up others on the Haarlemer Meer, and yesterday, as we know +for ourselves, committed a whole series of murders in resisting lawful +arrest. Prisoners, have you anything to say?” + +“Plenty,” answered Foy. + +“Then save your trouble and my time, since nothing can excuse your +godless, rebellious, and damnable behaviour. Friend Governor, into your +hands I deliver them, and may God have mercy on their souls. See, by +the way, that you have a priest at hand to shrive them at last, if they +will be shriven, just for the sake of charity, but all the other +details I leave to you. Torment? Oh! of course if you think there is +anything to be gained by it, or that it will purify their souls. And +now I will be going on to Haarlem, for I tell you frankly, friend +Governor, that I don’t think this town of Leyden safe for an honest +officer of the law; there are too many bad characters here, schismatics +and resisters of authority. What? The warrant not ready? Well, I will +sign it in blank. You can fill it in. There. God forgive you, heretics; +may your souls find peace, which is more, I fear, than your bodies will +for the next few hours. Bah! friend Governor, I wish that you had not +made me assist at the execution of that girl last night, especially as +I understand she leaves no property worth having; her white face haunts +my mind, I can’t be rid of the look of those great eyes. Oh! these +heretics, to what sorrow do they put us orthodox people! Farewell, +friend Governor; yes, I think I will go out by the back way, some of +those turbulent citizens might be waiting in front. Farewell, and +temper justice with mercy if you can,” and he was gone. + +Presently Ramiro, who had accompanied him to the gate, returned. +Seating himself on the further side of the table, he drew his rapier +and laid it before him. Then, having first commanded them to bring a +chair in which Foy might sit, since he could not stand because of his +wounded leg, he told the guard to fall back out of hearing, but to be +ready should he need them. + +“Not much dignity about that fellow,” he said, addressing Martin and +Foy in a cheerful voice; “quite different from the kind of thing you +expected, I daresay. No hooded Dominican priests, no clerks taking +notes, no solemnities, nothing but a little red-faced wretch, +perspiring with terror lest the mob outside should catch him, as for my +part I hope they may. Well, gentlemen, what can you expect, seeing +that, to my knowledge, the man is a bankrupt tailor of Antwerp? +However, it is the substance we have to deal with, not the shadow, and +that’s real enough, for his signature on a death warrant is as good as +that of the Pope, or his gracious Majesty King Philip, or, for the +matter of that, of Alva himself. Therefore, you are—dead men.” + +“As you would have been had I not been fool enough to neglect Martin’s +advice out in the Haarlemer Meer and let you escape,” answered Foy. + +“Precisely, my young friend, but you see my guardian angel was too many +for you, and you did neglect that excellent counsel. But, as it +happens, it is just about the Haarlemer Meer that I want to have a word +with you.” + +Foy and Martin looked at each other, for now they understood exactly +why they were there, and Ramiro, watching them out of the corners of +his eyes, went on in a low voice: + +“Let us drop this and come to business. You hid it, and you know where +it is, and I am in need of a competence for my old age. Now, I am not a +cruel man; I wish to put no one to pain or death; moreover, I tell you +frankly, I admire both of you very much. The escape with the treasure +on board of your boat _Swallow_, and the blowing up, were both +exceedingly well managed, with but one mistake which you, young sir, +have pointed out,” and he bowed and smiled. “The fight that you made +yesterday, too, was splendid, and I have entered the details of it in +my own private diary, because they ought not to be forgotten.” + +Now it was Foy’s turn to bow, while even on Martin’s grim and impassive +countenance flickered a faint smile. + +“Naturally,” went on Ramiro, “I wish to save such men, I wish you to go +hence quite free and unharmed,” and he paused. + +“How can we after we have been condemned to death?” asked Foy. + +“Well, it does not seem so difficult. My friend, the tailor—I mean the +Inquisitor—who, for all his soft words, _is_ a cruel man indeed, was in +a hurry to be gone, and—he signed a blank warrant, always an incautious +thing to do. Well, a judge can acquit as well as condemn, and this +one—is no exception. What is there to prevent me filling this paper in +with an order for your release?” + +“And what is there to show us that you would release us after all?” +asked Foy. + +“Upon the honour of a gentleman,” answered Ramiro laying his hand on +his heart. “Tell me what I want to know, give me a week to make certain +necessary arrangements, and so soon as I am back you shall both of you +be freed.” + +“Doubtless,” said Foy, angrily, “upon such honour as gentlemen learn in +the galleys, Señor Ramiro—I beg your pardon, Count Juan de Montalvo.” + +Ramiro’s face grew crimson to the hair. + +“Sir,” he said, “were I a different sort of man, for those words you +should die in a fashion from which even the boldest might shrink. But +you are young and inexperienced, so I will overlook them. Now this +bargaining must come to a head. Which will you have, life and safety, +or the chance—which under the circumstances is no chance at all—that +one day, not you, of course, but somebody interested in it, may recover +a hoard of money and jewels?” + +Then Martin spoke for the first time, very slowly and respectfully. + +“Worshipful sir,” he said, “we cannot tell you where the money is +because we do not know. To be frank with you, nobody ever knew except +myself. I took the stuff and sank it in the water in a narrow channel +between two islands, and I made a little drawing of them on a piece of +paper.” + +“Exactly, my good friend, and where is that piece of paper?” + +“Alas! sir, when I was lighting the fuses on board the _Swallow_, I let +it fall in my haste, and it is—in exactly the same place as are all +your worship’s worthy comrades who were on board that ship. I believe, +however, that if you will put yourself under my guidance I could show +your Excellency the spot, and this, as I do not want to be killed, I +should be most happy to do.” + +“Good, simple man,” said Ramiro with a little laugh, “how charming is +the prospect that you paint of a midnight row with you upon those +lonely waters; the tarantula and the butterfly arm in arm! Mynheer van +Goorl, what have you to say?” + +“Only that the story told by Martin here is true. I do not know where +the money is, as I was not present at its sinking, and the paper has +been lost.” + +“Indeed? I am afraid, then, that it will be necessary for me to refresh +your memory, but, first, I have one more argument, or rather two. Has +it struck you that another life may hang upon your answer? As a rule +men are loth to send their fathers to death.” + +Foy heard, and terrible as was the hint, yet it came to him as a +relief, for he had feared lest he was about to say “your mother” or +“Elsa Brant.” + +“That is my first argument, a good one, I think, but I have—another +which may appeal even more forcibly to a young man and prospective +heir. The day before yesterday you became engaged to Elsa Brant—don’t +look surprised; people in my position have long ears, and you needn’t +be frightened, the young lady will not be brought here; she is too +valuable.” + +“Be so good as to speak plainly,” said Foy. + +“With pleasure. You see this girl is the heiress, is she not? and +whether or no I find out the facts from you, sooner or later, in this +way or that, she will doubtless discover where her heritage is hidden. +Well, that fortune a husband would have the advantage of sharing. I +myself labour at present under no matrimonial engagements, and am in a +position to obtain an introduction—ah! my friend, are you beginning to +see that there are more ways of killing a dog than by hanging him?” + +Weak and wounded as he was, Foy’s heart sank in him at the words of +this man, this devil who had betrayed his mother with a mock marriage, +and who was the father of Adrian. The idea of making the heiress his +wife was one worthy of his evil ingenuity, and why should he not put it +into practice? Elsa, of course, would rebel, but Alva’s officials in +such days had means of overcoming any maidenly reluctance, or at least +of forcing women to choose between death and degradation. Was it not +common for them even to dissolve marriages in order to give heretics to +new husbands who desired their wealth? There was no justice left in the +land; human beings were the chattels and slaves of their oppressors. Oh +God! what was there to do, except to trust in God? Why should they be +tortured, murdered, married against their wills, for the sake of a +miserable pile of pelf? Why not tell the truth and let the fellow take +the money? He had measured up his man, and believed that he could drive +a bargain with him. Ramiro wanted money, not lives. He was no fanatic; +horrors gave him no pleasure; he cared nothing about his victims’ +souls. As he had betrayed his mother, Lysbeth, for cash, so he would be +willing to let them all go for cash. Why not make the exchange? + +Then distinct, formidable, overwhelming, the answer rose up in Foy’s +mind. Because he had sworn to his father that nothing which could be +imagined should induce him to reveal this secret and betray this trust. +And not only to his father, to Hendrik Brant also, who already had +given his own life to keep his treasure out of the hands of the +Spaniards, believing that in some unforeseen way it would advantage his +own land and countrymen. No, great as was the temptation, he must keep +the letter of his bond and pay its dreadful price. So again Foy +answered, + +“It is useless to try to bribe me, for I do not know where the money +is.” + +“Very well, Heer Foy van Goorl, now we have a plain issue before us, +but I will still try to protect you against yourself—the warrant shall +remain blank for a little while.” + +Then he called aloud, “Sergeant, ask the Professor Baptiste to be so +good as to step this way.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI +HOW MARTIN TURNED COWARD + + +The sergeant left the room and presently returned, followed by the +Professor, a tall hang-dog looking rogue, clad in rusty black, with +broad, horny hands, and nails bitten down to the quick. + +“Good morning to you, Professor,” said Ramiro. “Here are two subjects +for your gentle art. You will begin upon the big one, and from time to +time report progress, and be sure, if he becomes willing to reveal what +I want to know—never mind what it is, that is my affair—come to summon +me at once.” + +“What methods does your Excellency wish employed?” + +“Man, I leave that to you. Am I a master of your filthy trade? Any +method, provided it is effective.” + +“I don’t like the look of him,” grumbled the Professor, gnawing at his +short nails. “I have heard about this mad brute; he is capable of +anything.” + +“Then take the whole guard with you; one naked wretch can’t do much +against eight armed men. And, listen; take the young gentleman also, +and let him see what goes on; the experience may modify his views, but +don’t touch him without telling me. I have reports to write, and shall +stop here.” + +“I don’t like the look of him,” repeated the Professor. “I say that he +makes me feel cold down the back—he has the evil eye; I’d rather begin +with the young one.” + +“Begone and do what I tell you,” said Ramiro, glaring at him fiercely. +“Guard, attend upon the executioner Baptiste.” + +“Bring them along,” grumbled the Professor. + +“No need for violence, worthy sir,” muttered Martin; “show the way and +we follow,” and stooping down he lifted Foy from his chair. + +Then the procession started. First went Baptiste and four soldiers, +next came Martin bearing Foy, and after them four more soldiers. They +passed out of the courtroom into the passage beneath the archway. +Martin, shuffling along slowly, glanced down it and saw that on the +wall, among some other weapons, hung his own sword, Silence. The big +doors were locked and barred, but at the wicket by the side of them +stood a sentry, whose office it was to let people in and out upon their +lawful business. Making pretence to shift Foy in his arms, Martin +scanned this wicket as narrowly as time would allow, and observed that +it seemed to be secured by means of iron bolts at the top and the +bottom, but that it was not locked, since the socket into which the +tongue went was empty. Doubtless, while he was on guard there, the +porter did not think it necessary to go to the pains of using the great +key that hung at his girdle. + +The sergeant in charge of the victims opened a low and massive door, +which was almost exactly opposite to that of the court-room, by +shooting back a bolt and pushing it ajar. Evidently the place beyond at +some time or other had been used as a prison, which accounted for the +bolt on the outside. A few seconds later and they were locked into the +torture-chamber of the Gevangenhuis, which was nothing more than a +good-sized vault like that of a cellar, lit with lamps, for no light of +day was suffered to enter here, and by a horrid little fire that +flickered on the floor. The furnitures of the place may be guessed at; +those that are curious about such things can satisfy themselves by +examining the mediaeval prisons at The Hague and elsewhere. Let us pass +them over as unfit even for description, although these terrors, of +which we scarcely like to speak to-day, were very familiar to the sight +of our ancestors of but three centuries ago. + +Martin sat Foy down upon some terrible engine that roughly resembled a +chair, and once more let his blue eyes wander about him. Amongst the +various implements was one leaning against the wall, not very far from +the door, which excited his especial interest. It was made for a +dreadful purpose, but Martin reflected only that it seemed to be a +stout bar of iron exactly suited to the breaking of anybody’s head. + +“Come,” sneered the Professor, “undress that big gentleman while I make +ready his little bed.” + +So the soldiers stripped Martin, nor did they assault him with sneers +and insults, for they remembered the man’s deeds of yesterday, and +admired his strength and endurance, and the huge, muscular frame +beneath their hands. + +“Now he is ready if you are,” said the sergeant. + +The Professor rubbed his hands. + +“Come on, my little man,” he said. + +Then Martin’s nerve gave way, and he began to shiver and to shake. + +“Oho!” laughed the Professor, “even in this stuffy place he is cold +without his clothes; well we must warm him—we must warm him.” + +“Who would have thought that a big fellow, who can fight well, too, was +such a coward at heart,” said the sergeant of the guard to his +companions. “After all, he will give no more play than a Rhine salmon.” + +Martin heard the words, and was seized with such an intense access of +fear that he burst into a sweat all over his body. + +“I can’t bear it,” he said, covering his eyes—which, however, he did +not shut—with his fingers. “The rack was always my nightmare, and now I +see why. I’ll tell all I know.” + +“Oh! Martin, Martin,” broke out Foy in a kind of wail, “I was doing my +best to keep my own courage; I never dreamt that you would turn +coward.” + +“Every well has a bottom, master,” whined Martin, “and mine is the +rack. Forgive me, but I can’t abide the sight of it.” + +Foy stared at him open-mouthed. Could he believe his ears? And if +Martin was so horribly scared, why did his eye glint in that peculiar +way between his fingers? He had seen this light in it before, no later +indeed than the last afternoon just as the soldiers tried to rush the +stair. He gave up the problem as insoluble, but from that moment he +watched very narrowly. + +“Do you hear what this young lady says, Professor Baptiste?” said the +sergeant. “She says” (imitating Martin’s whine) “that she’ll tell all +she knows.” + +“Then the great cur might have saved me this trouble. Stop here with +him. I must go and inform the Governor; those are my orders. No, no, +you needn’t give him clothes yet—that cloth is enough—one can never be +sure.” + +Then he walked to the door and began to unlock it, as he went striking +Martin in the face with the back of his hand, and saying, + +“Take that, cur.” Whereat, as Foy observed, the cowed prisoner +perspired more profusely than before, and shrank away towards the wall. + +God in Heaven! What had happened? The door of the torture den was +opened, and suddenly, uttering the words, “_To me, Foy!_” Martin made a +movement more quick than he could follow. Something flew up and fell +with a fearful thud upon the executioner in the doorway. The guard +sprang forward, and a great bar of iron, hurled with awful force into +their faces, swept two of them broken to the ground. Another instant, +and one arm was about his middle, the next they were outside the door, +Martin standing straddle-legged over the body of the dead Professor +Baptiste. + +They were outside the door, but it was not shut, for now, on the other +side of it six men were pushing with all their might and main. Martin +dropped Foy. “Take his dagger and look out for the porter,” he gasped +as he hurled himself against the door. + +In a second Foy had drawn the weapon out of the belt of the dead man, +and wheeled round. The porter from the wicket was running on them sword +in hand. Foy forgot that he was wounded—for the moment his leg seemed +sound again. He doubled himself up and sprang at the man like a +wild-cat, as one springs who has the rack behind him. There was no +fight, yet in that thrust the skill which Martin had taught him so +patiently served him well, for the sword of the Spaniard passed over +his head, whereas Foy’s long dagger went through the porter’s throat. A +glance showed Foy that from him there was nothing more to fear, so he +turned. + +“Help if you can,” groaned Martin, as well he might, for with his naked +shoulder wedged against one of the cross pieces of the door he was +striving to press it to so that the bolt could be shot into its socket. + +Heavens! what a struggle was that. Martin’s blue eyes seemed to be +starting from his head, his tongue lolled out and the muscles of his +body rose in great knots. Foy hopped to him and pushed as well as he +was able. It was little that he could do standing upon one leg only, +for now the sinews of the other had given way again; still that little +made the difference, for let the soldiers on the further side strive as +they might, slowly, very slowly, the thick door quivered to its frame. +Martin glanced at the bolt, for he could not speak, and with his left +hand Foy slowly worked it forward. It was stiff with disuse, it caught +upon the edge of the socket. + +“Closer,” he gasped. + +Martin made an effort so fierce that it was hideous to behold, for +beneath the pressure the blood trickled from his nostrils, but the door +went in the sixteenth of an inch and the rusty bolt creaked home into +its stone notch. + +Martin stepped back, and for a moment stood swaying like a man about to +fall. Then, recovering himself, he leapt at the sword Silence which +hung upon the wall and passed its thong over his right wrist. Next he +turned towards the door of the court-room. + +“Where are you going?” asked Foy. + +“To bid _him_ farewell,” hissed Martin. + +“You’re mad,” said Foy; “let’s fly while we can. That door may +give—they are shouting.” + +“Perhaps you are right,” answered Martin doubtfully. “Come. On to my +back with you.” + +A few seconds later the two soldiers on guard outside the Gevangenhuis +were amazed to see a huge, red-bearded man, naked save for a +loin-cloth, and waving a great bare sword, who carried upon his back +another man, rush straight at them with a roar. They never waited his +onset; they were terrified and thought that he was a devil. This way +and that they sprang, and the man with his burden passed between them +over the little drawbridge down the street of the city, heading for the +Morsch poort. + +Finding their wits again the guards started in pursuit, but a voice +from among the passers-by cried out: + +“It is Martin, Red Martin, and Foy van Goorl, who escape from the +Gevangenhuis,” and instantly a stone flew towards the soldiers. + +Then, bearing in mind the fate of their comrades on the yesterday, +those men scuttled back to the friendly shelter of the prison gate. +When at length Ramiro, growing weary of waiting, came out from an inner +chamber beyond the court-room, where he had been writing, to find the +Professor and the porter dead in the passage, and the yelling guard +locked in his own torture-chamber, why, then those sentries declared +that they had seen nothing at all of prisoners clothed or naked. + +For a while he believed them, and mighty was the hunt from the +clock-tower of the Gevangenhuis down to the lowest stone of its +cellars, yes, and even in the waters of the moat. But when the Governor +found out the truth it went very ill with those soldiers, and still +worse with the guard from whom Martin had escaped in the torture-room +like an eel out of the hand of a fish-wife. For by this time Ramiro’s +temper was roused, and he began to think that he had done ill to return +to Leyden. + +But he had still a card to play. In a certain room in the Gevangenhuis +sat another victim. Compared to the dreadful dens where Foy and Martin +had been confined this was quite a pleasant chamber upon the first +floor, being reserved, indeed, for political prisoners of rank, or +officers captured upon the field who were held to ransom. Thus it had a +real window, secured, however, by a double set of iron bars, which +overlooked the little inner courtyard and the gaol kitchen. Also it was +furnished after a fashion, and was more or less clean. This prisoner +was none other than Dirk van Goorl, who had been neatly captured as he +returned towards his house after making certain arrangements for the +flight of his family, and hurried away to the gaol. On that morning +Dirk also had been put upon his trial before the squeaky-voiced and +agitated ex-tailor. He also had been condemned to death, the method of +his end, as in the case of Foy and Martin, being left in the hands of +the Governor. Then they led him back to his room, and shot the bolts +upon him there. + +Some hours later a man entered his cell, to the door of which he was +escorted by soldiers, bringing him food and drink. He was one of the +cooks and, as it chanced, a talkative fellow. + +“What passes in this prison, friend?” asked Dirk looking up, “that I +see people running to and fro across the courtyard, and hear trampling +and shouts in the passages? Is the Prince of Orange coming, perchance, +to set all of us poor prisoners free?” and he smiled sadly. + +“Umph!” grunted the man, “we have prisoners here who set themselves +free without waiting for any Prince of Orange. Magicians they must +be—magicians and nothing less.” + +Dirk’s interest was excited. Putting his hand into his pocket he drew +out a gold piece, which he gave to the man. + +“Friend,” he said, “you cook my food, do you not, and look after me? +Well, I have a few of these about me, and if you prove kind they may as +well find their way into your pocket as into those of your betters. Do +you understand?” + +The man nodded, took the money, and thanked him. + +“Now,” went on Dirk, “while you clean the room, tell me about this +escape, for small things amuse those who hear no tidings.” + +“Well, Mynheer,” answered the man, “this is the tale of it so far as I +can gather. Yesterday they captured two fellows, heretics I suppose, +who made a good fight and did them much damage in a warehouse. I don’t +know their names, for I am a stranger to this town, but I saw them +brought in; a young fellow, who seemed to be wounded in the leg and +neck, and a great red-bearded giant of a man. They were put upon their +trial this morning, and afterwards sent across, the two of them +together, with eight men to guard them, to call upon the Professor—you +understand?” + +Dirk nodded, for this Professor was well known in Leyden. “And then?” +he asked. + +“And then? Why, Mother in Heaven! they came out, that’s all—the big man +stripped and carrying the other on his back. Yes, they killed the +Professor with the branding iron, and out they came—like ripe peas from +a pod.” + +“Impossible!” said Dirk. + +“Very well, perhaps you know better than I do; perhaps it is impossible +also that they should have pushed the door to, let all those Spanish +cocks inside do what they might, and bolted them in; perhaps it is +impossible that they should have spitted the porter and got clean away +through the outside guards, the big one still carrying the other upon +his back. Perhaps all these things are impossible, but they’re true +nevertheless, and if you don’t believe me, after they get away from the +whipping-post, just ask the bridge guard why they ran so fast when they +saw that great, naked, blue-eyed fellow come at them roaring like a +lion, with his big sword flashing above his head. Oh! there’s a pretty +to-do, I can tell you, a pretty to-do, and in meal or malt we shall all +pay the price of it, from the Governor down. Indeed, some backs are +paying it now.” + +“But, friend, were they not taken outside the gaol?” + +“Taken? Who was to take them when the rascally mob made them an escort +five hundred strong as they went down the street? No, they are far away +from Leyden now, you may swear to that. I must be going, but if there +is anything you’d like while you’re here just tell me, and as you are +so liberal I’ll try and see that you get what you want.” + +As the bolts were shot home behind the man Dirk clasped his hands and +almost laughed aloud with joy. So Martin was free and Foy was free, and +until they could be taken again the secret of the treasure remained +safe. Montalvo would never have it, of that he was sure. And as for his +own fate? Well, he cared little about it, especially as the Inquisitor +had decreed that, being a man of so much importance, he was not to be +put to the “question.” This order, however, was prompted, not by mercy, +but by discretion, since the fellow knew that, like other of the +Holland towns, Leyden was on the verge of open revolt, and feared lest, +should it leak out that one of the wealthiest and most respected of its +burghers was actually being tormented for his faith’s sake, the +populace might step over the boundary line. + +When Adrian had seen the wounded Spanish soldiers and their bearers +torn to pieces by the rabble, and had heard the great door of the +Gevangenhuis close upon Foy and Martin, he turned to go home with his +evil news. But for a long while the mob would not go home, and had it +not been that the drawbridge over the moat in front of the prison was +up, and that they had no means of crossing it, probably they would have +attacked the building then and there. Presently, however, rain began to +fall and they melted away, wondering, not too happily, whether, in that +time of daily slaughter, the Duke of Alva would think a few common +soldiers worth while making a stir about. + +Adrian entered the upper room to tell his tidings, since they must be +told, and found it occupied by his mother alone. She was sitting +straight upright in her chair, her hands resting upon her knees, +staring out of the window with a face like marble. + +“I cannot find him,” he began, “but Foy and Martin are taken after a +great fight in which Foy was wounded. They are in the Gevangenhuis.” + +“I know all,” interrupted Lysbeth in a cold, heavy voice. “My husband +is taken also. Someone must have betrayed them. May God reward him! +Leave me, Adrian.” + +Then Adrian turned and crept away to his own chamber, his heart so full +of remorse and shame that at times he thought that it must burst. Weak +as he was, wicked as he was, he had never intended this, but now, oh +Heaven! his brother Foy and the man who had been his benefactor, whom +his mother loved more than her life, were through him given over to a +death worse than the mind could conceive. Somehow that night wore away, +and of this we may be sure, that it did not go half as heavily with the +victims in their dungeon as with the betrayer in his free comfort. +Thrice during its dark hours, indeed, Adrian was on the point of +destroying himself; once even he set the hilt of his sword upon the +floor and its edge against his breast, and then at the prick of steel +shrank back. + +Better would it have been for him, perhaps, could he have kept his +courage; at least he would have been spared much added shame and +misery. + +So soon as Adrian had left her Lysbeth rose, robed herself, and took +her way to the house of her cousin, van de Werff, now a successful +citizen of middle age and the burgomaster-elect of Leyden. + +“You have heard the news?” she said. + +“Alas! cousin, I have,” he answered, “and it is very terrible. Is it +true that this treasure of Hendrik Brant’s is at the bottom of it all?” + +She nodded, and answered, “I believe so.” + +“Then could they not bargain for their lives by surrendering its +secret?” + +“Perhaps. That is, Foy and Martin might—Dirk does not know its +whereabouts—he refused to know, but they have sworn that they will die +first.” + +“Why, cousin?” + +“Because they promised as much to Hendrik Brant, who believed that if +his gold could be kept from the Spaniards it would do some mighty +service to his country in time to come, and who has persuaded them all +that is so.” + +“Then God grant it may be true,” said van de Werff with a sigh, “for +otherwise it is sad to think that more lives should be sacrificed for +the sake of a heap of pelf.” + +“I know it, cousin, but I come to you to save those lives.” + +“How?” + +“How?” she answered fiercely. “Why, by raising the town; by attacking +the Gevangenhuis and rescuing them, by driving the Spaniards out of +Leyden——” + +“And thereby bringing upon ourselves the fate of Mons. Would you see +this place also given over to sack by the soldiers of Noircarmes and +Don Frederic?” + +“I care not what I see so long as I save my son and my husband,” she +answered desperately. + +“There speaks the woman, not the patriot. It is better that three men +should die than a whole city full.” + +“That is a strange argument to find in your mouth, cousin, the argument +of Caiaphas the Jew.” + +“Nay, Lysbeth, be not wroth with me, for what can I say? The Spanish +troops in Leyden are not many, it is true, but more have been sent for +from Haarlem and elsewhere after the troubles of yesterday arising out +of the capture of Foy and Martin, and in forty-eight hours at the +longest they will be here. This town is not provisioned for a siege, +its citizens are not trained to arms, and we have little powder stored. +Moreover, the city council is divided. For the killing of the Spanish +soldiers we may compound, but if we attack the Gevangenhuis, that is +open rebellion, and we shall bring the army of Don Frederic down upon +us.” + +“What matter, cousin? It will come sooner or later.” + +“Then let it come later, when we are more prepared to beat it off. Oh! +do not reproach me, for I can bear it ill, I who am working day and +night to make ready for the hour of trial. I love your husband and your +son, my heart bleeds for your sorrow and their doom, but at present I +can do nothing, nothing. You must bear your burden, they must bear +theirs, I must bear mine; we must all wander through the night not +knowing where we wander till God causes the dawn to break, the dawn of +freedom and retribution.” + +Lysbeth made no answer, only she rose and stumbled from the house, +while van de Werff sat down groaning bitterly and praying for help and +light. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII +A MEETING AND A PARTING + + +Lysbeth did not sleep that night, for even if her misery would have let +her sleep, she could not because of the physical fire that burnt in her +veins, and the strange pangs of agony which pierced her head. At first +she thought little of them, but when at last the cold light of the +autumn morning dawned she went to a mirror and examined herself, and +there upon her neck she found a hard red swelling of the size of a nut. +Then Lysbeth knew that she had caught the plague from the Vrouw Jansen, +and laughed aloud, a dreary little laugh, since if all she loved were +to die, it seemed to her good that she should die also. Elsa was abed +prostrated with grief, and, shutting herself in her room, Lysbeth +suffered none to come near her except one woman who she knew had +recovered from the plague in past years, but even to her she said +nothing of her sickness. + +About eleven o’clock in the morning this woman rushed into her chamber +crying, “They have escaped! They have escaped!” + +“Who?” gasped Lysbeth, springing from her chair. + +“Your son Foy and Red Martin,” and she told the tale of how the naked +man with the naked sword, carrying the wounded Foy upon his back, burst +his way roaring from the Gevangenhuis, and, protected by the people, +had run through the town and out of the Morsch poort, heading for the +Haarlemer Meer. + +As she listened Lysbeth’s eyes flamed up with a fire of pride. + +“Oh! good and faithful servant,” she murmured, “you have saved my son, +but alas! your master you could not save.” + +Another hour passed, and the woman appeared again bearing a letter. + +“Who brought this?” she asked. + +“A Spanish soldier, mistress.” + +Then she cut the silk and read it. It was unsigned, and ran:— + +“One in authority sends greetings to the Vrouw van Goorl. If the Vrouw +van Goorl would save the life of the man who is dearest to her, she is +prayed to veil herself and follow the bearer of this letter. For her +own safety she need have no fear; it is assured hereby.” + +Lysbeth thought awhile. This might be a trick; very probably it was a +trick to take her. Well, if so, what did it matter since she would +rather die with her husband than live on without him; moreover, why +should she turn aside from death, she in whose veins the plague was +burning? But there was another thing worse than that. She could guess +who had penned this letter; it even seemed to her, after all these many +years, that she recognised the writing, disguised though it was. Could +she face him! Well, why not—for Dirk’s sake? + +And if she refused and Dirk was done to death, would she not reproach +herself, if she lived to remember it, because she had left a stone +unturned? + +“Give me my cloak and veil,” she said to the woman, “and now go tell +the man that I am coming.” + +At the door she found the soldier, who saluted her, and said +respectfully, “Follow me, lady, but at a little distance.” + +So they started, and through side streets Lysbeth was led to a back +entrance of the Gevangenhuis, which opened and closed behind her +mysteriously, leaving her wondering whether she would ever pass that +gate again. Within a man was waiting—she did not even notice what kind +of man—who also said, “Follow me, lady,” and led her through gloomy +passages and various doors into a little empty chamber furnished with a +table and two chairs. Presently the door opened and shut; then her +whole being shrank and sickened as though beneath the breath of poison, +for there before her, still the same, still handsome, although so +marred by time and scars and evil, stood the man who had been her +husband, Juan de Montalvo. But whatever she felt Lysbeth showed nothing +of it in her face, which remained white and stern; moreover, even +before she looked at him she was aware that he feared her more than she +feared him. + +It was true, for from this woman’s eyes went out a sword of terror that +seemed to pierce Montalvo’s heart. Back flew his mind to the scene of +their betrothal, and the awful words that she had spoken then re-echoed +in his ears. How strangely things had come round, for on that day, as +on this, the stake at issue was the life of Dirk van Goorl. In the old +times she had bought it, paying as its price herself, her fortune, and, +worst of all, to a woman, her lover’s scorn and wonder. What would she +be prepared to pay now? Well, fortunately, he need ask but little of +her. And yet his soul mistrusted him of these bargainings with Lysbeth +van Hout for the life of Dirk van Goorl. The first had ended ill with a +sentence of fourteen years in the galleys, most of which he had served. +How would the second end? + +By way of answer there seemed to rise before the eye of Montalvo’s mind +a measureless black gulf, and, falling, falling, falling through its +infinite depths one miserable figure, a mere tiny point that served to +show the vastness it explored. The point turned over, and he saw its +face as in a crystal—it was his own. + +This unpleasant nightmare of the imagination came in an instant, and in +an instant passed. The next Montalvo, courteous and composed, was +bowing before his visitor and praying her to be seated. + +“It is most good of you, Vrouw van Goorl,” he began, “to have responded +so promptly to my invitation.” + +“Perhaps, Count de Montalvo,” she replied, “you will do me the favour +to set out your business in as few words as possible.” + +“Most certainly; that is my desire. Let me free your mind of +apprehension. The past has mingled memories for both of us, some of +them bitter, some, let me hope, sweet,” and he laid his hand upon his +heart and sighed. “But it is a dead past, so, dear lady, let us agree +to bury it in a fitting silence.” + +Lysbeth made no answer, only her mouth grew a trifle more stern. + +“Now, one word more, and I will come to the point. Let me congratulate +you upon the gallant deeds of a gallant son. Of course his courage and +dexterity, with that of the red giant, Martin, have told against +myself, have, in short, lost me a trick in the game. But I am an old +soldier, and I can assure you that the details of their fight yesterday +at the factory, and of their marvellous escape from—from—well, painful +surroundings this morning, have stirred my blood and made my heart beat +fast.” + +“I have heard the tale; do not trouble to repeat it,” said Lysbeth. “It +is only what I expected of them, but I thank God that it has pleased +Him to let them live on so that in due course they may fearfully avenge +a beloved father and master.” + +Montalvo coughed and turned his head with the idea of avoiding that +ghastly nightmare of a pitiful little man falling down a fathomless +gulf which had sprung up suddenly in his mind again. + +“Well,” he went on, “a truce to compliments. They escaped, and I am +glad of it, whatever murders they may contemplate in the future. Yes, +notwithstanding their great crimes and manslayings in the past I am +glad that they escaped, although it was my duty to keep them while I +could—and if I should catch them it will be my duty—but I needn’t talk +of that to you. Of course, however, you know, there is one gentleman +who was not quite so fortunate.” + +“My husband?” + +“Yes, your worthy husband, who, happily for my reputation as captain of +one of His Majesty’s prisons, occupies an upstairs room.” + +“What of him?” asked Lysbeth. + +“Dear lady, don’t be over anxious; there is nothing so wearing as +anxiety. I was coming to the matter.” Then, with a sudden change of +manner, he added, “It is needful, Lysbeth, that I should set out the +situation.” + +“What situation do you mean?” + +“Well, principally that of the treasure.” + +“What treasure?” + +“Oh! woman, do not waste time in trying to fool me. The treasure, the +vast, the incalculable treasure of Hendrik Brant which Foy van Goorl +and Martin, who have escaped”—and he ground his teeth together at the +anguish of the thought—“disposed of somewhere in the Haarlemer Meer.” + +“Well, what about this treasure?” + +“I want it, that is all.” + +“Then you had best go to seek it.” + +“That is my intention, and I shall begin the search—in the heart of +Dirk van Goorl,” he added, slowly crushing the handkerchief he held +with his long fingers as though it were a living thing that could be +choked to death. + +Lysbeth never stirred, she had expected this. + +“You will find it a poor mine to dig in,” she said, “for he knows +nothing of the whereabouts of this money. Nobody knows anything of it +now. Martin hid it, as I understand, and lost the paper, so it will lie +there till the Haarlemer Meer is drained.” + +“Dear me! Do you know I have heard that story before; yes, from the +excellent Martin himself—and, do you know, I don’t quite believe it.” + +“I cannot help what you believe or do not believe. You may remember +that it was always my habit to speak the truth.” + +“Quite so, but others may be less conscientious. See here,” and drawing +a paper from his doublet, he held it before her. It was nothing less +than the death-warrant of Dirk van Goorl, signed by the Inquisitor, +duly authorised thereto. + +Mechanically she read it and understood. + +“You will observe,” he went on, “that the method of the criminal’s +execution is left to the good wisdom of our well-beloved—etc., in plain +language, to me. Now might I trouble you so far as to look out of this +little window? What do you see in front of you? A kitchen? Quite so; +always a homely and pleasant sight in the eyes of an excellent +housewife like yourself. And—do you mind bending forward a little? What +do you see up there? A small barred window? Well, let us suppose, for +the sake of argument, that a hungry man, a man who grows hungrier and +hungrier, sat behind that window watching the cooks at their work and +seeing the meat carried into this kitchen, to come out an hour or two +later as hot, steaming, savoury joints, while he wasted, wasted, wasted +and starved, starved, starved. Don’t you think, my dear lady, that this +would be a very unpleasant experience for that man?” + +“Are you a devil?” gasped Lysbeth, springing back. + +“I have never regarded myself as such, but if you seek a definition, I +should say that I am a hard-working, necessitous, and somewhat +unfortunate gentleman who has been driven to rough methods in order to +secure a comfortable old age. I can assure you that _I_ do not wish to +starve anybody; I wish only to find Hendrik Brant’s treasure, and if +your worthy husband won’t tell me where it is, why I must make him, +that is all. In six or eight days under my treatment I am convinced +that he will become quite fluent on the subject, for there is nothing +that should cause a fat burgher, accustomed to good living, to open his +heart more than a total lack of the victuals which he can see and +smell. Did you ever hear the story of an ancient gentleman called +Tantalus? These old fables have a wonderful way of adapting themselves +to the needs and circumstances of us moderns, haven’t they?” + +Then Lysbeth’s pride broke down, and, in the abandonment of her +despair, flinging herself upon her knees before this monster, she +begged for her husband’s life, begged, in the name of God, yes, and +even in the name of Montalvo’s son, Adrian. So low had her misery +brought her that she pleaded with the man by the son of shame whom she +had borne to him. + +He prayed her to rise. “I want to save your husband’s life,” he said. +“I give you my word that if only he will tell me what I desire to know, +I will save it; yes, although the risk is great, I will even manage his +escape, and I shall ask you to go upstairs presently and explain my +amiable intentions to him.” Then he thought a moment and added, “But +you mentioned one Adrian. Pray do you mean the gentleman whose +signature appears here?” and he handed her another document, saying, +“Read it quietly, there is no hurry. The good Dirk is not starving yet; +I am informed, indeed, that he has just made an excellent breakfast—not +his last by many thousands, let us hope.” + +Lysbeth took the sheets and glanced at them. Then her intelligence +awoke, and she read on fiercely until her eye came to the well-known +signature at the foot of the last page. She cast the roll down with a +cry as though a serpent had sprung from its pages and bitten her. + +“I fear that you are pained,” said Montalvo sympathetically, “and no +wonder, for myself I have gone through such disillusionments, and know +how they wound a generous nature. That’s why I showed you this +document, because I also am generous and wish to warn you against this +young gentleman, who, I understand, you allege is my son. You see the +person who would betray his brother might even go a step further and +betray his mother, so, if you take my advice, you will keep an eye upon +the young man. Also I am bound to remind you that it is more or less +your own fault. It is a most unlucky thing to curse a child before it +is born—you remember the incident? That curse has come home to roost +with a vengeance. What a warning against giving way to the passion of +the moment!” + +Lysbeth heeded him no longer; she was thinking as she had never thought +before. At that moment, as though by an inspiration, there floated into +her mind the words of the dead Vrouw Jansen: “The plague, I wish that I +had caught it before, for then I would have taken it to him in prison, +and they couldn’t have treated him as they did.” Dirk was in prison, +and Dirk was to be starved to death, for, whatever Montalvo might +think, he did not know the secret, and, therefore, could not tell it. +And she—she had the plague on her; she knew its symptoms well, and its +poison was burning in her every vein, although she still could think +and speak and walk. + +Well, why not? It would be no crime. Indeed, if it was a crime, she +cared little; it would be better that he should die of the plague in +five days, or perhaps in two, if it worked quickly, as it often did +with the full-blooded, than that he should linger on starving for +twelve or more, and perhaps be tormented besides. + +Swiftly, very swiftly, Lysbeth came to her dreadful decision. Then she +spoke in a hoarse voice. + +“What do you wish me to do?” + +“I wish you to reason with your husband, and to persuade him to cease +from his obstinacy, and to surrender to me the secret of the +hiding-place of Brant’s hoard. In that event, so soon as I have proved +the truth of what he tells me, I undertake that he shall be set at +liberty unharmed, and that, meanwhile, he shall be well treated.” + +“And if I will not, or he will not, or cannot?” + +“Then I have told you the alternative, and to show you that I am not +joking, I will now write and sign the order. Then, if you decline this +mission, or if it is fruitless, I will hand it to the officer before +your eyes—and within the next ten days or so let you know the results, +or witness them if you wish.” + +“I will go,” she said, “but I must see him alone.” + +“It is unusual,” he answered, “but provided you satisfy me that you +carry no weapon, I do not know that I need object.” + +So, when Montalvo had written his order and scattered dust on it from +the pounce-box, for he was a man of neat and methodical habits, he +himself with every possible courtesy conducted Lysbeth to her husband’s +prison. Having ushered her into it, with a cheerful “Friend van Goorl, +I bring you a visitor,” he locked the door upon them, and patiently +waited outside. + +It matters not what passed within. Whether Lysbeth told her husband of +her dread yet sacred purpose, or did not tell him; whether he ever +learned of the perfidy of Adrian, or did not learn it; what were their +parting words—their parting prayers, all these things matter not; +indeed, the last are too holy to be written. Let us bow our heads and +pass them by in silence, and let the reader imagine them as he will. + +Growing impatient at length, Montalvo unlocked the prison door and +opened it, to discover Lysbeth and her husband kneeling side by side in +the centre of the room like the figures on some ancient marble +monument. They heard him and rose. Then Dirk folded his wife in his +arms in a long, last embrace, and, loosing her, held one hand above her +head in blessing, as with the other he pointed to the door. + +So infinitely pathetic was this dumb show of farewell, for no word +passed between them while he was present, that not only his barbed +gibes, but the questions that he meant to ask, died upon the lips of +Montalvo. Try as he might he could not speak them here. + +“Come,” he said, and Lysbeth passed out. + +At the door she turned to look, and there, in the centre of the room, +still stood her husband, tears streaming from his eyes, down a face +radiant with an unearthly smile, and his right hand lifted towards the +heavens. And so she left him. + +Presently Montalvo and Lysbeth were together again in the little room. + +“I fear,” he said, “from what I saw just now, that your mission has +failed.” + +“It has failed,” she answered in such a voice as might be dragged by an +evil magic from the lips of a corpse. “He does not know the secret you +seek, and, therefore, he cannot tell it.” + +“I am sorry that I cannot believe you,” said Montalvo, “so”—and he +stretched out his hand towards a bell upon the table. + +“Stop,” she said; “for your own sake stop. Man, will you really commit +this awful, this useless crime? Think of the reckoning that must be +paid here and hereafter; think of me, the woman you dishonoured, +standing before the Judgment Seat of God, and bearing witness against +your naked, shivering soul. Think of him, the good and harmless man +whom you are about cruelly to butcher, crying in the ear of Christ, +‘Look upon Juan de Montalvo, my pitiless murderer——‘” + +“Silence,” shouted Montalvo, yet shrinking back against the wall as +though to avoid a sword-thrust. “Silence, you ill-omened witch, with +your talk of God and judgment. It is too late, I tell you, it is too +late; my hands are too red with blood, my heart is too black with sin, +upon the tablets of my mind is written too long a record. What more can +this one crime matter, and—do you understand?—I must have money, money +to buy my pleasures, money to make my last years happy, and my deathbed +soft. I have suffered enough, I have toiled enough, and I will win +wealth and peace who am now once more a beggar. Yes, had you twenty +husbands, I would crush the life out of all of them inch by inch to win +the gold that I desire.” + +As he spoke and the passions in him broke through their crust of +cunning and reserve, his face changed. Now Lysbeth, watching for some +sign of pity, knew that hope was dead, for his countenance was as it +had been on that day six-and-twenty years ago, when she sat at his side +while the great race was run. There was the same starting eyeball, the +same shining fangs appeared between the curled lips, and above them the +moustachios, now grown grey, touched the high cheekbones. It was as in +the fable of the weremen, who, at a magic sign or word, put off their +human aspect and become beasts. So it had chanced to the spirit of +Montalvo, shining through his flesh like some baleful marsh-light +through the mist. It was a thing which God had forgotten, a thing that +had burst the kindly mould of its humanity, and wrapt itself in the +robe and mask of such a wolf as might raven about the cliffs of hell. +Only there was fear on the face of the wolf, that inhuman face which, +this side of the grave, she was yet destined to see once more. + +The fit passed, and Montalvo sank down gasping, while even in her woe +and agony Lysbeth shuddered at this naked vision of a Satan-haunted +soul. + +“I have one more thing to ask,” she said. “Since my husband must die, +suffer that I die with him. Will you refuse this also, and cause the +cup of your crimes to flow over, and the last angel of God’s mercy to +flee away?” + +“Yes,” he answered. “You, woman with the evil eye, do you suppose that +I wish you here to bring all the ills you prate of upon my head? I say +that I am afraid of you. Why, for your sake, once, years ago, I made a +vow to the Blessed Virgin that, whatever I worked on men, I would never +again lift a hand against a woman. To that oath I look to help me at +the last, for I have kept it sacredly, and am keeping it now, else by +this time both you and the girl, Elsa, might have been stretched upon +the rack. No, Lysbeth, get you gone, and take your curses with you,” +and he snatched and rang the bell. + +A soldier entered the room, saluted, and asked his commands. + +“Take this order,” he said, “to the officer in charge of the heretic, +Dirk van Goorl; it details the method of his execution. Let it be +strictly adhered to, and report made to me each morning of the +condition of the prisoner. Stay, show this lady from the prison.” + +The man saluted again and went out of the door. After him followed +Lysbeth. She spoke no more, but as she passed she looked at Montalvo, +and he knew well that though she might be gone, yet her curse remained +behind. + +The plague was on her, the plague was on her, her head and bones were +racked with pain, and the swords of sorrow pierced her poor heart. But +Lysbeth’s mind was still clear, and her limbs still supported her. She +reached her home and walked upstairs to the sitting room, commanding +the servant to find the Heer Adrian and bid him join her there. + +In the room was Elsa, who ran to her crying, + +“Is it true? Is it true?” + +“It is true, daughter, that Foy and Martin have escaped——” + +“Oh! God is good!” wept the girl. + +“And that my husband is a prisoner and condemned to death.” + +“Ah!” gasped Elsa, “I am selfish.” + +“It is natural that a woman should think first of the man she loves. +No, do not come near me; I fear that I am stricken with the pest.” + +“I am not afraid of that,” answered Elsa. “Did I never tell you? As a +child I had it in The Hague.” + +“That, at least, is good news among much that is very ill; but be +silent, here comes Adrian, to whom I wish to speak. Nay, you need not +leave us; it is best that you should learn the truth.” + +Presently Adrian entered, and Elsa, watching everything, noticed that +he looked sadly changed and ill. + +“You sent for me, mother,” he began, with some attempt at his old +pompous air. Then he caught sight of her face and was silent. + +“I have been to the Gevangenhuis, Adrian,” she said, “and I have news +to tell you. As you may have heard, your brother Foy and our servant +Martin have escaped, I know not whither. They escaped out of the very +jaws of worse than death, out of the torture-chamber, indeed, by +killing that wretch who was known as the Professor, and the warden of +the gate, Martin carrying Foy, who is wounded, upon his back.” + +“I am indeed rejoiced,” cried Adrian excitedly. + +“Hypocrite, be silent,” hissed his mother, and he knew that the worst +had overtaken him. + +“My husband, your stepfather, has not escaped; he is in the prison +still, for there I have just bidden him farewell, and the sentence upon +him is that he shall be starved to death in a cell overlooking the +kitchen.” + +“Oh! oh!” cried Elsa, and Adrian groaned. + +“It was my good, or my evil, fortune,” went on Lysbeth, in a voice of +ice, “to see the written evidence upon which my husband, your brother +Foy, and Martin were condemned to death, on the grounds of heresy, +rebellion, and the killing of the king’s servants. At the foot of it, +duly witnessed, stands the signature of—Adrian van Goorl.” + +Elsa’s jaw fell. She stared at the traitor like one paralysed, while +Adrian, seizing the back of a chair, rested upon it, and rocked his +body to and fro. + +“Have you anything to say?” asked Lysbeth. + +There was still one chance for the wretched man—had he been more +dishonest than he was. He might have denied all knowledge of the +signature. But to do this never occurred to him. Instead, he plunged +into a wandering, scarcely intelligible, explanation, for even in his +dreadful plight his vanity would not permit him to tell all the truth +before Elsa. Moreover, in that fearful silence, soon he became utterly +bewildered, till at length he hardly knew what he was saying, and in +the end came to a full stop. + +“I understand you to admit that you signed this paper in the house of +Hague Simon, and in the presence of a man called Ramiro, who is +Governor of the prison, and who showed it to me,” said Lysbeth, lifting +her head which had sunk upon her breast. + +“Yes, mother, I signed something, but——” + +“I wish to hear no more,” interrupted Lysbeth. “Whether your motive was +jealousy, or greed, or wickedness of heart, or fear, you signed that +which, had you been a man, you would have suffered yourself to be torn +to pieces with redhot pincers before you put a pen to it. Moreover, you +gave your evidence fully and freely, for I have read it, and supported +it with the severed finger of the woman Meg which you stole from Foy’s +room. You are the murderer of your benefactor and of your mother’s +heart, and the would-be murderer of your brother and of Martin Roos. +When you were born, the mad wife, Martha, who nursed me, counselled +that you should be put to death, lest you should live to bring evil +upon me and mine. I refused, and you have brought the evil upon us all, +but most, I think, upon your own soul. I do not curse you, I call down +no ill upon you; Adrian, I give you over into the hands of God to deal +with as He sees fit. Here is money”—and, going to her desk, she took +from it a heavy purse of gold which had been prepared for their flight, +and thrust it into the pocket of his doublet, wiping her fingers upon +her kerchief after she had touched him. “Go hence and never let me see +your face again. You were born of my body, you are my flesh and blood, +but for this world and the next I renounce you, Adrian. Bastard, I know +you not. Murderer, get you gone.” + +Adrian fell upon the ground; he grovelled before his mother trying to +kiss the hem of her dress, while Elsa sobbed aloud hysterically. But +Lysbeth spurned him in the face with her foot, saying, + +“Get you gone before I call up such servants as are left to me to +thrust you to the street.” + +Then Adrian rose and with great gasps of agony, like some sore-wounded +thing, crept from that awful and majestic presence of outraged +motherhood, crept down the stairs and away into the city. + +When he had gone Lysbeth took pen and paper and wrote in large letters +these words:— + +“Notice to all the good citizens of Leyden. Adrian, called van Goorl, +upon whose written evidence his stepfather, Dirk van Goorl, his +half-brother, Foy van Goorl, and the serving-man, Martin Roos, have +been condemned to death in the Gevangenhuis by torment, starvation, +water, fire, and sword, is known here no longer. Lysbeth van Goorl.” + +Then she called a servant and gave orders that this paper should be +nailed upon the front door of the house where every passer-by might +read it. + +“It is done,” she said. “Cease weeping, Elsa, and lead me to my bed, +whence I pray God that I may never rise again.” + +Two days went by, and a fugitive rode into the city, a worn and wounded +man of Leyden, with horror stamped upon his face. + +“What news?” cried the people in the market-place, recognising him. + +“Mechlin! Mechlin!” he gasped. “I come from Mechlin.” + +“What of Mechlin and its citizens?” asked Pieter van de Werff, stepping +forward. + +“Don Frederic has taken it; the Spaniards have butchered them; +everyone, old and young, men, women, and children, they are all +butchered. I escaped, but for two leagues and more I heard the sound of +the death-wail of Mechlin. Give me wine.” + +They gave him wine, and by slow degrees, in broken sentences, he told +the tale of one of the most awful crimes ever committed in the name of +Christ by cruel man against God and his own fellows. It was written +large in history: we need not repeat it here. + +Then, when they knew the truth, up from that multitude of the men of +Leyden went a roar of wrath, and a cry to vengeance for their +slaughtered kin. They took arms, each what he had, the burgher his +sword, the fisherman his fish-spear, the boor his ox-goad or his pick; +leaders sprang up to command them, and there arose a shout of “To the +gates! To the Gevangenhuis! Free the prisoners!” + +They surged round the hateful place, thousands of them. The drawbridge +was up, but they bridged the moat. Some shots were fired at them, then +the defence ceased. They battered in the massive doors, and, when these +fell, rushed to the dens and loosed those who remained alive within +them. + +But they found no Spaniards, for by now Ramiro and his garrison had +vanished away, whither they knew not. A voice cried, “Dirk van Goorl, +seek for Dirk van Goorl,” and they came to the chamber overlooking the +courtyard, shouting, “Van Goorl, we are here!” + +They broke in the door, and there they found him, lying upon his +pallet, his hands clasped, his face upturned, smitten suddenly dead, +not by man, but by the poison of the plague. + +Unfed and untended, the end had overtaken him very swiftly. + + + + +BOOK THE THIRD +THE HARVESTING + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +FATHER AND SON + + +When Adrian left his mother’s house in the Bree Straat he wandered away +at hazard, for so utterly miserable was he that he could form no plans +as to what he was to do or whither he should go. Presently he found +himself at the foot of that great mound which in Leyden is still known +as the Burg, a strange place with a circular wall upon the top of it, +said to have been constructed by the Romans. Up this mound he climbed, +and throwing himself upon the grass under an oak which grew in one of +the little recesses of those ancient walls, he buried his face in his +hands and tried to think. + +Think! How could he think? Whenever he shut his eyes there arose before +them a vision of his mother’s face, a face so fearful in its awesome +and unnatural calm that vaguely he wondered how he, the outcast son, +upon whom it had been turned like the stare of the Medusa’s head, +withering his very soul, could have seen it and still live. Why did he +live? Why was he not dead, he who had a sword at his side? Was it +because of his innocence? He was not guilty of this dreadful crime. He +had never intended to hand over Dirk van Goorl and Foy and Martin to +the Inquisition. He had only talked about them to a man whom he +believed to be a professor of judicial astrology, and who said that he +could compound draughts which would bend the wills of women. Could he +help it if this fellow was really an officer of the Blood Council? Of +course not. But, oh! why had he talked so much? Oh! why had he signed +that paper, why did he not let them kill him first? He had signed, and +explain as he would, he could never look an honest man in the face +again, and less still a woman, if she knew the truth. So he was not +still alive because he was innocent, since for all the good that this +very doubtful innocence of his was likely to be even to his own +conscience, he might almost as well have been guilty. Nor was he alive +because he feared to die. He did fear to die horribly, but to the young +and impressionable, at any rate, there are situations in which death +seems the lesser of two evils. That situation had been well-nigh +reached by him last night when he set the hilt of his sword against the +floor and shrank back at the prick of its point. To-day it was +overpast. + +No, he lived on because before he died he had a hate to satisfy, a +revenge to work. He would kill this dog, Ramiro, who had tricked him +with his crystal gazing and his talk of friendship, who had frightened +him with the threat of death until he became like some poor girl and +for fear signed away his honour—oh, Heaven! for very fear, he who +prided himself upon his noble Spanish blood, the blood of warriors—this +treacherous dog, who, having used him, had not hesitated to betray his +shame to her from whom most of all it should have been hidden, and, for +aught he knew, to the others also. Yes if ever he met him—his own +brother—Foy would spit upon him in the street; Foy, who was so +hatefully open and honest, who could not understand into what +degradation a man’s nerves may drag him. And Martin, who had always +mistrusted and despised him, why, if he found the chance, he would tear +him limb from limb as a kite tears a partridge. And, worse still, Dirk +van Goorl, the man who had befriended him, who had bred him up although +he was no son of his, but the child of some rival, he would sit there +in his prison cell, and while his face fell in and his bones grew daily +plainer, till at length his portly presence was as that of a living +skeleton, he would sit there by the window, watching the dishes of +savoury food pass in and out beneath him, and between the pangs of his +long-drawn, hideous agony, put up his prayer to God to pay back to him, +Adrian, all the woe that he had caused. + +Oh! it was too much. Under the crushing weight of his suffering, his +senses left him, and he found such peace as to-day is won by those who +are about to pass beneath the surgeon’s knife; the peace that but too +often wakes to a livelier agony. + +When Adrian came to himself again, he felt cold, for already the autumn +evening had begun to fall, and there was a feel in the clear, still air +as of approaching frost. Also he was hungry (Dirk van Goorl, too, must +be growing hungry now, he remembered), for he had eaten nothing since +the yesterday. He would go into the town, get food, and then make up +his mind what he should do. + +Accordingly, descending from the Burg, Adrian went to the best inn in +Leyden, and, seating himself at a table under the trees that grew +outside of it, bade the waiting-man bring him food and beer. +Unconsciously, for he was thinking of other things, in speaking to him, +Adrian had assumed the haughty, Spanish hidalgo manner that was +customary with him when addressing his inferiors. Even then he noticed, +with the indignation of one who dwells upon his dignity, that this +server made him no bow, but merely called his order to someone in the +house, and, turning his back upon him, began to speak to a man who was +loitering near. Soon Adrian became aware that he was the subject of +that conversation, for the two of them looked at him out of the corners +of their eyes, and jerked their thumbs towards him. Moreover, first +one, then two, then quite a number of passers-by stopped and joined in +the conversation, which appeared to interest them very much. Boys came +also, a dozen or more of them, and women of the fish-wife stamp, and +all of these looked at him out of the corner of _their_ eyes, and from +time to time jerked _their_ thumbs towards him. Adrian began to feel +uneasy and angered, but, drawing down his bonnet, and folding his arms +upon his breast, he took no notice. Presently the server thrust his +meal and flagon of beer before him with such clattering clumsiness that +some of the liquor splashed over upon the table. + +“Be more careful and wipe that up,” said Adrian. + +“Wipe it yourself,” answered the man, rudely turning upon his heel. + +Now Adrian was minded to be gone, but he was hungry and thirsty, so +first, thought he, he would satisfy himself. Accordingly he lifted the +tankard and took a long pull at it, when suddenly something struck the +bottom of the vessel, jerking liquor over his face and doublet. He set +it down with an oath, and laying his hand upon his sword hilt asked who +had done this. But the mob, which by now numbered fifty or sixty, and +was gathered about him in a triple circle, made no answer. They stood +there staring sullenly, and in the fading light their faces seemed +dangerous and hostile. + +He was frightened. What could they mean? Yes, he was frightened, but he +determined to brave it out, and lifted the cover from his meat, when +something passed over his shoulder and fell into the dish, something +stinking and abominable—to be particular, a dead cat. This was too +much. Adrian sprang to his feet, and asked who dared thus to foul his +food. The crowd did not jeer, did not even mock; it seemed too much in +earnest for gibes, but a voice at the back called out: + +“Take it to Dirk van Goorl. He’ll be glad of it soon.” + +Now Adrian understood. All these people knew of his infamy; the whole +of Leyden knew that tale. His lips turned dry, and the sweat broke out +upon his body. What should he do? Brave it out? He sat down, and the +fierce ring of silent faces drew a pace or two nearer. He tried to bid +the man to bring more meat, but the words stuck in his throat. Now the +mob saw his fear, and of a sudden seemed to augur his guilt from it, +and to pass sentence on him in their hearts. At least, they who had +been so dumb broke out into yells and hoots. + +“Traitor!” “Spanish spy!” “Murderer!” they screamed. “Who gave evidence +against our Dirk? Who sold his brother to the rack?” + +Then came another shriller note. “Kill him.” “Hang him up by the heels +and stone him.” “Twist off his tongue,” and so forth. Out shot a hand, +a long, skinny, female hand, and a harsh voice cried, “Give us a +keepsake, my pretty boy!” Then there was a sharp wrench at his head, +and he knew that from it a lock of hair was missing. This was too much. +He ought to have stopped there and let them kill him if they would, but +a terror of these human wolves entered his soul and mastered him. To be +trodden beneath those mire-stained feet, to be rent by those filthy +hands, to be swung up living by the ankles to some pole and then carved +piecemeal—he could not bear it. He drew his sword and turned to fly. + +“Stop him,” yelled the mob, whereon he lunged at them wildly, running a +small boy through the arm. + +The sight of blood and the screech of the wounded lad settled the +question, and those who were foremost came at him with a spring. But +Adrian was swifter than they, and before a hand could be laid upon him, +amidst a shower of stones and filth, he was speeding down the street. +After him came the mob, and then began one of the finest man-hunts ever +known in Leyden. + +From one street to another, round this turn and round that, sped the +quarry, and after him, a swiftly growing pack, came the hounds. Some +women drew a washing-line across the street to trip him. Adrian jumped +it like a deer. Four men got ahead and tried to cut him off. He dodged +them. Down the Bree Straat he went, and on his mother’s door he saw a +paper and guessed what was written there. They were gaining, they were +gaining, for always fresh ones took the place of those who grew weary. +There was but one chance for him now. Near by ran the Rhine, and here +it was wide and unbridged. Perhaps they would not follow him through +the water. In he went, having no choice, and swam for his life. They +threw stones and bits of wood at him, and called for bows but, luckily +for him, by now the night was falling fast, so that soon he vanished +from their sight, and heard them crying to each other that he was +drowned. + +But Adrian was not drowned, for at that moment he was dragging himself +painfully through the deep, greasy mud of the opposing bank and hiding +among the old boats and lumber which were piled there, till his breath +came to him again. But he could not stay long, for even if he had not +been afraid that they would come and find him, it was too cold. So he +crept away into the darkness. + +Half an hour later, as, resting from their daily labours, Hague Simon +and his consort Meg were seated at their evening meal, a knock came at +the door, causing them to drop their knives and to look at each other +suspiciously. + +“Who can it be?” marvelled Meg. + +Simon shook his fat head. “I have no appointment,” he murmured, “and I +don’t like strange visitors. There’s a nasty spirit abroad in the town, +a very nasty spirit.” + +“Go and see,” said Meg. + +“Go and see yourself, you——” and he added an epithet calculated to +anger the meekest woman. + +She answered it with an oath and a metal plate, which struck him in the +face, but before the quarrel could go farther, again came the sound of +raps, this time louder and more hurried. Then Black Meg went to open +the door, while Simon took a knife and hid himself behind a curtain. +After some whispering, Meg bade the visitor enter, and ushered him into +the room, that same fateful room where the evidence was signed. Now he +was in the light, and she saw him. + +“Oh! come here,” she gasped. “Simon, come and look at our little +grandee.” So Simon came, whereon the pair of them, clapping their hands +to their ribs, burst into screams of laughter. + +“It’s the Don! Mother of Heaven! it is the Don,” gurgled Simon. + +Well might they laugh, they who had known Adrian in his pride and rich +attire, for before them, crouching against the wall, was a miserable, +bareheaded object, his hair stained with mud and rotten eggs, blood +running from his temple where a stone had caught him, his garments a +mass of filth and dripping water, one boot gone and his hose burst to +tatters. For a while the fugitive bore it, then suddenly, without a +word, he drew the sword that still remained to him and rushed at the +bestial looking Simon, who skipped away round the table. + +“Stop laughing,” he said, “or I will put this through you. I am a +desperate man.” + +“You look it,” said Simon, but he laughed no more, for the joke had +become risky. “What do you want, Heer Adrian?” + +“I want food and lodging for so long as I please to stop here. Don’t be +afraid, I have money to pay you.” + +“I am thinking that you are a dangerous guest,” broke in Meg. + +“I am,” replied Adrian; “but I tell you that I shall be more dangerous +outside. I was not the only one concerned in that matter of the +evidence, and if they get me they will have you too. You understand?” + +Meg nodded. She understood perfectly; for those of her trade Leyden was +growing a risky habitation. + +“We will accommodate you with our best, Mynheer,” she said. “Come +upstairs to the Master’s room and put on some of his clothes. They will +fit you well; you are much of the same figure.” + +Adrian’s breath caught in his throat. + +“Is he here?” he asked. + +“No, but he keeps his room.” + +“Is he coming back?” + +“I suppose so, sometime, as he keeps his room. Do you want to see him?” + +“Very much, but you needn’t mention it; my business can wait till we +meet. Get my clothes washed and dried as quickly as you can, will you? +I don’t care about wearing other men’s garments.” + +A quarter of an hour later Adrian, cleaned and clothed, different +indeed to look on from the torn and hunted fugitive, re-entered the +sitting-room. As he came, clad in Ramiro’s suit, Meg nudged her husband +and whispered, “Like, ain’t they?” + +“Like as two devils in hell,” Simon answered critically, then added, +“Your food is ready; come, Mynheer, and eat.” + +So Adrian ate and drank heartily enough, for the meat and wine were +good, and he needed them. Also it rejoiced him in a dull way to find +that there was something left in which he could take pleasure, even if +it were but eating and drinking. When he had finished he told his +story, or so much of it as he wished to tell, and afterwards went to +bed wondering whether his hosts would murder him in his sleep for the +purse of gold he carried, half hoping that they might indeed, and slept +for twelve hours without stirring. + +All that day and until the evening of the next Adrian sat in the home +of his spy hosts recovering his strength and brooding over his fearful +fall. Black Meg brought in news of what passed without; thus he learned +that his mother had sickened with the plague, and that the sentence of +starvation was being carried out upon the body of her husband, Dirk van +Goorl. He learned also the details of the escape of Foy and Martin, +which were the talk of all the city. In the eyes of the common people +they had become heroes, and some local poet had made a song about them +which men were singing in the streets. Two verses of that song were +devoted to him, Adrian; indeed, Black Meg repeated them to him word by +word with a suppressed but malignant joy. Yes, this was what had +happened; his brother had become a popular hero and he, Adrian, who in +every way was so infinitely that brother’s superior, an object of +popular execration. And of all this the man, Ramiro, was the cause. + +Well, he was waiting for Ramiro. That was why he risked his life by +staying in Leyden. Sooner or later Ramiro would be bound to visit this +haunt of his, and then—here Adrian drew his rapier and lunged and +parried, and finally with hissing breath drove it down into the wood of +the flooring, picturing, in a kind of luxury of the imagination, that +the throat of Ramiro was between its point and the ground. Of course in +the struggle that must come, the said Ramiro, who doubtless was a +skilful swordsman, might get the upper hand; it might be his, Adrian’s +throat, which was between the point and the ground. Well, if so, it +scarcely mattered; he did not care. At any rate, for this once he would +play the man and then let the devil take his own; himself, or Ramiro, +or both of them. + +On the afternoon of the second day Adrian heard shouting in the +streets, and Hague Simon came in and told him that a man had arrived +with bad news from Mechlin; what it was he could not say, he was going +to find out. A couple of hours went by and there was more shouting, +this time of a determined and ordered nature. Then Black Meg appeared +and informed him that the news from Mechlin was that everyone in that +unhappy town had been slain by the Spaniards; that further the people +of Leyden had risen and were marching to attack the Gevangenhuis. Out +she hurried again, for when the waters were stormy then Black Meg must +go afishing. + +Another hour went by, and once more the street door was opened with a +key, to be carefully shut when the visitor had entered. + +Simon or Meg, thought Adrian, but as he could not be sure he took the +precaution of hiding himself behind the curtain. The door of the room +opened, and not Meg or Simon, but Ramiro entered. So his opportunity +had come! + +The Master seemed disturbed. He sat down upon a chair and wiped his +brow with a silk handkerchief. Then aloud, and shaking his fist in the +air, he uttered a most comprehensive curse upon everybody and +everything, but especially upon the citizens of Leyden. After this once +more he lapsed into silence, sitting, his one eye fixed upon vacancy, +and twisting his waxed moustaches with his hand. + +Now was Adrian’s chance; he had only to step out from behind the +curtain and run him through before he could rise from his seat. The +plan had great charms, and doubtless he might have put it into +execution had not Adrian’s histrionic instincts stayed his hand. If he +killed Ramiro thus, he would never know why he had been killed, and +above all things Adrian desired that he should know. He wanted not only +to wreak his wrongs, but to let his adversary learn why they were +wreaked. Also, to do him justice, he preferred a fair fight to a secret +stab delivered from behind, for gentlemen fought, but assassins +stabbed. + +Still, as there were no witnesses, he might have been willing to waive +this point, if only he could make sure that Ramiro should learn the +truth before he died. He thought of springing out and wounding him, and +then, after he had explained matters, finishing him off at his leisure. +But how could he be sure of his sword-thrust, which might do too much +or too little? No, come what would, the matter must be concluded in the +proper fashion. + +Choosing his opportunity, Adrian stepped from behind the hanging and +placed himself between Ramiro and the door, the bolt of which he shot +adroitly that no one might interrupt their interview. At the sound +Ramiro started and looked up. In an instant he grasped the situation, +and though his bronzed face paled, for he knew that his danger was +great, rose to it, as might have been expected from a gentleman of his +long and varied experience. + +“The Heer Adrian called van Goorl, as I live!” he said. “My friend and +pupil, I am glad to see you; but, if I might ask, although the times +are rough, why in this narrow room do you wave about a naked rapier in +that dangerous fashion?” + +“Villain,” answered Adrian, “you know why; you have betrayed me and +mine, and I am dishonoured, and now I am going to kill you in payment.” + +“I see,” said Ramiro, “the van Goorl affair again. I can never be clear +of it for half an hour even. Well, before you begin, it may interest +you to know that your worthy stepfather, after a couple of days’ +fasting, is by now, I suppose, free, for the rabble have stormed the +Gevangenhuis. Truth, however, compels me to add that he is suffering +badly from the plague, which your excellent mother, with a resource +that does her credit, managed to communicate to him, thinking this end +less disagreeable on the whole than that which the law had appointed.” + +Thus spoke Ramiro, slowly and with purpose, for all the while he was so +manoeuvring that the light from the lattice fell full upon his +antagonist, leaving himself in the shadow, a position which experience +taught him would prove of advantage in emergency. + +Adrian made no answer, but lifted his sword. + +“One moment, young gentleman,” went on Ramiro, drawing his own weapon +and putting himself on guard; “are you in earnest? Do you really wish +to fight?” + +“Yes,” answered Adrian. + +“What a fool you must be,” mused Ramiro. “Why at your age should you +seek to be rid of life, seeing that you have no more chance against me +than a rat in a corner against a terrier dog? Look!” and suddenly he +lunged most viciously straight at his heart. But Adrian was watching +and parried the thrust. + +“Ah!” continued Ramiro, “I knew you would do that, otherwise I should +not have let fly, for all the angels know I do not wish to hurt you.” +But to himself he added, “The lad is more dangerous than I thought—my +life hangs on it. The old fault, friend, too high, too high!” + +Then Adrian came at him like a tiger, and for the next thirty seconds +nothing was heard in the room but the raspings of steel and the hard +breathing of the two men. + +At first Adrian had somewhat the better of it, for his assault was +fierce, and he forced the older and cooler man to be satisfied with +guarding himself. He did more indeed, for presently thrusting over +Ramiro’s guard, he wounded him slightly in the left arm. The sting of +his hurt seemed to stir Ramiro’s blood; at any rate he changed his +tactics and began to attack in turn. Now, moreover, his skill and +seasoned strength came to his aid; slowly but surely Adrian was driven +back before him till his retreat in the narrow confines of the room +became continuous. Suddenly, half from exhaustion and half because of a +stumble, he reeled right across it, to the further wall indeed. With a +guttural sound of triumph Ramiro sprang after him to make an end of him +while his guard was down, caught his foot on a joined stool which had +been overset in the struggle, and fell prone to the ground. + +This was Adrian’s chance. In an instant he was on him and had the point +of his rapier at his throat. But he did not stab at once, not from any +compunction, but because he wished his enemy to feel a little before he +died, for, like all his race, Adrian could be vindictive and +bloodthirsty enough when his hate was roused. Rapidly Ramiro considered +the position. In a physical sense he was helpless, for Adrian had one +foot upon his breast, the other upon his sword-arm, and the steel at +his throat. Therefore if time were given him he must trust to his wit. + +“Make ready, you are about to die,” said Adrian. + +“I think not,” replied the prostrate Ramiro. + +“Why not?” asked Adrian, astonished. + +“If you will be so kind as to move that sword-point a little—it is +pricking me—thank you. Now I will tell you why. Because it is not usual +for a son to stick his father as though he were a farmyard pig.” + +“Son? Father?” said Adrian. “Do you mean——?” + +“Yes, I do mean that we have the happiness of filling those sacred +relationships to each other.” + +“You lie,” said Adrian. + +“Let me stand up and give me my sword, young sir, and you shall pay for +that. Never yet did a man tell the Count Juan de Montalvo that he lied, +and live.” + +“Prove it,” said Adrian. + +“In this position, to which misfortune, not skill, has reduced me, I +can prove nothing. But if you doubt it, ask your mother, or your hosts, +or consult the registers of the Groote Kerke, and see whether on a +date, which I will give you, Juan de Montalvo was, or was not, married +to Lysbeth van Hout, of which marriage was born one Adrian. Man, I will +prove it to you. Had I not been your father, would you have been saved +from the Inquisition with others, and should I not within the last five +minutes had run you through twice over, for though you fought well, +your swordsmanship is no match for mine?” + +“Even if you are my father, why should I not kill you, who have forced +me to your will by threats of death, you who wronged and shamed me, you +because of whom I have been hunted through the streets like a mad dog, +and made an outcast?” And Adrian looked so fierce, and brought down his +sword so close, that hope sank very low in Ramiro’s heart. + +“There are reasons which might occur to the religious,” he said, “but I +will give you one that will appeal to your own self-interest. If you +kill me, the curse which follows the parricide will follow you to your +last hour—of the beyond I say nothing.” + +“It would need to be a heavy one,” answered Adrian, “if it was worse +than that of which I know.” But there was hesitation in his voice, for +Ramiro, the skilful player upon human hearts, had struck the right +string, and Adrian’s superstitious nature answered to the note. + +“Son,” went on Ramiro, “be wise and hold your hand before you do that +for which all hell itself would cry shame upon you. You think that I +have been your enemy, but it is not so; all this while I have striven +to work you good, but how can I talk lying thus like a calf before its +butcher? Take the swords, both of them, and let me sit up, and I will +tell you all my plans for the advantage of us both. Or if you wish it, +thrust on and make an end. I will not plead for my life with you; it is +not worthy of an hidalgo of Spain. Moreover, what is life to me who +have known so many sorrows that I should seek to cling to it? Oh! God, +who seest all, receive my soul, and I pray Thee pardon this youth his +horrible crime, for he is mad and foolish, and will live to sorrow for +the deed.” + +Since it was no further use to him, Ramiro had let the sword fall from +his hand. Drawing it towards him with the point of his own weapon, +Adrian stooped and picked it up. + +“Rise,” he said, lifting his foot, “I can kill you afterwards if I +wish.” + +Could he have looked into the heart of his new-found parent as stiff +and aching he staggered to his feet, the execution would not have been +long delayed. + +“Oh! my young friend, you have given me a nasty fright,” thought Ramiro +to himself, “but it is over now, and if I don’t pay you out before I +have done with you, my sweet boy, your name is not Adrian.” + +Ramiro rose, dusted his garments, seated himself deliberately, and +began to talk with great earnestness. It will be sufficient to +summarise his arguments. First of all, with the most convincing +sincerity, he explained that when he had made use of him, Adrian, he +had no idea that he was his son. Of course this was a statement that +will not bear a moment’s examination, but Ramiro’s object was to gain +time, and Adrian let it pass. Then he explained that it was only after +his mother had, not by his wish, but accidentally, seen the written +evidence upon which her husband was convicted, that he found out that +Adrian van Goorl was her child and his own. However, as he hurried to +point out, all these things were now ancient history that had no +bearing on the present. Owing to the turbulent violence of the mob, +which had driven him from his post and fortress, he, Ramiro, was in +temporary difficulties, and owing to other circumstances, he, Adrian, +was, so far as his own party and people were concerned, an absolutely +dishonoured person. In this state of affairs he had a suggestion to +make. Let them join forces; let the natural relationship that existed +between them, and which had been so nearly severed by a sword thrust +that both must have regretted, become real and tender. He, the father, +had rank, although it suited him to sink it; he had wide experience, +friends, intelligence, and the prospect of enormous wealth, which, of +course, he could not expect to enjoy for ever. On the other side, he, +the son, had youth, great beauty of person, agreeable and distinguished +manners, a high heart, the education of a young man of the world, +ambition and powers of mind that would carry him far, and for the +immediate future an object to gain, the affection of a lady whom all +acknowledged to be as good as she was charming, and as charming as she +was personally attractive. + +“She hates me,” broke in Adrian. + +“Ah!” laughed Ramiro, “there speaks the voice of small experience. Oh! +youth, so easily exalted and so easily depressed! Joyous, chequered +youth! How many happy marriages have I not known begin with such hate +as this? Well, there it is, you must take my word for it. If you want +to marry Elsa Brant, I can manage it for you, and if not, why, you can +leave it alone.” + +Adrian reflected, then as his mind had a practical side, he put a +question. + +“You spoke of the prospect of enormous wealth; what is it?” + +“I will tell you, I will tell you,” whispered his parent, looking about +him cautiously; “it is the vast hoard of Hendrik Brant which I intend +to recover; indeed, my search for it has been at the root of all this +trouble. And now, son, you can see how open I have been with you, for +if you marry Elsa that money will legally be your property, and I can +only claim whatever it may please you to give me. Well, as to that +question, in the spirit of the glorious motto of our race, ‘Trust to +God and me,’ I shall leave it to your sense of honour, which, whatever +its troubles, has never yet failed the house of Montalvo. What does it +matter to me who is the legal owner of the stuff, so long as it remains +in the family?” + +“Of course not,” replied Adrian, loftily, “especially as I am not +mercenary.” + +“Ah! well,” went on Ramiro, “we have talked for a long while, and if I +continue to live there are affairs to which I ought to attend. You have +heard all I have to say, and you have the swords in your hand, and, of +course, I am—only your prisoner on parole. So now, my son, be so good +as to settle this matter without further delay. Only, if you make up +your mind to use the steel, allow me to show you where to thrust, as I +do not wish to undergo any unnecessary discomfort”—and he stood before +him and bowed in a very courtly and dignified fashion. + +Adrian looked at him and hesitated. “I don’t trust you,” he said; “you +have tricked me once and I daresay that you will trick me again. Also I +don’t think much of people who masquerade under false names and lay +such traps as you laid to get my evidence against the rest of them. But +I am in a bad place and without friends. I want to marry Elsa and +recover my position in the world; also, as you know well, I can’t cut +the throat of my own father in cold blood,” and he threw down one of +the swords. + +“Your decision is just such as I would have expected from my knowledge +of your noble nature, son Adrian,” remarked Ramiro as he picked up his +weapon and restored it to the scabbard. “But now, before we enter upon +this perfect accord, I have two little stipulations to make on my +side.” + +“What are they?” asked Adrian. + +“First, that our friendship should be complete, such as ought to exist +between a loving father and son, a friendship without reservations. +Secondly—this is a condition that I fear you may find harder—but, +although fortune has led me into stony paths, and I fear some doubtful +expedients, there was always one thing which I have striven to cherish +and keep pure, and that in turn has rewarded me for my devotion in many +a dangerous hour, my religious belief. Now I am Catholic, and I could +wish that my son should be Catholic also; these horrible errors, +believe me, are as dangerous to the soul as just now they happen to be +fatal to the body. May I hope that you, who were brought up but not +born in heresy, will consent to receive instruction in the right +faith?” + +“Certainly you may,” answered Adrian, almost with enthusiasm. “I have +had enough of conventicles, psalm-singing, and the daily chance of +being burned; indeed, from the time when I could think for myself I +always wished to be a Catholic.” + +“Your words make me a happy man,” answered Ramiro. “Allow me to unbolt +the door, I hear our hosts. Worthy Simon and Vrouw, I make you parties +to a solemn and joyful celebration. This young man is my son, and in +token of my fatherly love, which he has been pleased to desire, I now +take him in my arms and embrace him before you,” and he suited the +action to the word. + +But Black Meg, watching his face in astonishment from over Adrian’s +shoulder, saw its one bright eye suddenly become eclipsed. Could it be +that the noble Master had winked? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV +MARTHA PREACHES A SERMON AND TELLS A SECRET + + +Two days after his reconciliation with his father, Adrian was admitted +as a member of the Catholic Church. His preparation had been short; +indeed, it consisted of three interviews with a priest who was brought +to the house at night. The good man found in his pupil so excellent a +disposition and a mind so open to his teaching that, acting on a hint +given him by Ramiro, who, for reasons of his own not altogether +connected with religion, was really anxious to see his son a member of +the true and Catholic Church, he declared it unnecessary to prolong the +period of probation. Therefore, on the third day, as the dusk of +evening was closing, for in the present state of public feeling they +dared not go out while it was light, Adrian was taken to the baptistry +of the Groote Kerke. Here he made confession of his sins to a certain +Abbe known as Father Dominic, a simple ceremony, for although the list +of them which he had prepared was long, its hearing proved short. Thus +all his offences against his family, such as his betrayal of his +stepfather, were waived aside by the priest as matters of no account; +indeed, crimes of this nature, he discovered, to the sacerdotal eye +wore the face of virtue. Other misdoings also, such as a young man +might have upon his mind, were not thought weighty. What really was +considered important proved to be the earnestness of his recantation of +heretical errors, and when once his confessor was satisfied upon that +point, the penitent soul was relieved by absolution full and free. + +After this came the service of his baptism, which, because Ramiro +wished it, for a certain secret reason, was carried out with as much +formal publicity as the circumstances would allow. Indeed, several +priests officiated at the rite, Adrian’s sponsors being his father and +the estimable Hague Simon, who was paid a gold piece for his pains. +While the sacrament was still in progress, an untoward incident +occurred. From its commencement the trampling and voices of a mob had +been heard in the open space in front of the church, and now they began +to hammer on the great doors and to cast stones at the painted windows, +breaking the beautiful and ancient glass. Presently a beadle hurried +into the baptistery, and whispered something in the ear of the Abbe +which caused that ecclesiastic to turn pale and to conclude the service +in a somewhat hasty fashion. + +“What is it?” asked Ramiro. + +“Alas! my son,” said the priest, “these heretic dogs saw you, or our +new-found brother, I know not which—enter this holy place, and a great +mob of them have surrounded it, ravening for our blood.” + +“Then we had best begone,” said Ramiro. + +“Señor, it is impossible,” broke in the sacristan; “they watch every +door. Hark! hark! hark!” and as he spoke there came the sound of +battering on the oaken portals. + +“Can your reverences make any suggestions?” asked Ramiro, “for if not—” +and he shrugged his shoulders. + +“Let us pray,” said one of them in a trembling voice. + +“By all means, but I should prefer to do so as I go. Fool, is there any +hiding place in this church, or must we stop here to have our throats +cut?” + +Then the sacristan, with white lips and knocking knees, whispered: + +“Follow me, all of you. Stay, blow out the lights.” + +So the candles were extinguished, and in the darkness they grasped each +other’s hands and were led by the verger whither they knew not. Across +the wide spaces of the empty church they crawled, its echoing silence +contrasting strangely with the muffled roar of angry voices without and +the dull sound of battering on the doors. One of their number, the fat +Abbe Dominic, became separated from them in the gloom, and wandered +away down an arm of the vast transept, whence they could hear him +calling to them. The sacristan called back, but Ramiro fiercely bade +him to be silent, adding: + +“Are we all to be snared for the sake of one priest?” + +So they went on, till presently in that great place his shouts grew +fainter, and were lost in the roar of the multitude without. + +“Here is the spot,” muttered the sacristan, after feeling the floor +with his hands, and by a dim ray of moonlight which just then pierced +the windows of the choir, Adrian saw that there was a hole in the +pavement before him. + +“Descend, there are steps,” said their guide. “I will shut the stone,” +and one by one they passed down six or seven narrow steps into some +darksome place. + +“Where are we?” asked a priest of the verger, when he had pulled the +stone close and joined them. + +“In the family vault of the noble Count van Valkenburg, whom your +reverence buried three days ago. Fortunately the masons have not yet +come to cement down the stone. If your Excellencies find it close, you +can get air by standing upon the coffin of the noble Count.” + +Adrian did find it close, and took the hint, to discover that in a line +with his head was some filigree stonework, pierced with small +apertures, the front doubtless of the marble tomb in the church above, +for through them he could see the pale moon rays wavering on the +pavement of the choir. As he looked the priest at his side muttered: + +“Hark! The doors are down. Aid us, St. Pancras!” and falling upon his +knees he began to pray very earnestly. + +Yielding at last to the blows of the battering-beam, the great portals +had flown open with a crash, and now through them poured the mob. On +they came with a rush and a roar, like that of the sea breaking through +a dyke, carrying in their hands torches, lanterns hung on poles, axes, +swords and staves, till at length they reached the screen of wonderful +carved oak, on the top of which, rising to a height of sixty feet above +the floor of the church, stood the great Rood, with the images of the +Virgin and St. John on either side. Here, of a sudden, the vastness and +the silence of the holy place which they had known, every one, from +childhood, with its echoing aisles, the moonlit, pictured windows, its +consecrated lamps twinkling here and there like fisher lights upon the +darkling waters, seemed to take hold of them. As at the sound of the +Voice Divine sweeping down the wild waves at night, the winds ceased +their raving and the seas were still, so now, beneath the silent +reproach of the effigy of the White Christ standing with uplifted hand +above the altar, hanging thorn-crowned upon the Rood, kneeling agonised +within the Garden, seated at the Holy Supper, on His lips the New +Commandment, “As I have loved you, so ye also love one another,” their +passions flickered down and their wrath slept. + +“They are not here, let us be going,” said a voice. + +“They are here,” answered another voice, a woman’s voice with a note of +vengeance in it. “I tracked them to the doors, the Spanish murderer +Ramiro, the spy Hague Simon, the traitor Adrian, called van Goorl, and +the priests, the priests, the priests who butcher us.” + +“Let God deal with them,” said the first voice, which to Adrian sounded +familiar. “We have done enough. Go home in peace.” + +Now muttering, “The pastor is right. Obey the Pastor Arentz,” the more +orderly of the multitude turned to depart, when suddenly, from the far +end of the transept, arose a cry. + +“Here’s one of them. Catch him! catch him!” A minute more and into the +circle of the torchlight rushed the Abbe Dominic, his eyes starting +from his head with terror, his rent robe flapping on the ground. +Exhausted and bewildered he cast himself down, and grasping the +pedestal of an image began to cry for mercy, till a dozen fierce hands +dragged him to his feet again. + +“Let him go,” said the voice of the Pastor Arentz. “We fight the +Church, not its ministers.” + +“Hear me first,” she answered who had spoken before, and men turned to +see standing above them in the great pulpit of the church, a +fierce-eyed, yellow-toothed hag, grey-haired, skinny-armed, long-faced +like a horse, and behind her two other women, each of whom held a torch +in her right hand. + +“It is the Mare,” roared the multitude. “It is Martha of the Mere. +Preach on, Martha. What’s your text?” + +“Whoso sheddeth man’s blood by man shall his blood be shed,” she +answered in a ringing, solemn voice, and instantly a deep silence fell +upon the place. + +“You call me the Mare,” she went on. “Do you know how I got that name? +They gave it me after they had shrivelled up my lips and marred the +beauty of my face with irons. And do you know what they made me do? +They made me carry my husband to the stake upon my back because they +said that a horse must be ridden. And do you know who said this? _That +priest who stands before you._” + +As the words left her lips a yell of rage beat against the roof. Martha +held up her thin hand, and again there was silence. + +“He said it—the holy Father Dominic; let him deny it if he can. What? +He does not know me? Perchance not, for time and grief and madness and +hot pincers have changed the face of Vrouw Martha van Muyden, who was +called the Lily of Brussels. Ah! look at him now. He remembers the Lily +of Brussels. He remembers her husband and her son also, for he burned +them. O God, judge between us. O people, deal with that devil as God +shall teach you. + +“Who are the others? He who is called Ramiro, the Governor of the +Gevangenhuis, the man who years ago would have thrust me beneath the +ice to drown had not the Vrouw van Goorl bought my life; he who set her +husband, Dirk van Goorl, the man you loved, to starve to death sniffing +the steam of kitchens. O people, deal with that devil as God shall +teach you. + +“And the third, the half-Spaniard, the traitor Adrian called van Goorl, +he who has come here to-night to be baptised anew into the bosom of the +Holy Church; he who signed the evidence upon which Dirk was +murdered”—here, again, the roar of hate and rage went up and beat along +the roof—“upon which too his brother Foy was taken to the torture, +whence Red Martin saved him. O people, do with that devil also as God +shall teach you. + +“And the fourth, Hague Simon the spy, the man whose hands for years +have smoked with innocent blood; Simon the Butcher—Simon the false +witness——” + +“Enough, enough!” roared the crowd. “A rope, a rope; up with him to the +arm of the Rood.” + +“My friends,” cried Arentz, “let the man go. Vengeance is mine, saith +the Lord, and I will repay.” + +“Yes, but we will give him something on account,” shouted a voice in +bitter blasphemy. “Well climbed, Jan, well climbed,” and they looked up +to see, sixty feet above their heads, seated upon the arm of the lofty +Rood, a man with a candle bound upon his brow and a coil of rope upon +his back. + +“He’ll fall,” said one. + +“Pish!” answered another, “it is steeplejack Jan, who can hang on a +wall like a fly.” + +“Look out for the ends of the rope,” cried the thin voice above, and +down they came. + +“Spare me,” screamed the wretched priest, as his executioners caught +hold of him. + +“Yes, yes, as you spared the Heer Jansen a few months ago.” + +“It was to save his soul,” groaned Dominic. + +“Quite so, and now we are going to save yours; your own medicine, +father, your own medicine.” + +“Spare me, and I will tell you where the others are.” + +“Well, where are they?” asked the ringleader, pushing his companions +away. + +“Hidden in the church, hidden in the church.” + +“We knew that, you traitorous dog. Now then for the soul-saving. Catch +hold there and run away with it. A horse should be ridden, father—your +own saying—and an angel must learn to fly.” + +Thus ended the life of the Abbe Dominic at the hands of avenging men. +Without a doubt they were fierce and bloody-minded, for the reader must +not suppose that all the wickedness of those days lies on the heads of +the Inquisition and the Spaniards. The adherents of the New Religion +did evil things also, things that sound dreadful in our ears. In excuse +of them, however, this can be urged, that, compared to those of their +oppressors, they were as single trees to a forest full; also that they +who worked them had been maddened by their sufferings. If our fathers, +husbands and brothers had been burned at the stake, or done to death +under the name of Jesus in the dens of the Inquisition, or slaughtered +by thousands in the sack of towns; if our wives and daughters had been +shamed, if our houses had been burned, our goods taken, our liberties +trampled upon, and our homes made a desolation, then, my reader, is it +not possible that even in these different days you and I might have +been cruel when our hour came? God knows alone, and God be thanked that +so far as we can foresee, except under the pressure, perhaps, of +invasion by semi-barbarian hordes, or of dreadful and sudden social +revolutions, civilized human nature will never be put to such a test +again. + +Far aloft in the gloom there, swinging from the arm of the Cross, whose +teachings his life had mocked, like some mutinous sailor at the yard of +the vessel he had striven to betray, the priest hung dead, but his life +did not appease the fury of the triumphant mob. + +“The others,” they cried, “find the others,” and with torches and +lanterns they hunted round the great church. They ascended the belfry, +they rummaged the chapels, they explored the crypt; then, baffled, drew +together in a countless crowd in the nave, shouting, gesticulating, +suggesting. + +“Get dogs,” cried a voice; “dogs will smell them out;” and dogs were +brought, which yapped and ran to and fro, but, confused by the +multitude, and not knowing what to seek, found nothing. Then some one +threw an image from a niche, and next minute, with a cry of “Down with +the idols,” the work of destruction began. + +Fanatics sprang at the screens and the altars, “all the carved work +thereof they break down with hatchet and hammer,” they tore the +hangings from the shrines, they found the sacred cups, and filling them +with sacramental wine, drank with gusts of ribald laughter. In the +centre of the choir they built a bonfire, and fed it with pictures, +carvings, and oaken benches, so that it blazed and roared furiously. On +to it—for this mob did not come to steal but to work vengeance—they +threw utensils of gold and silver, the priceless jewelled offerings of +generations, and danced around its flames in triumph, while from every +side came the crash of falling statues and the tinkling of shattered +glass. + +The light of that furnace shone through the lattice stonework of the +tomb, and in its lurid and ominous glare Adrian beheld the faces of +those who refuged with him. What a picture it was; the niches filled +with mouldering boxes, the white gleam of human bones that here and +there had fallen from them, the bright furnishings and velvet pall of +the coffin of the newcomer on which he stood—and then those faces. The +priests, still crouched in corners, rolling on the ground, their white +lips muttering who knows what; the sacristan in a swoon, Hague Simon +hugging a coffin in a niche, as a drowning man hugs a plank, and, +standing in the midst of them, calm, sardonic and watchful, a drawn +rapier in his hand, his father Ramiro. + +“We are lost,” moaned a priest, losing control of himself. “We are +lost. They will kill us as they have killed the holy Abbe.” + +“We are not lost,” hissed Ramiro, “we are quite safe, but, friend, if +you open that cursed mouth of yours again it shall be for the last +time,” and he lifted his sword, adding, “Silence; he who speaks, dies.” + +How long did it last? Was it one hour, or two or three? None of them +knew, but at length the image-breaking was done, and it came to an end. +The interior of the church, with all its wealth and adornments, was +utterly destroyed, but happily the flames did not reach the roof, and +the walls could not catch fire. + +By degrees the iconoclasts wearied; there seemed to be nothing more to +break, and the smoke choked them. Two or three at a time they left the +ravaged place, and once more it became solemn and empty; a symbol of +Eternity mocking Time, of Peace conquering Tumult, of the Patience and +Purpose of God triumphant over the passions and ravings of Man. Little +curls of smoke went up from the smouldering fire; now and again a +fragment of shattered stonework fell with an echoing crash, and the +cold wind of the coming winter sighed through the gaping windows. The +deed was done, the revenge of a tortured multitude had set its seal +upon the ancient fane in which their forefathers worshipped for a score +of generations, and once more quiet brooded upon the place, and the +shafts of the sweet moonlight pierced its desecrated solitudes. + +One by one, like ghosts arising at a summons of the Spirit, the +fugitives crept from the shelter of the tomb, crept across the +transepts to the little door of the baptistery, and with infinite +peeping and precaution, out into the night, to vanish this way and +that, hugging their hearts as though to feel whether they still beat +safely in their bosoms. + +As he passed the Rood Adrian looked up, and there, above the broken +carvings and the shattered statue of the Virgin, hung the calm face of +the Saviour crowned with thorns. There, too, not far from it, looking +small and infinitely piteous at that great height, and revolving slowly +in the sharp draught from the broken windows, hung another dead face, +the horrid face of the Abbe Dominic, lately the envied, prosperous +dignitary and pluralist, who not four hours since had baptised him into +the bosom of the Church, and who now himself had been born again into +the bosom of whatever world awaited him beyond the Gates. It terrified +Adrian; no ghost could have frightened him more, but he set his teeth +and staggered on, guided by the light gleaming faintly on the sword of +Ramiro—to whatever haven that sword should lead him. + +Before dawn broke it had led him out of Leyden. + +It was after ten o’clock that night when a woman, wrapped in a rough +frieze coat, knocked at the door of the house in the Bree Straat and +asked for the Vrouw van Goorl. + +“My mistress lies between life and death with the plague,” answered the +servant. “Get you gone from this pest-house, whoever you are.” + +“I do not fear the plague,” said the visitor. “Is the Jufvrouw Elsa +Brant still up? Then tell her that Martha, called the Mare, would speak +with her.” + +“She can see none at such an hour,” answered the servant. + +“Tell her I come from Foy van Goorl.” + +“Enter,” said the servant wondering, and shut the door behind her. + +A minute later Elsa, pale-faced, worn, but still beautiful, rushed into +the room, gasping, “What news? Does he live? Is he well?” + +“He lives, lady, but he is not well, for the wound in his thigh has +festered and he cannot walk, or even stand. Nay, have no fear, time and +clean dressing will heal him, and he lies in a safe place.” + +In the rapture of her relief Elsa seized the woman’s hand, and would +have kissed it. + +“Touch it not, it is bloodstained,” said Martha, drawing her hand away. + +“Blood? Whose blood is on it?” asked Elsa, shrinking back. + +“Whose blood?” answered Martha with a hollow laugh; “why that of many a +Spanish man. Where, think you, lady, that the Mare gallops of nights? +Ask it of the Spaniards who travel by the Haarlemer Meer. Aye, and now +Red Martin is with me and we run together, taking our tithe where we +can gather it.” + +“Oh! tell me no more,” said Elsa. “From day to day it is ever the same +tale, a tale of death. Nay, I know your wrongs have driven you mad, but +that a woman should slay——” + +“A woman! I am no woman; my womanhood died with my husband and my son. +Girl, I tell you that I am no woman; I am a Sword of God myself +appointed to the sword. And so to the end I kill, and kill and kill +till the hour when I am killed. Go, look in the church yonder, and see +who hangs to the high arm of the Rood—the fat Abbe Dominic. Well, I +sent him there to-night; to-morrow you will hear how I turned parson +and preached a sermon—aye, and Ramiro and Adrian called van Goorl, and +Simon the spy, should have joined him there, only I could not find them +because their hour has not come. But the idols are down and the +paintings burnt, and the gold and silver and jewels are cast upon the +dung-heap. Swept and garnished is the temple, made clean and fit for +the Lord to dwell in.” + +“Made clean with the blood of murdered priests, and fit by the smoke of +sacrilege?” broke in Elsa. “Oh! woman, how can you do such wicked +things and not be afraid?” + +“Afraid?” she answered. “Those who have passed through hell have no +more fear; death I seek, and when judgment comes I will say to the +Lord: What have I done that the Voice which speaks to me at night did +not tell me to do? Look down, the blood of my husband and my son still +smokes upon the ground. Hearken, Lord God, it cries to Thee for +vengeance!” and as she spoke she lifted her blackened hands and shook +them. Then she went on. + +“They murdered your father, why do you not kill them also? You are +small and weak and timid, and could not run by night and use the knife +as I do, but there is poison. I can brew it and bring it to you, made +from marsh herbs, white as water and deadly as Death itself. What! You +shrink from such things? Well, girl, once I was beautiful as you and as +loving and beloved, and I can do them for my love’s sake—for my love’s +sake. Nay, _I_ do not do them, they are done through me. The Sword am +I, the Sword! And you too are a sword, though you know it not, though +you see it not, you, maiden, so soft and white and sweet, are a Sword +of Vengeance working the death of men; I, in my way, you in yours, +paying back, back, back, full measure pressed down and running over to +those appointed to die. The treasure of Hendrik Brant, your treasure, +it is red with blood, every piece of it. I tell you that the deaths +that I have done are but as a grain of sand to a bowlful compared to +those which your treasure shall do. There, maid, I fright you. Have no +fear, it is but Mad Martha, who, when she sees, must speak, and through +the flames in the kirk to-night I saw visions such as I have not seen +for years.” + +“Tell me more of Foy and Martin,” said Elsa, who was frightened and +bewildered. + +At her words a change seemed to come over this woman, at once an object +of pity and of terror, for the scream went out of her voice and she +answered quietly, + +“They reached me safe enough five days ago, Red Martin carrying Foy +upon his back. From afar I saw him, a naked man with a named sword, and +knew him by his size and beard. And oh! when I heard his tale I laughed +as I have not laughed since I was young.” + +“Tell it me,” said Elsa. + +And she told it while the girl listened with clasped hands. + +“Oh! it was brave, brave,” she murmured. “Red Martin forcing to the +door and Foy, weak and wounded, slaying the warder. Was there ever such +a story?” + +“Men are brave and desperate with the torture pit behind them,” +answered Martha grimly; “but they did well, and now they are safe with +me where no Spaniard can find them unless they hunt in great companies +after the ice forms and the reeds are dead.” + +“Would that I could be there also,” said Elsa, “but I tend his mother +who is very sick, so sick that I do not know whether she will live or +die.” + +“Nay, you are best here among your people,” answered Martha. “And now +that the Spaniards are driven out, here Foy shall return also so soon +as it is safe for him to travel; but as yet he cannot stir, and Red +Martin stays to watch him. Before long, however, he must move, for I +have tidings that the Spaniards are about to besiege Haarlem with a +great army, and then the Mere will be no longer safe for us, and I +shall leave it to fight with the Haarlem folk.” + +“And Foy and Martin will return?” + +“I think so, if they are not stopped.” + +“Stopped?”—and she put her hand upon her heart. + +“The times are rough, Jufvrouw Elsa. Who that breathes the air one +morning can know what breath will pass his nostrils at the nightfall? +The times are rough, and Death is king of them. The hoard of Hendrik +Brant is not forgotten, nor those who have its key. Ramiro slipped +through my hands to-night, and doubtless by now is far away from Leyden +seeking the treasure.” + +“The treasure! Oh! that thrice accursed treasure!” broke in Elsa, +shivering as though beneath an icy wind; “would that we were rid of +it.” + +“That you cannot be until it is appointed, for is this not the heritage +which your father died to save? Listen. Do you know, lady, where it +lies hid?” and she dropped her voice to a whisper. + +Elsa shook her head, saying: + +“I neither know nor wish to know.” + +“Still it is best that you should be told, for we three who have the +secret may be killed, every one of us—no, not the place, but where to +seek a clue to the place.” + +Elsa looked at her questioningly, and Martha, leaning forward, +whispered in her ear: + +“_It lies in the hilt of the Sword Silence_. If Red Martin should be +taken or killed, seek out his sword and open the hilt. Do you +understand?” + +Elsa nodded and answered, “But if aught happens to Martin the sword may +be lost.” + +Martha shrugged her shoulders. “Then the treasure will be lost also, +that is if I am gone. It is as God wills; but at least in name you are +the heiress, and you should know where to find its secret, which may +serve you or your country in good stead in time to come. I give you no +paper, I tell you only where to seek a paper, and now I must be gone to +reach the borders of the Mere by daybreak. Have you any message for +your love, lady?” + +“I would write a word, if you can wait. They will bring you food.” + +“Good; write on and I will eat. Love for the young and meat for the +old, and for both let God be thanked.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV +THE RED MILL + + +After a week’s experience of that delectable dwelling and its +neighbourhood, Adrian began to grow weary of the Red Mill. Nine or ten +Dutch miles to the nor’west of Haarlem is a place called Velsen, +situated on the borders of the sand-dunes, to the south of what is +known to-day as the North Sea Canal. In the times of which this page of +history tells, however, the canal was represented by a great drainage +dyke, and Velsen was but a deserted village. Indeed, hereabouts all the +country was deserted, for some years before a Spanish force had passed +through it, burning, slaying, laying waste, so that few were left to +tend the windmills and repair the dyke. Holland is a country won from +swamps and seas, and if the water is not pumped out of it, and the +ditches are not cleaned, very quickly it relapses into primeval marsh; +indeed, it is fortunate if the ocean, bursting through the feeble +barriers reared by the industry of man, does not turn it into vast +lagoons of salt water. + +Once the Red Mill had been a pumping station, which, when the huge +sails worked, delivered the water from the fertile meadows into the +great dyke, whence it ran through sluice gates to the North Sea. Now, +although the embankment of this dyke still held, the meadows had gone +back into swamps. Rising out of these—for it was situated upon a low +mound of earth, raised, doubtless, as a point of refuge by +marsh-dwellers who lived and died before history began, towered the +wreck of a narrow-waisted windmill, built of brick below and wood +above, of very lonesome and commanding appearance in its gaunt +solitude. There were no houses near it, no cattle grazed about its +foot; it was a dead thing in a dead landscape. To the left, but +separated from it by a wide and slimy dyke, whence in times of flood +the thick, brackish water trickled to the plain, stretched an arid area +of sand-dunes, clothed with sparse grass, that grew like bristles upon +the back of a wild hog. Beyond these dunes the ocean roared and moaned +and whispered hungrily as the wind and weather stirred its depths. In +front, not fifty paces away, ran the big dyke like a raised road, +secured by embankments, and discharging day by day its millions of +gallons of water into the sea. But these embankments were weakening +now, and here and there could be seen a spot which looked as though a +giant ploughshare had been drawn up them, for a groove of brown earth +scarred the face of green, where in some winter flood the water had +poured over to find its level, cutting them like cheese, but when its +volume sank, leaving them still standing, and as yet sufficient for +their purpose. + +To the right again and behind, were more marshes, broken only in the +distance by the towers of Haarlem and the spires of village churches, +marshes where the snipe and bittern boomed, the herons fed, and in +summer the frogs croaked all night long. + +Such was the refuge to which Ramiro and his son, Adrian, had been led +by Hague Simon and Black Meg, after they had escaped with their lives +from Leyden upon the night of the image-breaking in the church, that +ominous night when the Abbe Dominic gave up the ghost on the arm of the +lofty Rood, and Adrian had received absolution and baptism from his +consecrated hand. + +On the journey hither Adrian asked no questions as to their +destination; he was too broken in heart and too shaken in body to be +curious; life in those days was for him too much of a hideous +phantasmagoria of waste and blackness out of which appeared vengeful, +red-handed figures, out of which echoed dismal, despairing voices +calling him to doom. + +They came to the place and found its great basement and the floors +above, or some of them, furnished after a fashion. The mill had been +inhabited, and recently, as Adrian gathered, by smugglers, or thieves, +with whom Meg and Simon were in alliance, or some such outcast +evil-doers who knew that here the arm of the law could not reach them. +Though, indeed, while Alva ruled in the Netherlands there was little +law to be feared by those who were rich or who dared to worship God +after their own manner. + +“Why have we come here—father,” Adrian was about to add, but the word +stuck in his throat. + +Ramiro shrugged his shoulders and looked round him with his one +criticising eye. + +“Because our guides and friends, the worthy Simon and his wife, assure +me that in this spot alone our throats are for the present safe, and by +St. Pancras, after what we saw in the church yonder I am inclined to +agree with them. He looked a poor thing up under the roof there, the +holy Father Dominic, didn’t he, hanging up like a black spider from the +end of his cord? Bah! my backbone aches when I think of him.” + +“And how long are we to stop here?” + +“Till—till Don Frederic has taken Haarlem and these fat Hollanders, or +those who are left of them, lick our boots for mercy,” and he ground +his teeth, then added: “Son, do you play cards? Good, well let us have +a game. Here are dice; it will serve to turn our thoughts. Now then, a +hundred guilders on it.” + +So they played and Adrian won, whereon, to his amazement, his father +paid him the money. + +“What is the use of that?” asked Adrian. + +“Gentlemen should always pay their debts at cards.” + +“And if they cannot?” + +“Then they must keep score of the amount and discharge it when they are +able. Look you, young man, everything else you may forget, but what you +lose over the dice is a debt of honour. There lives no man who can say +that I cheated him of a guilder at cards, though I fear some others +have my name standing in their books.” + +When they rose from their game that night Adrian had won between three +and four hundred florins. Next day his winnings amounted to a thousand +florins, for which his father gave him a carefully-executed note of +hand; but at the third sitting the luck changed or perhaps skill began +to tell, and he lost two thousand florins. These he paid up by +returning his father’s note, his own winnings, and all the balance of +the purse of gold which his mother had given to him when he was driven +from the house, so that now he was practically penniless. + +The rest of the history may be guessed. At every game the stakes were +increased, for since Adrian could not pay, it was a matter of +indifference to him how much he wagered. Moreover, he found a kind of +mild excitement in playing at the handling of such great sums of money. +By the end of a week he had lost a queen’s dowry. As they rose from the +table that night his father filled in the usual form, requested him to +be so good as to sign it, and a sour-faced woman who had arrived at the +mill, Adrian knew not whence, to do the household work, to put her name +as witness. + +“What is the use of this farce?” asked Adrian. “Brant’s treasure would +scarcely pay that bill.” + +His father pricked his ears. + +“Indeed? I lay it at as much again. What is the use? Who knows—one day +you might become rich, for, as the great Emperor said, ‘Fortune is a +woman who reserves her favours for the young,’ and then, doubtless, +being the man of honour that you are, you would wish to pay your old +gambling debts.” + +“Oh! yes, I should pay if I could,” answered Adrian with a yawn. “But +it seems hardly worth while talking about, does it?” and he sauntered +out of the place into the open air. + +His father rose, and, standing by the great peat fire, watched him +depart thoughtfully. + +“Let me take stock of the position,” he said to himself. “The dear +child hasn’t a farthing left; therefore, although he is getting bored, +he can’t run away. Moreover, he owes me more money than I ever saw; +therefore, if he should chance to become the husband of the Jufvrouw +Brant, and the legal owner of her parent’s wealth, whatever +disagreements may ensue between him and me I shall have earned my share +of it in a clean and gentlemanly fashion. If, on the other hand, it +should become necessary for me to marry the young lady, which God +forbid, at least no harm is done, and he will have had the advantage of +some valuable lessons from the most accomplished card-player in Spain. + +“And now what we need to enliven this detestable place is the presence +of Beauty herself. Our worthy friends should be back soon—bringing +their sheaves with them, let us hope, for otherwise matters will be +complicated. Let me see: have I thought of everything, for in such +affairs one oversight—He is a Catholic, therefore can contract a legal +marriage under the Proclamations—it was lucky I remembered that point +of law, though it nearly cost us all our lives—and the priest, I can +lay my hands on him, a discreet man, who won’t hear if the lady says +No, but filled beyond a question with the power and virtue of his holy +office. No, I have nothing to reproach myself with in the way of +precaution, nothing at all. I have sown the seed well and truly, it +remains only for Providence to give the increase, or shall I say—no, I +think not, for between the general and the private familiarity is +always odious. Well, it is time that you met with a little success and +settled down, for you have worked hard, Juan, my friend, and you are +getting old—yes, Juan, you are getting old. Bah! what a hole and what +weather!” and Montalvo established himself by the fireside to doze away +his _ennui_. + +When Adrian shut the door behind him the late November day was drawing +to its close, and between the rifts in the sullen snow clouds now and +again an arrow from the westering sun struck upon the tall, +skeleton-like sails of the mill, through which the wind rushed with a +screaming noise. Adrian had intended to walk on the marsh, but finding +it too sodden, he crossed the western dyke by means of a board laid +from bank to bank, and struck into the sand-dunes beyond. Even in the +summer, when the air was still and flowers bloomed and larks sang, +these dunes were fantastic and almost unnatural in appearance, with +their deep, wind-scooped hollows of pallid sand, their sharp angles, +miniature cliffs, and their crests crowned with coarse grasses. But +now, beneath the dull pall of the winter sky, no spot in the world +could have been more lonesome or more desolate, for never a sign of man +was to be seen upon them and save for a solitary curlew, whose sad note +reached Adrian’s ears as it beat up wind from the sea, even the beasts +and birds that dwelt there had hidden themselves away. Only the voices +of Nature remained in all their majesty, the drear screams and moan of +the rushing wind, and above it, now low and now voluminous as the gale +veered, the deep and constant roar of the ocean. + +Adrian reached the highest crest of the ridge, whence the sea, hidden +hitherto, became suddenly visible, a vast, slate-coloured expanse, +twisted here and there into heaps, hollowed here and there into +valleys, and broken everywhere with angry lines and areas of white. In +such trouble, for, after its own fashion, his heart was troubled, some +temperaments might have found a kind of consolation in this sight, for +while we witness them, at any rate, the throes and moods of Nature in +their greatness declare a mastery of our senses, and stun or hush to +silence the petty turmoil of our souls. This, at least, is so with +those who have eyes to read the lesson written on Nature’s face, and +ears to hear the message which day by day she delivers with her lips; +gifts given only to such as hold the cypher-key of imagination, and +pray for grace to use it. + +In Adrian’s case, however, the weirdness of the sand-hills and the +grandeur of the seascape with the bitter wind that blew between and the +solitude which brooded over all, served only to exasperate nerves that +already were strained well nigh to breaking. + +Why had his father brought him to this hideous swamp bordered by a +sailless sea? To save their lives from the fury of the mob? This he +understood, but there was more in it than that, some plot which he did +not understand, and which the ruffian, Hague Simon, and that she-fiend, +his companion, had gone away to execute. Meanwhile he must sit here day +after day playing cards with the wretch Ramiro, whom, for no fault of +his own, God had chosen out to be his parent. By the way, why was the +man so fond of playing cards? And what was the meaning of all that +nonsense about notes of hand? Yes, here he must sit, and for company he +had the sense of his unalterable shame, the memory of his mother’s face +as she spurned and rejected him, the vision of the woman whom he loved +and had lost, and—the ghost of Dirk van Goorl. + +He shivered as he thought of it; yes, his hair lifted and his lip +twitched involuntarily, for to Adrian’s racked nerves and distorted +vision this ghost of the good man whom he had betrayed was no child of +phantasy. He had woken in the night and seen it standing at his +bedside, plague-defiled and hunger-wasted, and because of it he dreaded +to sleep alone, especially in that creaking, rat-haunted mill, whose +every board seemed charged with some tale of death and blood. Heavens! +At this very moment he thought he could hear that dead voice calling +down the gale. No, it must be the curlew, but at least he would be +going home. Home—that place home—with not even a priest near to confess +to and be comforted! + +Thanks be to the Saints! the wind had dropped a little, but now in +place of it came the snow, dense, whirling, white; so dense indeed that +he could scarcely see his path. What an end that would be, to be frozen +to death in the snow on these sand-hills while the spirit of Dirk van +Goorl sat near and watched him die with those hollow, hungry eyes. The +sweat came upon Adrian’s forehead at the thought, and he broke into a +run, heading for the bank of the great dyke that pierced the dunes half +a mile or so away, which bank must, he knew, lead him to the mill. He +reached it and trudged along what had been the towpath, though now it +was overgrown with weeds and rushes. It was not a pleasant journey, for +the twilight had closed in with speed and the thick flakes, that seemed +to heap into his face and sting him, turned it into a darkness mottled +with faint white. Still he stumbled forward with bent head and +close-wrapped cloak till he judged that he must be near to the mill, +and halted staring through the gloom. + +Just then the snow ceased for a while and light crept back to the cold +face of the earth, showing Adrian that he had done well to halt. In +front of where he stood, within a few paces of his feet indeed, for a +distance of quite twenty yards the lower part of the bank had slipped +away, washed from the stone core with which it was faced at this point, +by a slow and neglected percolation of water. Had he walked on +therefore, he would have fallen his own height or more into a slough of +mud, whence he might, or might not have been able to extricate himself. +As it was, however, by such light as remained he could crawl upon the +coping of the stonework which was still held in place with old struts +of timber that, until they had been denuded by the slow and constant +leakage, were buried and supported in the vanished earthwork. It was +not a pleasant bridge, for to the right lay the mud-bottomed gulf, and +to the left, almost level with his feet, were the black and peaty +waters of the rain-fed dyke pouring onwards to the sea. + +“Next flood this will go,” thought Adrian to himself, “and then the +marsh must become a mere which will be bad for whomever happens to be +living in the Red Mill.” He was on firm ground again now, and there, +looming tall and spectral against the gloom, not five hundred yards +away, rose the gaunt sails of the mill. To reach it he walked on six +score paces or more to the little landing-quay, where a raised path ran +to the building. As he drew near to it he was astonished to hear the +rattle of oars working in rollocks and a man’s voice say: + +“Steady, here is the place, praise the Saints! Now, then, out +passengers and let us be gone.” + +Adrian, whom events had made timid, drew beneath the shadow of the bank +and watched, while from the dim outline of the boat arose three +figures, or rather two figures arose, dragging the third between them. + +“Hold her,” said a voice that seemed familiar, “while I give these men +their hire,” and there followed a noise of clinking coin, mingled with +some oaths and grumbling about the weather and the distance, which were +abated with more coin. Then again the oars rattled and the boat was +pushed off, whereon a sweet voice cried in agonised tones: + +“Sirs, you who have wives and daughters, will you leave me in the hands +of these wretches? In the name of God take pity upon my helplessness.” + +“It is a shame, and she so fair a maid,” grumbled another thick and +raucous voice, but the steersman cried, “Mind your business, Marsh Jan. +We have done our job and got our pay, so leave the gentry to settle +their own love affairs. Good night to you, passengers; give way, give +way,” and the boat swung round and vanished into the gloom. + +For a moment Adrian’s heart stood still; then he sprang forward to see +before him Hague Simon, the Butcher, Black Meg his wife, and between +them a bundle wrapped in shawls. + +“What is this?” he asked. + +“You ought to know, Heer Adrian,” answered Black Meg with a chuckle, +“seeing that this charming piece of goods has been brought all the way +from Leyden, regardless of expense, for your especial benefit.” + +The bundle lifted its head, and the faint light shone upon the white +and terrified face of—Elsa Brant. + +“May God reward you for this evil deed, Adrian, called van Goorl,” said +the pitiful voice. + +“This deed! What deed?” he stammered in answer. “I know nothing of it, +Elsa Brant.” + +“You know nothing of it? Yet it was done in your name, and you are here +to receive me, who was kidnapped as I walked outside Leyden to be +dragged hither with force by these monsters. Oh! have you no heart and +no fear of judgment that you can speak thus?” + +“Free her,” roared Adrian, rushing at the Butcher to see a knife +gleaming in his hand and another in that of Black Meg. + +“Stop your nonsense, Master Adrian, and stand back. If you have +anything to say, say it to your father, the Count. Come, let us pass, +for we are cold and weary,” and taking Elsa by the elbows they brushed +past him, nor, indeed, even had he not been too bewildered to +interfere, could Adrian have stayed them, for he was unarmed. Besides, +where would be the use, seeing that the boat had gone and that they +were alone on a winter’s night in the wind-swept wilderness, with no +refuge for miles save such as the mill house could afford. So Adrian +bent his head, for the snow had begun to fall again, and, sick at +heart, followed them along the path. Now he understood at length why +they had come to the Red Mill. + +Simon opened the door and entered, but Elsa hung back at its ill-omened +threshold. She even tried to struggle a little, poor girl, whereon the +ruffian in front jerked her towards him with an oath, so that she +caught her foot and fell upon her face. This was too much for Adrian. +Springing forward he struck the Butcher full in the mouth with his +fist, and next moment they were rolling over and over each other upon +the floor, struggling fiercely for the knife which Simon held. + +During all her life Elsa never forgot that scene. Behind her the +howling blackness of the night and the open door, through which flake +by flake the snow leapt into the light. In front the large round room, +fashioned from the basement of the mill, lit only by the great fire of +turfs and a single horn lantern, hung from the ceiling that was ribbed +with beams of black and massive oak. And there, in this forbidding, +naked-looking place, that rocked and quivered as the gale caught the +tall arms of the mill above, seated by the hearth in a rude chair of +wood and sleeping, one man, Ramiro, the Spanish sleuth-hound, who had +hunted down her father, he whom above every other she held in horror +and in hate; and two, Adrian and the spy, at death-grips on the floor, +between them the sheen of a naked knife. + +Such was the picture. + +Ramiro awoke at the noise, and there was fear on his face as though +some ill dream lingered in his brain. Next instant he saw and +understood. + +“I will run the man through who strikes another blow,” he said, in a +cold clear voice as he drew his sword. “Stand up, you fools, and tell +me what this means.” + +“It means that this brute beast but now threw Elsa Brant upon her +face,” gasped Adrian as he rose, “and I punished him.” + +“It is a lie,” hissed the other; “I pulled the minx on, that is all, +and so would you have done, if you had been cursed with such a wild-cat +for four-and-twenty hours. Why, when we took her she was more trouble +to hold than any man.” + +“Oh! I understand,” interrupted Ramiro, who had recovered his +composure; “a little maidenly reluctance, that is all, my worthy Simon, +and as for this young gentleman, a little lover-like anxiety—doubtless +in bygone years you have felt the same,” and he glanced mockingly at +Black Meg. “So do not be too ready to take offence, good Simon. Youth +will be youth.” + +“And Youth will get a knife between its ribs if it is not careful,” +grumbled Hague Simon, as he spat out a piece of broken tooth. + +“Why am I brought here, Señor,” broke in Elsa, “in defiance of laws and +justice?” + +“Laws! Mejufvrouw, I did not know that there were any left in the +Netherlands; justice! well, all is fair in love and war, as any lady +will admit. And the reason why—I think you must ask Adrian, he knows +more about it than I do.” + +“He says that he knows nothing, Señor.” + +“Does he, the rogue? Does he indeed? Well, it would be rude to +contradict him, wouldn’t it, so I for one unreservedly accept his +statement that he knows nothing, and I advise you to do the same. No, +no, my boy, do not trouble to explain, we all quite understand. Now, my +good dame,” he went on addressing the serving-woman who had entered the +place, “take this young lady to the best room you have above. And, +listen, both of you, she is to be treated with all kindness, do you +hear, for if any harm comes to her, either at your hands or her own, by +Heaven! you shall pay for it to the last drop of your blood. Now, no +excuses and—no mistakes.” + +The two women, Meg and the other, nodded and motioned to Elsa to +accompany them. She considered a moment, looking first at Ramiro and +next at Adrian. Then her head dropped upon her breast, and turning +without a word she followed them up the creaking oaken stair that rose +from a niche near the wall of the ingle-nook. + +“Father,” said Adrian when the massive door had closed behind her and +they were left alone—“father—for I suppose that I must call you so.” + +“There is not the slightest necessity,” broke in Ramiro; “facts, my +dear son, need not always be paraded in the cold light of +day—fortunately. But, proceed.” + +“What does all this mean?” + +“I wish I could tell you. It appears to mean, however, that without any +effort upon your part, for you seem to me a young man singularly devoid +of resource, your love affairs are prospering beyond expectation.” + +“I have had nothing to do with the business; I wash my hands of it.” + +“That is as well. Some sensitive people might think they need a deal of +washing. You young fool,” he went on, dropping his mocking manner, +“listen to me. You are in love with this pink and white piece of goods, +and I have brought her here for you to marry.” + +“And I refuse to marry her against her will.” + +“As to that you can please yourself. But somebody has got to marry +her—you, or I.” + +“You—_you!_” gasped Adrian. + +“Quite so. The adventure is not one, to be frank, that attracts me. At +my age memories are sufficient. But material interests must be attended +to, so if you decline—well, I am still eligible and hearty. Do you see +the point?” + +“No, what is it?” + +“It is a sound title to the inheritance of the departed Hendrik Brant. +That wealth we might, it is true, obtain by artifice or by arms; but +how much better that it should come into the family in a regular +fashion, thereby ousting the claim of the Crown. Things in this country +are disturbed at present, but they will not always be disturbed, for in +the end somebody must give way and order will prevail. Then questions +might be asked, for persons in possession of great riches are always +the mark of envy. But if the heiress is married to a good Catholic and +loyal subject of the king, who can cavil at rights sanctified by the +laws of God and man? Think it over, my dear Adrian, think it over. +Step-mother or wife—you can take your choice.” + +With impotent rage, with turmoil of heart and torment of conscience, +Adrian did think it over. All that night he thought, tossing on his +rat-haunted pallet, while without the snow whirled and the wind beat. +If he did not marry Elsa, his father would, and there could be no doubt +as to which of these alternatives would be best and happiest for her. +Elsa married to that wicked, cynical, devil-possessed, battered, +fortune-hunting adventurer with a nameless past! This must be prevented +at any cost. With his father her lot _must_ be a hell; with +himself—after a period of storm and doubt perhaps—it could scarcely be +other than happy, for was he not young, handsome, sympathetic, +and—devoted? Ah! there was the real point. He loved this lady with all +the earnestness of which his nature was capable, and the thought of her +passing into the possession of another man gave him the acutest +anguish. That the man should be Foy, his half-brother, was bad enough; +that it should be Ramiro, his father, was insupportable. + +At breakfast the following morning, when Elsa did not appear, the pair +met. + +“You look pale, Adrian,” said his father presently. “I fear that this +wild weather kept you awake last night, as it did me, although at your +age I have slept through the roar of a battle. Well, have you thought +over our conversation? I do not wish to trouble you with these +incessant family matters, but times presses, and it is necessary to +decide.” + +Adrian looked out of the lattice at the snow, which fell and fell +without pause. Then he turned and said: + +“Yes. Of the two it is best that she should marry me, though I think +that such a crime will bring its own reward.” + +“Wise young man,” answered his father. “Under all your cloakings of +vagary I observe that you have a foundation of common-sense, just as +the giddiest weathercock is bedded on a stone. As for the reward, +considered properly it seems to be one upon which I can heartily +congratulate you.” + +“Peace to that talk,” said Adrian, angrily; “you forget that there are +two parties to such a contract; her consent must be gained, and I will +not ask it.” + +“No? Then I will; a few arguments occur to me. Now look here, friend, +we have struck a bargain, and you will be so good as to keep it or to +take the consequences—oh! never mind what they are. I will bring this +lady to the altar—or, rather, to that table, and you will marry her, +after which you can settle matters just exactly as you please; live +with her as your wife, or make your bow and walk away, which, I care +nothing so long as you are married. Now I am weary of all this talk, so +be so good as to leave me in peace on the subject.” + +Adrian looked at him, opened his lips to speak, then changed his mind +and marched out of the house into the blinding snow. + +“Thank Heaven he is gone at last!” reflected his father, and called for +Hague Simon, with whom he held a long and careful interview. + +“You understand?” he ended. + +“I understand,” answered Simon, sulkily. “I am to find this priest, who +should be waiting at the place you name, and to bring him here by +nightfall to-morrow, which is a rough job for a Christian man in such +weather as this.” + +“The pay, friend Simon, remember the pay.” + +“Oh! yes, it all sounds well enough, but I should like something on +account.” + +“You shall have it—is not such a labourer worthy of his hire?” replied +his employer with enthusiasm, and producing from his pocket the purse +which Lysbeth had given Adrian, with a smile of peculiar satisfaction, +for really the thing had a comic side, he counted a handsome sum into +the hand of this emissary of Venus. + +Simon looked at the money, concluded, after some reflection, that it +would scarcely do to stand out for more at present, pouched it, and +having wrapped himself in a thick frieze coat, opened the door and +vanished into the falling snow. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI +THE BRIDEGROOM AND THE BRIDE + + +The day passed, and through every hour of it the snow fell incessantly. +Night came, and it was still falling in large, soft flakes that floated +to the earth gently as thistledown, for now there was no wind. Adrian +met his father at meals only; the rest of the day he preferred to spend +out of doors in the snow, or hanging about the old sheds at the back of +the mill, rather than endure the society of this terrible man; this man +of mocking words and iron purpose, who was forcing him into the +commission of a great crime. + +It was at breakfast on the following morning that Ramiro inquired of +Black Meg whether the Jufvrouw Brant had sufficiently recovered from +the fatigues of her journey to honour them with her presence. The woman +replied that she absolutely refused to leave her room, or even to speak +more than was necessary. + +“Then,” said Ramiro, “as it is important that I should have a few words +with her, be so good as to tell the young lady, with my homage, that I +will do myself the honour of waiting on her in the course of the +forenoon.” + +Meg departed on her errand, and Adrian looked up suspiciously. + +“Calm yourself, young friend,” said his father, “although the interview +will be private, you have really no cause for jealousy. At present, +remember, I am but the second string in the bow-case, the understudy +who has learnt the part, a humble position, but one which may prove +useful.” + +At all of which gibes Adrian winced. But he did not reply, for by now +he had learned that he was no match for his father’s bitter wit. + +Elsa received the message as she received everything else, in silence. + +Three days before, as after a fearful illness during which on several +occasions she was at the very doors of death, Lysbeth van Goorl had +been declared out of danger, Elsa, her nurse, ventured to leave her for +a few hours. That evening the town seemed to stifle her and, feeling +that she needed the air of the country, she passed the Morsch poort and +walked a little way along the banks of the canal, never noticing, poor +girl, that her footsteps were dogged. When it began to grow dusk, she +halted and stood a while gazing towards the Haarlemer Meer, letting her +heart go out to the lover who, as she thought and hoped, within a day +or two would be at her side. + +Then it was that something was thrown over her head, and for a while +all was black. She awoke to find herself lying in a boat, and watching +her, two wretches, whom she recognised as those who had assailed her +when first she came to Leyden from The Hague. + +“Why have you kidnapped me, and where am I going?” she asked. + +“Because we are paid to do it, and you are going to Adrian van Goorl,” +was the answer. + +Then she understood, and was silent. + +Thus they brought her to this lonesome, murderous-looking place, where +sure enough Adrian was waiting for her, waiting with a lie upon his +lips. Now, doubtless, the end was at hand. She, who loved his brother +with all her heart and soul, was to be given forcibly in marriage to a +man whom she despised and loathed, the vain, furious-tempered traitor, +who, for revenge, jealousy, or greed, she knew not which, had not +hesitated to send his benefactor, and mother’s husband, to perish in +the fires of the Inquisition. + +What was she to do? Escape seemed out of the question, imprisoned as +she was on the third story of a lofty mill standing in a lonely, +snow-shrouded wilderness, cut off from the sight of every friendly +face, and spied on hour after hour by two fierce-eyed women. No, there +was only one escape for her—through the gate of death. Even this would +be difficult, for she had no weapon, and day and night the women kept +guard over her, one standing sentinel, while the other slept. Moreover, +she had no mind to die, being young and healthy, with a love to live +for, and from her childhood up she had been taught that self-slaughter +is a sin. No, she would trust in God, and overwhelming though it was, +fight her way through this trouble as best she might. The helpless find +friends sometimes. Therefore, that her strength might be preserved, +Elsa rested and ate of her food, and drank the wine which they brought +to her, refusing to leave the room, or to speak more than she was +obliged, but watching everything that passed. + +On the second morning of her imprisonment Ramiro’s message reached her, +to which, as usual, she made no answer. In due course also Ramiro +himself arrived, and stood bowing in the doorway. + +“Have I your permission to enter, Jufvrouw?” he asked. Then Elsa, +knowing that the moment of trial had come, steeled herself for the +encounter. + +“You are master here,” she answered, in a voice cold as the falling +snow without, “why then do you mock me?” + +He motioned to the women to leave the room, and when they had gone, +replied: + +“I have little thought of such a thing, lady; the matter in hand is too +serious for smart sayings,” and with another bow he sat himself down on +a chair near the hearth, where a fire was burning. Whereon Elsa rose +and stood over against him, for upon her feet she seemed to feel +stronger. + +“Will you be so good as to set out this matter, Señor Ramiro? Am I +brought here to be tried for heresy?” + +“Even so, for heresy against the god of love, and the sentence of the +Court is that you must expiate your sin, not at the stake, but at the +altar.” + +“I do not understand.” + +“Then I will explain. My son Adrian, a worthy young man on the +whole—you know that he _is_ my son, do you not?—has had the misfortune, +or I should say the good fortune, to fall earnestly in love with you, +whereas you have the bad taste—or, perhaps, the good taste—to give your +affections elsewhere. Under the circumstances, Adrian, being a youth of +spirit and resource, has fallen back upon primitive methods in order to +bring his suit to a successful conclusion. He is here, you are here, +and this evening I understand that the priest will be here. I need not +dwell upon the obvious issue; indeed, it is a private matter upon which +I have no right to intrude, except, of course, as a relative and a +well-wisher.” + +Elsa made an impatient movement with her hand, as though to brush aside +all this web of words. + +“Why do you take so much trouble to force an unhappy girl into a +hateful marriage?” she asked. “How can such a thing advantage you?” + +“Ah!” answered Ramiro briskly, “I perceive I have to do with a woman of +business, one who has that rarest of gifts—common sense. I will be +frank. Your esteemed father died possessed of a very large fortune, +which to-day is your property as his sole issue and heiress. Under the +marriage laws, which I myself think unjust, that fortune will pass into +the power of any husband whom you choose to take. Therefore, so soon as +you are made his wife it will pass to Adrian. I am Adrian’s father, +and, as it happens, he is pecuniarily indebted to me to a considerable +amount, so that, in the upshot, as he himself has pointed out more than +once, this alliance will provide for both of us. But business details +are wearisome, so I need not enlarge.” + +“The fortune you speak of, Señor Ramiro, is lost.” + +“It is lost, but I have reason to hope that it will be found.” + +“You mean that this is purely a matter of money?” + +“So far as I am concerned, purely. For Adrian’s feelings I cannot +speak, since who knows the mystery of another’s heart?” + +“Then, if the money were forthcoming—or a clue to it—there need be no +marriage?” + +“So far as I am concerned, none at all.” + +“And if the money is not forthcoming, and I refuse to marry the Heer +Adrian, or he to marry me—what then?” + +“That is a riddle, but I think I see an answer at any rate to half of +it. Then the marriage would still take place, but with another +bridegroom.” + +“Another bridegroom! Who?” + +“Your humble and devoted adorer.” + +Elsa shuddered and recoiled a step. + +“Ah!” he said, “I should not have bowed, you saw my white hairs—to the +young a hateful sight.” + +Elsa’s indignation rose, and she answered: + +“It is not your white hair that I shrink from, Señor, which in some +would be a crown of honour, but——” + +“In my case suggests to you other reflections. Be gentle and spare me +them. In a world of rough actions, what need to emphasise them with +rough words?” + +For a few minutes there was silence, which Ramiro, glancing out of the +lattice, broke by remarking that “The snowfall was extraordinarily +heavy for the time of year.” Then followed another silence. + +“I understood you just now, dear lady, to make some sort of suggestion +which might lead to an arrangement satisfactory to both of us. The +exact locality of this wealth is at present obscure—you mentioned some +clue. Are you in a position to furnish such a clue?” + +“If I am in a position, what then?” + +“Then, perhaps, after a few days visit to an interesting, but little +explored part of Holland, you might return to your friends as you left +them—in short as a single woman.” + +A struggle shook Elsa, and do what she would some trace of it appeared +in her face. + +“Do you swear that?” she whispered. + +“Most certainly.” + +“Do you swear before God that if you have this clue you will not force +me into a marriage with the Heer Adrian, or with yourself—that you will +let me go, unharmed?” + +“I swear it—before God.” + +“Knowing that God will be revenged upon you if you break the oath, you +still swear?” + +“I still swear. Why these needless repetitions?” + +“Then—then,” and she leant towards him, speaking in a hoarse whisper, +“believing that you, even you, will not dare to be false to such an +oath, for you, even you, must fear death, a miserable death, and +vengeance, eternal vengeance, I give you the clue: It lies in the hilt +of the sword Silence.” + +“The sword Silence? What sword is that?” + +“The great sword of Red Martin.” + +Stirred out of his self-control, Ramiro struck his hand upon his knee. + +“And to think,” he said, “that for over twelve hours I had it hanging +on the wall of the Gevangenhuis! Well, I fear that I must ask you to be +more explicit. Where is this sword?” + +“Wherever Red Martin is, that is all I know. I can tell you no more; +the plan of the hiding-place is there.” + +“Or was there. Well, I believe you, but to win a secret from the hilt +of the sword of the man who broke his way out of the torture-chamber of +the Gevangenhuis, is a labour that would have been not unworthy of +Hercules. First, Red Martin must be found, then his sword must be +taken, which, I think, will cost men their lives. Dear lady, I am +obliged for your information, but I fear that the marriage must still +go through.” + +“You swore, you swore,” she gasped, “you swore before God!” + +“Quite so, and I shall leave—the Power you refer to—to manage the +matter. Doubtless He can attend to His own affairs—I must attend to +mine. I hope that about seven o’clock this evening will suit you, by +which time the priest and—a bridegroom will be ready.” + +Then Elsa broke down. + +“Devil!” she cried in the torment of her despair. “To save my honour I +have betrayed my father’s trust; I have betrayed the secret for which +Martin was ready to die by torment, and given him over to be hunted +like a wild beast. Oh! God forgive me, and God help me!” + +“Doubtless, dear young lady, He will do the first, for your temptations +were really considerable; I, who have more experience, outwitted you, +that was all. Possibly, also, He may do the second, though many have +uttered that cry unheard. For my own sake, I trust that He was sleeping +when you uttered yours. But it is your affair and His; I leave it to be +arranged between you. Till this evening, Jufvrouw,” and he bowed +himself from the room. + +But Elsa, shamed and broken-hearted, threw herself upon the bed and +wept. + +At mid-day she arose, hearing upon the stair the step of the woman who +brought her food, and to hide her tear-stained face went to the barred +lattice and looked out. The scene was dismal indeed, for the wind had +veered suddenly, the snow had ceased, and in place of it rain was +falling with a steady persistence. When the woman had gone, Elsa washed +her face, and although her appetite turned from it, ate of the food, +knowing how necessary it was that she should keep her strength. + +Another hour passed, and there came a knock on the door. Elsa +shuddered, for she thought that Ramiro had returned to torment her. +Indeed it was almost a relief when, instead of him, appeared his son. +One glance at Adrian’s nervous, shaken face, yes, and even the sound of +his uncertain step brought hope to her heart. Her woman’s instinct told +her that now she had no longer to do with the merciless and terrible +Ramiro, to whose eyes she was but a pretty pawn in a game that he must +win, but with a young man who loved her, and whom she held, therefore, +at a disadvantage—with one, moreover, who was harassed and ashamed, and +upon whose conscience, therefore, she might work. She turned upon him, +drawing herself up, and although she was short and Adrian was tall, of +a sudden he felt as though she towered over him. + +“Your pleasure?” asked Elsa. + +In the old days Adrian would have answered with some magnificent +compliment, or far-fetched simile lifted from the pages of romancers. +In truth he had thought of several such while, like a half-starved dog +seeking a home, he wandered round and round the mill-house in the snow. +But he was now far beyond all rhetoric or gallantries. + +“My father wished,” he began humbly—“I mean that I have come to speak +to you about—our marriage.” + +Of a sudden Elsa’s delicate features seemed to turn to ice, while, to +his fancy at any rate, her brown eyes became fire. + +“Marriage,” she said in a strange voice. “Oh! what an unutterable +coward you must be to speak that word. Call what is proposed by any +foul title which you will, but at least leave the holy name of marriage +undefiled.” + +“It is not my fault,” he answered sullenly, but shrinking beneath her +words. “You know, Elsa, that I wished to wed you honourably enough.” + +“Yes,” she broke in, “and because I would not listen, because you do +not please me, and you could not win me as a man wins a maid, you—you +laid a trap and kidnapped me, thinking to get by brute force that which +my heart withheld. Oh! in all the Netherlands lives there another such +an abject as Adrian called van Goorl, the base-born son of Ramiro the +galley slave?” + +“I have told you that it is false,” he replied furiously. “I had +nothing to do with your capture. I knew nothing of it till I saw you +here.” + +Elsa laughed a very bitter laugh. “Spare your breath,” she said, “for +if you swore it before the face of the recording Angel I would not +believe you. Remember that you are the man who betrayed your brother +and your benefactor, and then guess, if you can, what worth I put upon +your words.” + +In the bitterness of his heart Adrian groaned aloud, and from that +groan Elsa, listening eagerly, gathered some kind of hope. + +“Surely,” she went on, with a changed and softened manner, “surely you +will not do this wickedness. The blood of Dirk van Goorl lies on your +head; will you add mine to his? For be sure of this, I swear it by my +Maker, that before I am indeed a wife to you I shall be dead—or mayhap +you will be dead, or both of us. Do you understand?” + +“I understand, but——” + +“But what? Where is the use of this wickedness? For your soul’s sake, +refuse to have aught to do with such a sin.” + +“But if so, my father will marry you.” + +It was a chance arrow, but it went home, for of a sudden Elsa’s +strength and eloquence seemed to leave her. She ran to him with her +hands clasped, she flung herself upon her knees. + +“Oh! help me to escape,” she moaned, “and I will bless you all my +life.” + +“It is impossible,” he answered. “Escape from this guarded place, +through those leagues of melting snow? I tell you that it is +impossible.” + +“Then,” and her eyes grew wild, “then kill him and free me. He is a +devil, he is your evil genius; it would be a righteous deed. Kill him +and free me.” + +“I should like to,” answered Adrian; “I nearly did once, but, for my +soul’s sake, I can’t put a sword through my own father; it is the most +horrible of crimes. When I confessed——” + +“Then,” she broke in, “if this farce, this infamy must be gone through, +swear at least that you will treat it as such, that you will respect +me.” + +“It is a hard thing to ask of a husband who loves you more than any +woman in the world,” he answered turning aside his head. + +“Remember,” she went on, with another flash of defiant spirit, “that if +you do not, you will soon love me better than any woman out of the +world, or perhaps we shall both settle what lies between us before the +Judgment Seat of God. Will you swear?” + +He hesitated. + +Oh! she reflected, what if he should answer—“Rather than this I hand +you over to Ramiro”? What if he should think of that argument? Happily +for her, at the moment he did not. + +“Swear,” she implored, “swear,” clinging with her hands to the lappet +of his coat and lifting to him her white and piteous face. + +“I make it an offering in expiation of my sins,” he groaned, “you shall +go free of me.” + +Elsa uttered a sigh of relief. She put no faith whatever in Adrian’s +promises, but at the worst it would give her time. + +“I thought that I should not appeal in vain——” + +“To so amusing and egregious a donkey,” said Ramiro’s mocking voice +speaking from the gloom of the doorway, which now Elsa observed for the +first time had swung open mysteriously. + +“My dear son and daughter-in-law, how can I thank you sufficiently for +the entertainment with which you have enlivened one of the most dreary +afternoons I remember. Don’t look dangerous, my boy; recall what you +have just told this young lady, that the crime of removing a parent is +one which, though agreeable, is not lightly to be indulged. Then, as to +your future arrangements, how touching! The soul of a Diana, I declare, +and the self-sacrifice of a—no, I fear that the heroes of antiquity can +furnish no suitable example. And now, adieu, I go to welcome the +gentleman you both of you so eagerly expect.” + +He went, and a minute later without speaking, for the situation seemed +beyond words, Adrian crept down the stairs after him, more miserable +and crushed even than he had crept up them half an hour before. + +Another two hours went by. Elsa was in her apartment with Black Meg for +company, who watched her as a cat watches a mouse in a trap. Adrian had +taken refuge in the place where he slept above. It was a dreary, +vacuous chamber, that once had held stones and other machinery of the +mill now removed, the home of spiders and half-starved rats, that a +lean black cat hunted continually. Across its ceiling ran great beams, +whereof the interlacing ends, among which sharp draughts whistled, lost +themselves in gloom, while, with an endless and exasperating sound, as +of a knuckle upon a board, the water dripped from the leaky roof. + +In the round living-chamber below Ramiro was alone. No lamp had been +lit, but the glow from the great turf fire played upon his face as he +sat there, watching, waiting, and scheming in the chair of black oak. +Presently a noise from without caught his quick ear, and calling to the +serving woman to light the lamp, he went to the door, opened it, and +saw a lantern floating towards him through the thick steam of falling +rain. Another minute and the bearer of the lantern, Hague Simon, +arrived, followed by two other men. + +“Here he is,” said Simon, nodding at the figure behind him, a short +round figure wrapped in a thick frieze cloak, from which water ran. +“The other is the head boatman.” + +“Good,” said Ramiro. “Tell him and his companions to wait in the shed +without, where liquor will be sent to them; they may be wanted later +on.” + +Then followed talk and oaths, and at length the man retreated +grumbling. + +“Enter, Father Thomas,” said Ramiro; “you have had a wet journey, I +fear. Enter and give us your blessing.” + +Before he answered the priest threw off his dripping, hooded cape of +Frisian cloth, revealing a coarse, wicked face, red and blear-eyed from +intemperance. + +“My blessing?” he said in a raucous voice. “Here it is, Señor Ramiro, +or whatever you call yourself now. Curse you all for bringing out a +holy priest upon one of your devil’s errands in weather which is only +fit for a bald-headed coot to travel through. There is going to be a +flood; already the water is running over the banks of the dam, and it +gathers every moment as the snow melts. I tell you there is going to be +such a flood as we have not seen for years.” + +“The more reason, Father, for getting through this little business +quickly; but first you will wish for something to drink.” + +Father Thomas nodded, and Ramiro filling a small mug with brandy, gave +it to him. He gulped it off. + +“Another,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. A chosen vessel should also be a +seasoned vessel; at any rate this one is. Ah! that’s better. Now then, +what’s the exact job?” + +Ramiro took him apart and they talked together for a while. + +“Very good,” said the priest at length, “I will take the risk and do +it, for where heretics are concerned such things are not too closely +inquired into nowadays. But first down with the money; no paper or +promises, if you please.” + +“Ah! you churchmen,” said Ramiro, with a faint smile, “in things +spiritual or temporal how much have we poor laity to learn of you!” +With a sigh he produced the required sum, then paused and added, “No; +with your leave we will see the papers first. You have them with you?” + +“Here they are,” answered the priest, drawing some documents from his +pocket. “But they haven’t been married yet; the rule is, marry first, +then certify. Until the ceremony is actually performed, anything might +happen, you know.” + +“Quite so, Father. Anything might happen either before or after; but +still, with your leave, I think that in this case we may as well +certify first; you might want to be getting away, and it will save so +much trouble later. Will you be so kind as to write your certificate?” + +Father Thomas hesitated, while Ramiro gently clinked the gold coins in +his hand and murmured, + +“I should be sorry to think, Father, that you had taken such a rough +journey for nothing.” + +“What trick are you at now?” growled the priest. “Well, after all it is +a mere form. Give me the names.” + +Ramiro gave them; Father Thomas scrawled them down, adding some words +and his own signature, then said, “There you are, that will hold good +against anyone except the Pope.” + +“A mere form,” repeated Ramiro, “of course. But the world attaches so +much importance to forms, so I think that we will have this one +witnessed—No, not by myself, who am an interested party—by someone +independent,” and calling Hague Simon and the waiting-woman he bade +them set their names at the foot of the documents. + +“Papers signed in advance—fees paid in advance!” he went on, handing +over the money, “and now, just one more glass to drink the health of +the bride and bridegroom, also in advance. You will not refuse, nor +you, worthy Simon, nor you, most excellent Abigail. Ah! I thought not, +the night is cold.” + +“And the brandy strong,” muttered the priest thickly, as this third +dose of raw spirit took effect upon him. “Now get on with the business, +for I want to be out of this hole before the flood comes.” + +“Quite so. Friends, will you be so good as to summon my son and the +lady? The lady first, I think—and all three of you might go to escort +her. Brides sometimes consider it right to fain a slight reluctance—you +understand? On second thoughts, you need not trouble the Señor Adrian. +I have a new words of ante-nuptial advice to offer, so I will go to +him.” + +A minute later father and son stood face to face. Adrian leaped up; he +shook his fist, he raved and stormed at the cold, impassive man before +him. + +“You fool, you contemptible fool!” said Ramiro when he had done. +“Heavens! to think that such a creature should have sprung from me, a +human jackass only fit to bear the blows and burdens of others, to fill +the field with empty brayings, and wear himself out by kicking at the +air. Oh! don’t twist up your face at me, for I am your master as well +as your father, however much you may hate me. You are mine, body and +soul, don’t you understand; a bond-slave, nothing more. You lost the +only chance you ever had in the game when you got me down at Leyden. +You daren’t draw a sword on me again for your soul’s sake, dear Adrian, +for your soul’s sake; and if you dared, I would run you through. Now, +are you coming?” + +“No,” answered Adrian. + +“Think a minute. If you don’t marry her I shall, and before she is half +an hour older; also—” and he leant forward and whispered into his son’s +ear. + +“Oh! you devil, you devil!” Adrian gasped; then he moved towards the +door. + +“What? Changed your mind, have you, Mr. Weathercock? Well, it is the +prerogative of all feminine natures—but, your doublet is awry, and +allow me to suggest that you should brush your hair. There, that’s +better; now, come on. No, you go first, if you please, I’d rather have +you in front of me.” + +When they reached the room below the bride was already there. Gripped +on either side by Black Meg and the other woman, white as death and +trembling, but still defiant, stood Elsa. + +“Let’s get through with this,” growled the half-drunken, ruffian +priest. “I take the willingness of the parties for granted.” + +“I am not willing,” cried Elsa. “I have been brought here by force. I +call everyone present to witness that whatever is done is against my +will. I appeal to God to help me.” + +The priest turned upon Ramiro. + +“How am I to marry them in the face of this?” he asked. “If only she +were silent it might be done——” + +“The difficulty has occurred to me,” answered Ramiro. He made a sign, +whereon Simon seized Elsa’s wrists, and Black Meg, slipping behind her, +deftly fastened a handkerchief over her mouth in such fashion that she +was gagged, but could still breathe through the nostrils. + +Elsa struggled a little, then was quiet, and turned her piteous eyes on +Adrian, who stepped forward and opened his lips. + +“You remember the alternative,” said his father in a low voice, and he +stopped. + +“I suppose,” broke in Father Thomas, “that we may at any rate reckon +upon the consent, or at least upon the silence of the Heer bridegroom.” + +“You may reckon on his silence, Father Thomas,” replied Ramiro. + +Then the ceremony began. They dragged Elsa to the table. Thrice she +flung herself to the ground, and thrice they lifted her to her feet, +but at length, weary of the weight of her body, suffered her to rest +upon her knees, where she remained as though in prayer, gagged like +some victim on the scaffold. It was a strange and brutal scene, and +every detail of it burned itself into Adrian’s mind. The round, rude +room, with its glowing fire of turfs and its rough, oaken furniture, +half in light and half in dense shadow, as the lamp-rays chanced to +fall; the death-like, kneeling bride, with a white cloth across her +tortured face; the red-chopped, hanging-lipped hedge priest gabbling +from a book, his back almost turned that he might not see her attitude +and struggles; the horrible, unsexed women; the flat-faced villain, +Simon, grinning by the hearth; Ramiro, cynical, mocking, triumphant, +and yet somewhat anxious, his one bright eye fixed in mingled contempt +and amusement upon him, Adrian—those were its outlines. There was +something else also that caught and oppressed his sense, a sound which +at the time Adrian thought he heard in his head alone, a soft, heavy +sound with a moan in it, not unlike that of the wind, which grew +gradually to a dull roar. + +It was over. A ring had been forced on to Elsa’s unwilling hand, and, +until the thing was undone by some competent and authorised Court, she +was in name the wife of Adrian. The handkerchief was unbound, her hands +were loosed, physically, Elsa was free again, but, in that day and land +of outrage, tied, as the poor girl knew well, by a chain more terrible +than any that hemp or steel could fashion. + +“Congratulations! Señora,” muttered Father Thomas, eyeing her +nervously. “I fear you felt a little faint during the service, but a +sacrament——” + +“Cease your mockings, you false priest,” cried Elsa. “Oh! let the swift +vengeance of God fall upon every one of you, and first of all upon you, +false priest.” + +Drawing the ring from her finger, as she spoke she cast it down upon +the oaken table, whence it sprang up to drop again and rattle itself to +silence. Then with one tragic motion of despair, Elsa turned and fled +back to her chamber. + +The red face of Father Thomas went white, and his yellow teeth +chattered. “A virgin’s curse,” he muttered, crossing himself. +“Misfortune always follows, and it is sometimes death—yes, by St. +Thomas, death. And you, you brought me here to do this wickedness, you +dog, you galley slave!” + +“Father,” broke in Ramiro, “you know I have warned you against it +before at The Hague; sooner or later it always breaks up the nerves,” +and he nodded towards the flagon of spirits. “Bread and water, Father, +bread and water for forty days, that is what I prescribe, and——” + +As he spoke the door was burst open, and two men rushed in, their eyes +starting, their very beards bristling with terror. + +“Come forth!” they cried. + +“What has chanced?” screamed the priest. + +“The great dyke has burst—hark, hark, hark! The floods are upon you, +the mill will be swept away.” + +God in Heaven—it was true! Now through the open doorway they heard the +roar of waters, whose note Adrian had caught before, yes, and in the +gloom appeared their foaming crest as they rushed through the great and +ever-widening breach in the lofty dyke down upon the flooded lowland. + +Father Thomas bounded through the door yelling, “The boat, the boat!” +For a moment Ramiro thought, considering the situation, then he said: + +“Fetch the Jufvrouw. No, not you, Adrian; she would die rather than +come with you. You, Simon, and you, Meg. Swift, obey.” + +They departed on their errand. + +“Men,” went on Ramiro, “take this gentleman and lead him to the boat. +Hold him if he tries to escape. I will follow with the lady. Go, you +fool, go, there is not a second to be lost,” and Adrian, hanging back +and protesting, was dragged away by the boatmen. + +Now Ramiro was alone, and though, as he had said, there was little time +to spare, again for a few moments he thought deeply. His face flushed +and went pale; then entered into it a great resolve. “I don’t like +doing it, for it is against my vow, but the chance is good. She is +safely married, and at best she would be very troublesome hereafter, +and might bring us to justice or to the galleys since others seek her +wealth,” he muttered with a shiver, adding, “as for the spies, we are +well rid of them and their evidence.” Then, with swift resolution, +stepping to the door at the foot of the stairs, Ramiro shut it and shot +the great iron bolt! + +He ran from the mill; the raised path was already three feet deep in +water; he could scarcely make his way along it. Ah! there lay the boat. +Now he was in it, and now they were flying before the crest of a huge +wave. The dam of the cutting had given altogether, and fed from sea and +land at once, by snow, by rain, and by the inrush of the high tide, its +waters were pouring in a measureless volume over the doomed marshes. + +“Where is Elsa?” screamed Adrian. + +“I don’t know. I couldn’t find her,” answered Ramiro. “Row, row for +your lives! We can take her off in the morning, and the priest too, if +he won back.” + +At length the cold winter sun rose over the watery waste, calm enough +now, for the floods were out, in places ten and fifteen feet deep. +Through the mists that brooded on the face of them Ramiro and his crew +groped their way back to where the Red Mill should be. It was gone! + +There stood the brick walls of the bottom story rising above the flood +level, but the wooden upper part had snapped before the first great +wave when the bank went bodily, and afterwards been swept away by the +rushing current, swept away with those within. + +“What is that?” said one of the boatmen, pointing to a dark object +which floated among the tangled _debris_ of sere weeds and woodwork +collected against the base of the mill. + +They rowed to the thing. It was the body of Father Thomas, who must +have missed his footing as he ran along the pathway, and fallen into +deep water. + +“Um!” said Ramiro, “‘a virgin’s curse.’ Observe, friends, how the +merest coincidences may give rise to superstition. Allow me,” and, +holding the dead man by one hand, he felt in his pockets with the +other, till, with a smile of satisfaction, he found the purse +containing the gold which he had paid him on the previous evening. + +“Oh! Elsa, Elsa,” moaned Adrian. + +“Comfort yourself, my son,” said Ramiro as the boat put about, leaving +the dead Father Thomas bobbing up and down in the ripple; “you have +indeed lost a wife whose temper gave you little prospect of happiness, +but at least I have your marriage papers duly signed and witnessed, +and—you are her heir.” + +He did not add that he in turn was Adrian’s. But Adrian thought of it, +and even in the midst of his shame and misery wondered with a shiver +how long he who was Ramiro’s next of kin was likely to adorn this +world. + +Till he had something that was worth inheriting, perhaps. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII +WHAT ELSA SAW IN THE MOONLIGHT + + +It will be remembered that some weeks before Elsa’s forced marriage in +the Red Mill, Foy, on their escape from the Gevangenhuis, had been +carried upon the naked back of Martin to the shelter of Mother Martha’s +lair in the Haarlemer Meer. Here he lay sick many days, for the sword +cut in his thigh festered so badly that at one time his life was +threatened by gangrene, but, in the end, his own strength and healthy +constitution, helped with Martha’s simples, cured him. So soon as he +was strong again, accompanied by Martin, he travelled into Leyden, +which now it was safe enough for him to visit, since the Spaniards were +driven from the town. + +How his young heart swelled as, still limping a little and somewhat +pale from recent illness, he approached the well-known house in the +Bree Straat, the home that sheltered his mother and his love. Presently +he would see them again, for the news had been brought to him that +Lysbeth was out of danger and Elsa must still be nursing her. + +Lysbeth he found indeed, turned into an old woman by grief and sore +sickness, but Elsa he did not find. She had vanished. On the previous +night she had gone out to take the air, and returned no more. What had +become of her none could say. All the town talked of it, and his mother +was half-crazed with anxiety and fear, fear of the worst. + +Hither and thither they went inquiring, seeking, tracking, but no trace +of Elsa could they discover. She had been seen to pass the Morsch +poort; then she disappeared. For a while Foy was mad. At length he grew +calmer and began to think. Drawing from his pocket the letter which +Martha had brought to him on the night of the church-burning, he +re-read it in the hope of finding a clue, since it was just possible +that for private reasons Elsa might have set out on some journey of her +own. It was a very sweet letter, telling him of her deep joy and +gratitude at his escape; of the events that had happened in the town; +of the death of his father in the Gevangenhuis, and ending thus: + +“Dear Foy, my betrothed, I cannot come to you because of your mother’s +sickness, for I am sure that it would be your wish, as it is my desire +and duty, that I should stay to nurse her. Soon, however, I hope that +you will be able to come to her and me. Yet, in these dreadful times +who can tell what may happen? Therefore, Foy, whatever chances, I am +sure you will remember that in life or in death I am yours only—yes, to +you, dead or living, you dead and I living, or you living and I dead, +while or wherever I have sense or memory, I will be true; through life, +through death, through whatever may lie beyond our deaths, I will be +true as woman may be to man. So, dear Foy, for this present fare you +well until we meet again in the days to come, or after all earthly days +are done with for you and me. My love be with you, the blessing of God +be with you, and when you lie down at night and when you wake at morn, +think of me and put up a prayer for me as your true lover Elsa does for +you. Martha waits. Most loved, most dear, most desired, fare you well.” + +Here was no hint of any journey, so if such had been taken it must be +without Elsa’s own consent. + +“Martin, what do you make of it?” asked Foy, staring at him with +anxious, hollow eyes. + +“Ramiro—Adrian—stolen away—” answered Martin. + +“Why do you say that?” + +“Hague Simon was seen hanging about outside the town yesterday, and +there was a strange boat upon the river. Last night the Jufvrouw went +through the Morsch poort. The rest you can guess.” + +“Why would they take her?” asked Foy hoarsely. + +“Who can tell?” said Martin shrugging his great shoulders. “Yet I see +two reasons. Hendrik Brant’s wealth is supposed to be hers when it can +be found; therefore, being a thief, Ramiro would want her. Adrian is in +love with her; therefore, being a man, of course he would want her. +These seem enough, the pair being what they are.” + +“When I find them I will kill them both,” said Foy, grinding his teeth. + +“Of course, so will I, but first we have got to find them—and her, +which is the same thing.” + +“How, Martin, how?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“Can’t you think, man?” + +“I am trying to, master; it’s you who don’t think. You talk too much. +Be silent a while.” + +“Well,” asked Foy thirty seconds later, “have you finished thinking?” + +“No, master, it’s no use, there is nothing to think about. We must +leave this and go back to Martha. If anyone can track her out she can. +Here we can learn no more.” + +So they returned to the Haarlemer Meer and told Martha their sad tale. + +“Bide here a day or two and be patient,” she said; “I will go out and +search.” + +“Never,” answered Foy, “we will come with you.” + +“If you choose, but it will make matters more difficult. Martin, get +ready the big boat.” + +Two nights had gone by, and it was an hour or more past noon on the +third day, the day of Elsa’s forced marriage. The snow had ceased +falling and the rain had come instead, rain, pitiless, bitter and +continual. Hidden in a nook at the north end of the Haarlemer Meer and +almost buried beneath bundles of reeds, partly as a protection from the +weather and partly to escape the eyes of Spaniards, of whom companies +were gathering from every direction to besiege Haarlem, lay the big +boat. In it were Red Martin and Foy van Goorl. Mother Martha was not +there for she had gone alone to an inn at a distance, to gather +information if she could. To hundreds of the boers in these parts she +was a known and trusted friend, although many of them might not choose +to recognise her openly, and from among them, unless, indeed, she had +been taken right away to Flanders, or even to Spain, she hoped to +gather tidings of Elsa’s whereabouts. + +For two weary nights and days the Mare had been employed thus, but as +yet without a shadow of success. Foy and Martin sat in the boat staring +at each other gloomily; indeed Foy’s face was piteous to see. + +“What are you thinking of, master?” asked Martin presently. + +“I am thinking,” he answered, “that even if we find her now it will be +too late; whatever was to be done, murder or marriage, will be done.” + +“Time to trouble about that when we have found her,” said Martin, for +he knew not what else to say, and added, “listen, I hear footsteps.” + +Foy drew apart two of the bundles of reeds and looked out into the +driving rain. + +“All right,” he said, “it is Martha and a man.” + +Martin let his hand fall from the hilt of the sword Silence, for in +those days hand and sword must be near together. Another minute and +Martha and her companion were in the boat. + +“Who is this man?” asked Foy. + +“He is a friend of mine named Marsh Jan.” + +“Have you news?” + +“Yes, at least Marsh Jan has.” + +“Speak, and be swift,” said Foy, turning on the man fiercely. + +“Am I safe from vengeance?” asked Marsh Jan, who was a good fellow +enough although he had drifted into evil company, looking doubtfully at +Foy and Martin. + +“Have I not said so,” answered Martha, “and does the Mare break her +word?” + +Then Marsh Jan told his tale: How he was one of the party that two +nights before had rowed Elsa, or at least a young woman who answered to +her description, to the Red Mill, not far from Velzen, and how she was +in the immediate charge of a man and a woman who could be no other than +Hague Simon and Black Meg. Also he told of her piteous appeal to the +boatmen in the names of their wives and daughters, and at the telling +of it Foy wept with fear and rage, and even Martha gnashed her teeth. +Only Martin cast off the boat and began to punt her out into deep +water. + +“Is that all?” asked Foy. + +“That is all, Mynheer, I know nothing more, but I can explain to you +where the place is.” + +“You can show us, you mean,” said Foy. + +The man expostulated. The weather was bad, there would be a flood, his +wife was ill and expected him, and so forth. Then he tried to get out +of the boat, whereon, catching hold of him suddenly, Martin threw him +into the stern-sheets, saying: + +“You could travel to this mill once taking with you a girl whom you +knew to be kidnapped, now you can travel there again to get her out. +Sit still and steer straight, or I will make you food for fishes.” + +Then Marsh Jan professed himself quite willing to sail to the Red Mill, +which he said they ought to reach by nightfall. + +All that afternoon they sailed and rowed, till, with the darkness, +before ever the mill was in sight, the great flood came down upon them +and drove them hither and thither, such a flood as had not been seen in +those districts for a dozen years. But Marsh Jan knew his bearings +well; he had the instinct of locality that is bred in those whose +forefathers for generations have won a living from the fens, and +through it all he held upon a straight course. + +Once Foy thought that he heard a voice calling for help in the +darkness, but it was not repeated and they went forward. At last the +sky cleared and the moon shone out upon such a waste of waters as Noah +might have beheld from the ark. Only there were things floating in them +that Noah would scarcely have seen; hayricks, dead and drowning cattle, +household furniture, and once even a coffin washed from some graveyard, +while beyond stretched the dreary outline of the sand dunes. + +“The mill should be near,” said Marsh Jan, “let us put about.” So they +turned, rowing with weary arms, for the wind had fallen. + +Let us go back a little. Elsa, on escaping from the scene of her mock +marriage, fled to her room and bolted its door. A few seconds later she +heard hands hammering at it, and the voices of Hague Simon and Black +Meg calling to her to open. She took no note, the hammering ceased, and +then it was that for the first time she became aware of a dreadful, +roaring noise, a noise of many waters. Time passed as it passes in a +nightmare, till suddenly, above the dull roar, came sharp sounds as of +wood cracking and splitting, and Elsa felt that the whole fabric of the +mill had tilted. Beneath the pressure of the flood it had given where +it was weakest, at its narrow waist, and now its red cap hung over like +a wind-laid tree. + +Terror took hold of Elsa, and running to the door she opened it hoping +to escape down the stairs. Behold! water was creeping up them, she +could see it by the lantern in her hand—her retreat was cut off. But +there were other stairs leading to the top storey of the mill that now +lay at a steep angle, and along these she climbed, since the water was +pouring through her doorway and there was nowhere else to go. In the +very roof of the place was a manhole with a rotten hatch. She passed +through this, to find herself upon the top of the mill just where one +of the great naked arms of the sails projected from it. Her lantern was +blown out by now, but she clung to the arm, and became aware that the +wooden cap of the structure, still anchored to its brick foundation, +lay upon its side rocking to and fro like a boat upon an angry sea. The +water was near her; that she knew by its seethe and rush, although she +could not see it, but as yet it did not even wet her feet. + +The hours went by, how many, she never learned, till at length the +clouds cleared; the moon became visible, and by its light she saw an +awful scene. Everywhere around was water; it lapped within a yard, and +it was rising still. Now Elsa saw that in the great beam she clasped +were placed short spokes for the use of those who set the sails above. +Up these she climbed as best she might, till she was able to pass her +body between two of the vanes and support her breast upon the flat +surface of one of them, as a person does who leans out of a window. +From her window there was something to see. Quite near to her, but +separated by fifteen or twenty feet of yellow frothing water, a little +portion of the swelling shape of the mill stood clear of the flood. To +this foam-lapped island clung two human beings—Hague Simon and Black +Meg. They saw her also and screamed for help, but she had none to give. +Surely it was a dream—nothing so awful could happen outside a dream. + +The fabric of the mill tilted more and more; the space to which the two +vile creatures hung grew less and less. There was no longer room for +both of them. They began to quarrel, to curse and jibber at each other, +their fierce, bestial faces not an inch apart as they crouched there on +hands and knees. The water rose a little, they were kneeling in it now, +and the man, putting down his bald head, butted at the woman, almost +thrusting her from her perch. But she was strong and active, she +struggled back again; she did more, with an eel-like wriggle she +climbed upon his back, weighing him down. He strove to shake her off +but could not, for on that heaving, rolling surface he dared not loose +his hand-grip, so he turned his flat and florid face, and, seizing her +leg between his teeth, bit and worried at it. In her pain and rage Meg +screeched aloud—that was the cry which Foy had heard. Then suddenly she +drew a knife from her bosom—Elsa saw it flash in the moonlight—and +stabbed downwards once, twice, thrice. + +Elsa shut her eyes. When she opened them again the woman was alone upon +the little patch of red boarding, her body splayed out over it like +that of a dead frog. So she lay a while till suddenly the cap of the +Red Mill dipped slowly like a lady who makes a Court curtsey, and she +vanished. It rose again and Meg was still there, moaning in her terror +and water running from her dress. Then again it dipped, this time more +deeply, and when the patch of rusty boarding slowly reappeared, it was +empty. No, not quite, for clinging to it, yowling and spitting, was the +half-wild black cat which Elsa had seen wandering about the mill. But +of Black Meg there was no trace. + +It was dreadfully cold up there hanging to the sail-bar, for now that +the rain had finished, it began to freeze. Indeed, had it not chanced +that Elsa was dressed in her warm winter gown with fur upon it, and dry +from her head to her feet, it is probable that she would have fallen +off and perished in the water. As it was gradually her body became numb +and her senses faded. She seemed to know that all this matter of her +forced marriage, of the flood, and of the end of Simon and Meg, was +nothing but a dream, a very evil nightmare from which she would awake +presently to find herself snug and warm in her own bed in the Bree +Straat. Of course it must be a nightmare, for look, there, on the bare +patch of boarding beneath, the hideous struggle repeated itself. There +lay Hague Simon gnawing at his wife’s foot, only his fat, white face +was gone, and in place of it he wore the head of a cat, for she, the +watcher, could see its glowing eyes fixed upon her. And Meg—look how +her lean limbs gripped him round the body. Listen to the thudding noise +as the great knife fell between his shoulders. And now, see—she was +growing tall, she had become a giantess, her face shot across the gulf +of water and swam upwards through the shadows till it was within a foot +of her. Oh! she must fall, but first she would scream for help—surely +the dead themselves could hear that cry. Better not have uttered it, it +might bring Ramiro back; better go to join the dead. What did the voice +say, Meg’s voice, but how changed? That she was not to be afraid? That +the thudding was the sound of oars not of knife thrusts? This would be +Ramiro’s boat coming to seize her. Of him and Adrian she could bear no +more; she would throw herself into the water and trust to God. One, +two, three—then utter darkness. + +Elsa became aware that light was shining about her, also that somebody +was kissing her upon the face and lips. A horrible doubt struck her +that it might be Adrian, and she opened her eyes ever so little to +look. No, no, how very strange, it was not Adrian, it was Foy! Well, +doubtless this must be all part of her vision, and as in dream or out +of it Foy had a perfect right to kiss her if he chose, she saw no +reason to interfere. Now she seemed to hear a familiar voice, that of +Red Martin, asking someone how long it would take them to make Haarlem +with this wind, to which another voice answered, “About three-quarters +of an hour.” + +It was very odd, and why did he say Haarlem and not Leyden? Next the +second voice, which also seemed familiar, said: + +“Look out, Foy, she’s coming to herself.” Then someone poured wine down +her throat, whereupon, unable to bear this bewilderment any longer, +Elsa sat up and opened her eyes wide, to see before her Foy, and none +other than Foy in the flesh. + +She gasped, and began to sink back again with joy and weakness, whereon +he cast his arms about her and drew her to his breast. Then she +remembered everything. + +“Oh! Foy, Foy,” she cried, “you must not kiss me.” + +“Why not?” he asked. + +“Because—because I am married.” + +Of a sudden his happy face became ghastly. “Married!” he stammered. +“Who to?” + +“To—your brother, Adrian.” + +He stared at her in amazement, then asked slowly: + +“Did you run away from Leyden to marry him?” + +“How dare you ask such a question?” replied Elsa with a flash of +spirit. + +“Perhaps, then, you would explain?” + +“What is there to explain? I thought that you knew. They dragged me +away, and last night, just before the flood burst, I was gagged and +married by force.” + +“Oh! Adrian, my friend,” groaned Foy, “wait till I catch you, my friend +Adrian.” + +“To be just,” explained Elsa, “I don’t think Adrian wanted to marry me +much, but he had to choose between marrying me himself or seeing his +father Ramiro marry me.” + +“So he sacrificed himself—the good, kind-hearted man,” interrupted Foy, +grinding his teeth. + +“Yes,” said Elsa. + +“And where is your self-denying—oh! I can’t say the word.” + +“I don’t know. I suppose that he and Ramiro escaped in the boat, or +perhaps he was drowned.” + +“In which case you are a widow sooner than you could have expected,” +said Foy more cheerfully, edging himself towards her. + +But Elsa moved a little away and Foy saw with a sinking of the heart +that, however distasteful it might be to her, clearly she attached some +weight to this marriage. + +“I do not know,” she answered, “how can I tell? I suppose that we shall +hear sometime, and then, if he is still alive, I must set to work to +get free of him. But, till then, Foy,” she added, warningly, “I suppose +that I am his wife in law, although I will never speak to him again. +Where are we going?” + +“To Haarlem. The Spaniards are closing in upon the city, and we dare +not try to break through their lines. Those are Spanish boats behind +us. But eat and drink a little, Elsa, then tell us your story.” + +“One question first, Foy. How did you find me?” + +“We heard a woman scream twice, once far away and once near at hand, +and rowing to the sound, saw someone hanging to the arm of an +overturned windmill only three or four feet above the water. Of course +we knew that you had been taken to the mill; that man there told us. Do +you remember him? But at first we could not find it in the darkness and +the flood.” + +Then, after she had swallowed something, Elsa told her story, while the +three of them clustered round her forward of the sail, and Marsh Jan +managed the helm. When she had finished it, Martin whispered to Foy, +and as though by a common impulse all four of them kneeled down upon +the boards in the bottom of the boat, and returned thanks to the +Almighty that this maiden, quite unharmed, had been delivered out of +such manifold and terrible dangers, and this by the hands of her own +friends and of the man to whom she was affianced. When they had +finished their service of thanksgiving, which was as simple as it was +solemn and heartfelt, they rose, and now Elsa did not forbid that Foy +should hold her hand. + +“Say, sweetheart,” he asked, “is it true that you think anything of +this forced marriage?” + +“Hear me before you answer,” broke in Martha. “It is no marriage at +all, for none can be wed without the consent of their own will, and you +gave no such consent.” + +“It is no marriage,” echoed Martin, “and if it be, and I live, then the +sword shall cut its knot.” + +“It is no marriage,” said Foy, “for although we have not stood together +before the altar, yet our hearts are wed, so how can you be made the +wife of another man?” + +“Dearest,” replied Elsa, when they had all spoken, “I too am sure that +it is no marriage, yet a priest spoke the marriage words over me, and a +ring was thrust upon my hand, so, to the law, if there be any law left +in the Netherlands, I am perhaps in some sort a wife. Therefore, before +I can become wife to you these facts must be made public, and I must +appeal to the law to free me, lest in days to come others should be +troubled.” + +“And if the law cannot, or will not, Elsa, what then?” + +“Then, dear, our consciences being clean, we will be a law to +ourselves. But first we must wait a while. Are you satisfied now, Foy?” + +“No,” answered Foy sulkily, “for it is monstrous that such devil’s work +should keep us apart even for an hour. Yet in this, as in all, I will +obey you, dear.” + +“Marrying and giving in marriage!” broke in Martha in a shrill voice. +“Talk no more of such things, for there is other work before us. Look +yonder, girl, what do you see?” and she pointed to the dry land. “The +hosts of the Amalekites marching in their thousands to slaughter us and +our brethren, the children of the Lord. Look behind you, what do you +see? The ships of the tyrant sailing up to encompass the city of the +children of the Lord. It is the day of death and desolation, the day of +Armageddon, and ere the sun sets red upon it many a thousand must pass +through the gates of doom, we, mayhap, among them. Then up with the +flag of freedom; out with the steel of truth, gird on the buckler of +righteousness, and snatch the shield of hope. Fight, fight for the +liberty of the land that bore you, for the memory of Christ, the King +who died for you, for the faith to which you are born; fight, fight, +and when the fray is done, then, and not before, think of peace and +love. + +“Nay, children, look not so fearful, for I, the mad mere-wife, tell +you, by the Grace of God, that you have naught to fear. Who preserved +you in the torture den, Foy van Goorl? What hand was it that held your +life and honour safe when you sojourned among devils in the Red Mill +yonder and kept your head above the waters of the flood, Elsa Brant? +You know well, and I, Martha, tell you that this same hand shall hold +you safe until the end. Yes, I know it, I know it; thousands shall fall +upon your right hand and tens of thousands upon your left, but you +shall live through the hunger; the arrows of pestilence shall pass you +by, the sword of the wicked shall not harm you. For me it is otherwise, +at length my doom draws near and I am well content; but for you twain, +Foy and Elsa, I foretell many years of earthly joy.” + +Thus spoke Martha, and it seemed to those who watched her that her +wild, disfigured face shone with a light of inspiration, nor did they +who knew her story, and still believed that the spirit of prophecy +could open the eyes of chosen seers, deem it strange that vision of the +things to be should visit her. At the least they took comfort from her +words, and for a while were no more afraid. + +Yet they had much to fear. By a fateful accident they had been +delivered from great dangers only to fall into dangers greater still, +for as it chanced, on this tenth of December, 1572, they sailed +straight into the grasp of the thousands of the Spanish armies which +had been drawn like a net round the doomed city of Haarlem. There was +no escape for them; nothing that had not wings could pass those lines +of ships and soldiers. Their only refuge was the city, and in that city +they must bide till the struggle, one of the most fearful of all that +hideous war, was ended. But at least they had this comfort, they would +face the foe together, and with them were two who loved them, Martha, +the “Spanish Scourge,” and Red Martin, the free Frisian, the mighty man +of war whom God had appointed to them as a shield of defence. + +So they smiled on each other, these two lovers of long ago, and sailed +bravely on to the closing gates of Haarlem. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII +ATONEMENT + + +Seven months had gone by, seven of the most dreadful months ever lived +through by human beings. For all this space of time, through the frosts +and snows and fogs of winter, through the icy winds of spring, and now +deep into the heart of summer, the city of Haarlem had been closely +beleaguered by an army of thirty thousand Spaniards, most of them +veteran troops under the command of Don Frederic, the son of Alva, and +other generals. Against this disciplined host were opposed the little +garrison of four thousand Hollanders and Germans aided by a few Scotch +and English soldiers, together with a population of about twenty +thousand old men, women and children. From day to day, from week to +week, from month to month, the struggle was waged between these unequal +forces, marked on either side by the most heroic efforts and by +cruelties that would strike our age as monstrous. For in those times +the captive prisoner of war could expect no mercy; indeed, he was +fortunate if he was not hung from a gibbet by the leg to die slowly +within eyeshot of his friends. + +There were battles without number, men perished in hecatombs; among the +besieging armies alone over twelve thousand lost their lives, so that +the neighbourhood of Haarlem became one vast graveyard, and the fish in +the lake were poisoned by the dead. Assault, sortie, ambuscade, +artifice of war; combats to the death upon the ice between skate-shod +soldiers; desperate sea fights, attempts to storm; the explosion of +mines and counter-mines that brought death to hundreds—all these became +the familiar incidents of daily life. + +Then there were other horrors; cold from insufficient fuel, pestilences +of various sorts such as always attend a siege, and, worst of all for +the beleaguered, hunger. Week by week as the summer aged, the food grew +less and less, till at length there was nothing. The weeds that grew in +the street, the refuse of tanneries, the last ounce of offal, the mice +and the cats, all had been devoured. On the lofty steeple of St. Bavon +for days and days had floated a black flag to tell the Prince of Orange +in Leyden that below it was despair as black. The last attempt at +succour had been made. Batenburg had been defeated and slain, together +with the Seigneurs of Clotingen and Carloo, and five or six hundred +men. Now there was no more hope. + +Desperate expedients were suggested: That the women, children, aged and +sick should be left in the city, while the able-bodied men cut a way +through the battalions of their besiegers. On these non-combatants it +was hoped that the Spaniard would have mercy—as though the Spaniard +could have mercy, he who afterwards dragged the wounded and the ailing +to the door of the hospital and there slaughtered them in cold blood; +aye, and here and elsewhere, did other things too dreadful to write +down. Says the old chronicler, “But this being understood by the women, +they assembled all together, making the most pitiful cries and +lamentations that could be heard, the which would have moved a heart of +flint, so as it was not possible to abandon them.” + +Next another plan was formed: that all the females and helpless should +be set in the centre of a square of the fighting men, to march out and +give battle to the foe till everyone was slain. Then the Spaniards +hearing this and growing afraid of what these desperate men might do, +fell back on guile. If they would surrender, the citizens of Haarlem +were told, and pay two hundred and forty thousand florins, no +punishment should be inflicted. So, having neither food nor hope, they +listened to the voice of the tempter and surrendered, they who had +fought until their garrison of four thousand was reduced to eighteen +hundred men. + +It was noon and past on the fatal twelfth of July. The gates were open, +the Spaniards, those who were left alive of them, Don Frederic at their +head, with drums beating, banners flying, and swords sharpened for +murder, were marching into the city of Haarlem. In a deep niche between +two great brick piers of the cathedral were gathered four people whom +we know. War and famine had left them all alive, yet they had borne +their share of both. In every enterprise, however desperate, Foy and +Martin had marched, or stood, or watched side by side, and well did the +Spaniards know the weight of the great sword Silence and the red-headed +giant who wielded it. Mother Martha, too, had not been idle. Throughout +the siege she had served as the lieutenant of the widow Hasselaer, who +with a band of three hundred women fought day and night alongside of +their husbands and brothers. Even Elsa, who although she was too +delicate and by nature timid and unfitted to go out to battle, had done +her part, for she laboured at the digging of mines and the building of +walls till her soft hands were rough and scarred. + +How changed they were. Foy, whose face had been so youthful, looked now +like a man on the wrong side of middle age. The huge Martin might have +been a great skeleton on which hung clothes, or rather rags and a rent +bull’s hide, with his blue eyes shining in deep pits beneath the +massive, projecting skull. Elsa too had become quite small, like a +child. Her sweet face was no longer pretty, only pitiful, and all the +roundness of her figure had vanished—she might have been an emaciated +boy. Of the four of them Martha the Mare, who was dressed like a man, +showed the least change. Indeed, except that now her hair was snowy, +that her features were rather more horse-like, that the yellow, lipless +teeth projected even further, and the thin nervous hands had become +almost like those of an Egyptian mummy, she was much as she always had +been. + +Martin leaned upon the great sword and groaned. “Curses on them, the +cowards,” he muttered; “why did they not let us go out and die +fighting? Fools, mad fools, who would trust to the mercy of the +Spaniard.” + +“Oh! Foy,” said Elsa, throwing her thin arms about his neck, “you will +not let them take me, will you? If it comes to the worst, you will kill +me, won’t you? Otherwise I must kill myself, and Foy, I am a coward, I +am afraid—to do that.” + +“I suppose so,” he answered in a harsh, unnatural voice, “but oh! God, +if Thou art, have pity upon her. Oh! God have pity.” + +“Blaspheme not, doubt not!” broke in the shrill voice of Martha. “Has +it not been as I told you last winter in the boat? Have you not been +protected, and shall you not be protected to the end? Only blaspheme +not, doubt not!” + +The niche in which they were standing was out of sight of the great +square and those who thronged it, but as Martha spoke a band of +victorious Spaniards, seven or eight of them, came round the corner and +caught sight of the party in the nook. + +“There’s a girl,” said the sergeant in command of them, “who isn’t bad +looking. Pull her out, men.” + +Some fellows stepped forward to do his bidding. Now Foy went mad. He +did not kill Elsa as she had prayed him, he flew straight at the throat +of the brute who had spoken, and next instant his sword was standing +out a foot behind his neck. Then after him, with a kind of low cry, +came Martin, plying the great blade Silence, and Martha after him with +her long knife. It was all over in a minute, but before it was done +there were five men down, three dead and two sore wounded. + +“A tithe and an offering!” muttered Martha as, bounding forward, she +bent over the wounded men, and their comrades fled round the corner of +the cathedral. + +There was a minute’s pause. The bright summer sunlight shone upon the +faces and armour of the dead Spaniards, upon the naked sword of Foy, +who stood over Elsa crouched to the ground in a corner of the niche, +her face hidden in her hands, upon the terrible blue eyes of Martin +alight with a dreadful fire of rage. Then there came the sound of +marching men, and a company of Spaniards appeared before them, and at +their head—Ramiro and Adrian called van Goorl. + +“There they are, captain,” said a soldier, one of those who had fled; +“shall we shoot them?” + +Ramiro looked, carelessly enough at first, then again a long, +scrutinising look. So he had caught them at last! Months ago he had +learned that Elsa had been rescued from the Red Mill by Foy and Martin, +and now, after much seeking, the birds were in his net. + +“No,” he said, “I think not. Such desperate characters must be reserved +for separate trial.” + +“Where can they be kept, captain?” asked the sergeant sulkily. + +“I observed, friend, that the house which my son and I have taken as +our quarters has excellent cellars; they can be imprisoned there for +the present—that is, except the young lady, whom the Señor Adrian will +look after. As it chances, she is his wife.” + +At this the soldiers laughed openly. + +“I repeat—his wife, for whom he has been searching these many months,” +said Ramiro, “and, therefore, to be respected. Do you understand, men?” + +Apparently they did understand, at least no one made any answer. Their +captain, as they had found, was not a man who loved argument. + +“Now, then, you fellows,” went on Ramiro, “give up your arms.” + +Martin thought a while. Evidently he was wondering whether it would not +be best to rush at them and die fighting. At that moment, as he said +afterwards indeed, the old saying came into his mind, “A game is not +lost until it is won,” and remembering that dead men can never have +another chance of winning games, he gave up the sword. + +“Hand that to me,” said Ramiro. “It is a curious weapon to which I have +taken a fancy.” + +So sword Silence was handed to him, and he slung it over his shoulder. +Foy looked at the kneeling Elsa, and he looked at his sword. Then an +idea struck him, and he looked at the face of Adrian, his brother, whom +he had last seen when the said Adrian ran to warn him and Martin at the +factory, for though he knew that he was fighting with his father among +the Spaniards, during the siege they had never met. Even then, in that +dire extremity, with a sudden flash of thought he wondered how it +happened that Adrian, being the villain that he was, had taken the +trouble to come and warn them yonder in Leyden, thereby giving them +time to make a very good defence in the shot tower. + +Foy looked up at his brother. Adrian was dressed in the uniform of a +Spanish officer, with a breast-plate over his quilted doublet, and a +steel cap, from the front of which rose a frayed and weather-worn plume +of feathers. The face had changed; there was none of the old pomposity +about those handsome features; it looked worn and cowed, like that of +an animal which has been trained to do tricks by hunger and the use of +the whip. Yet, through all the shame and degradation, Foy seemed to +catch the glint of some kind of light, a light of good desire shining +behind that piteous mask, as the sun sometimes shines through a sullen +cloud. Could it be that Adrian was not quite so bad after all? That he +was, in fact, the Adrian that he, Foy, had always believed him to be, +vain, silly, passionate, exaggerated, born to be a tool and think +himself the master, but beneath everything, well-meaning? Who could +say? At the worst, too, was it not better that Elsa should become the +wife of Adrian than that her life should cease there and then, and by +her lover’s hand? + +These things passed through his brain as the lightning passes through +the sky. In an instant his mind was made up and Foy flung down his +sword at the feet of a soldier. As he did so his eyes met the eyes of +Adrian, and to his imagination they seemed to be full of thanks and +promise. + +They took them all; with gibes and blows the soldiers haled them away +through the tumult and the agony of the fallen town and its doomed +defenders. Out of the rich sunlight they led them into a house that +still stood not greatly harmed by the cannon-shot, but a little way +from the shattered Ravelin and the gate which had been the scene of +such fearful conflict—a house that was the home of one of the +wealthiest merchants in Haarlem. Here Foy and Elsa were parted. She +struggled to his arms, whence they tore her and dragged her away up the +stairs, but Martin, Martha and Foy were thrust into a dark cellar, +locked in and left. + +A while later the door of the cellar was unbarred and some hand, they +could not see whose, passed through it water and food, good food such +as they had not tasted for months; meat and bread and dried herrings, +more than they could eat of them. + +“Perhaps it is poisoned,” said Foy, smelling at it hungrily. + +“What need to take the trouble to poison us?” answered Martin. “Let us +eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.” + +So like starving animals they devoured the food with thankfulness and +then they slept, yes, in the midst of all their misery and doubts they +slept. + +It seemed but a few minutes later—in fact it was eight hours—when the +door opened again and there entered Adrian carrying a lantern in his +hand. + +“Foy, Martin,” he said, “get up and follow me if you would save your +lives.” + +Instantly they were wide awake. + +“Follow you—_you?_” stammered Foy in a choked voice. + +“Yes,” Adrian answered quietly. “Of course you may not escape, but if +you stop here what chance have you? Ramiro, my father, will be back +presently and then——” + +“It is madness to trust ourselves to you,” interrupted Martin, and +Adrian seemed to wince at the contempt in his voice. + +“I knew that you would think that,” he answered humbly, “but what else +is to be done? I can pass you out of the city, I have made a boat ready +for you to escape in, all at the risk of my own life; what more can I +do? Why do you hesitate?” + +“Because we do not believe you,” said Foy; “besides, there is Elsa. I +will not go without Elsa.” + +“I have thought of that,” answered Adrian. “Elsa is here. Come, Elsa, +show yourself.” + +Then from the stairs Elsa crept into the cellar, a new Elsa, for she, +too, had been fed, and in her eyes there shone a light of hope. A wild +jealousy filled Foy’s heart. Why did she look thus? But she, she ran to +him, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him, and Adrian did +nothing, he only turned his head aside. + +“Foy,” she gasped, “he is honest after all; he has only been +unfortunate. Come quickly, there is a chance for us; come before that +devil returns. Now he is at a council of the officers settling with Don +Frederic who are to be killed, but soon he will be back, and then——” + +So they hesitated no more, but went. + +They passed out of the house, none stopping them—the guard had gone to +the sack. At the gate by the ruined Ravelin there stood a sentry, but +the man was careless, or drunken, or bribed, who knows? At least, +Adrian gave him a pass-word, and, nodding his head, he let them by. A +few minutes later they were at the Mere side, and there among some +reeds lay the boat. + +“Enter and be gone,” said Adrian. + +They scrambled into the boat and took the oars, while Martha began to +push off. + +“Adrian,” said Elsa, “what is to become of you?” + +“Why do you trouble about that?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “I go +back to my death, my blood is the price of your freedom. Well, I owe it +to you.” + +“Oh! no,” she cried, “come with us.” + +“Yes,” echoed Foy, although again that bitter pang of jealousy gripped +his heart, “come with us—brother.” + +“Do you really mean it?” Adrian asked, hesitating. “Think, I might +betray you.” + +“If so, young man, why did you not do it before?” growled Martin, and +stretching out his great, bony arm he gripped him by the collar and +dragged him into the boat. + +Then they rowed away. + +“Where are we going?” asked Martin. + +“To Leyden, I suppose,” said Foy, “if we can get there, which, without +a sail or weapons, seems unlikely.” + +“I have put some arms in the boat,” interrupted Adrian, “the best I +could get,” and from a locker he drew out a common heavy axe, a couple +of Spanish swords, a knife, a smaller axe, a cross-bow and some bolts. + +“Not so bad,” said Martin, rowing with his left hand as he handled the +big axe with his right, “but I wish that I had my sword Silence, which +that accursed Ramiro took from me and hung about his neck. I wonder why +he troubled himself with the thing? It is too long for a man of his +inches.” + +“I don’t know,” said Adrian, “but when last I saw him he was working at +its hilt with a chisel, which seemed strange. He always wanted that +sword. During the siege he offered a large reward to any soldier who +could kill you and bring it to him.” + +“Working at the hilt with a chisel?” gasped Martin. “By Heaven, I had +forgotten! The map, the map! Some wicked villain must have told him +that the map of the treasure was there—that is why he wanted the +sword.” + +“Who could have told him?” asked Foy. “It was only known to you and me +and Martha, and we are not of the sort to tell. What? Give away the +secret of Hendrik Brant’s treasure which he could die for and we were +sworn to keep, to save our miserable lives? Shame upon the thought!” + +Martha heard, and looked at Elsa, a questioning look beneath which the +poor girl turned a fiery red, though by good fortune in that light none +could see her blushes. Still, she must speak lest the suspicion should +lie on others. + +“I ought to have told you before,” she said in a low voice, “but I +forgot—I mean that I have always been so dreadfully ashamed. It was I +who betrayed the secret of the sword Silence.” + +“You? How did you know it?” asked Foy. + +“Mother Martha told me on the night of the church burning after you +escaped from Leyden.” + +Martin grunted. “One woman to trust another, and at her age too; what a +fool!” + +“Fool yourself, you thick-brained Frisian,” broke in Martha angrily, +“where did you learn to teach your betters wisdom? I told the Jufvrouw +because I knew that we might all of us be swept away, and I thought it +well that then she should know where to look for a key to the +treasure.” + +“A woman’s kind of reason,” answered Martin imperturbably, “and a bad +one at that, for if we had been finished off she must have found it +difficult to get hold of the sword. But all this is done with. The +point is, why did the Jufvrouw tell Ramiro?” + +“Because I am a coward,” answered Elsa with a sob. “You know, Foy, I +always was a coward, and I never shall be anything else. I told him to +save myself.” + +“From what?” + +“From being married.” + +Adrian winced palpably, and Foy, noting it, could not resist pushing +the point. + +“From being married? But I understand—doubtless Adrian will explain the +thing,” he added grimly—“that you were forced through some ceremony.” + +“Yes,” answered Elsa feebly, “I—I—was. I tried to buy myself off by +telling Ramiro the secret, which will show you all how mad I was with +terror at the thought of this hateful marriage”—here a groan burst from +the lips of Adrian, and something like a chuckle from those of Red +Martin. “Oh! I am so sorry,” went on Elsa in confusion; “I am sure that +I did not wish to hurt Adrian’s feelings, especially after he has been +so good to us.” + +“Never mind Adrian’s feelings and his goodness, but go on with the +story,” interrupted Foy. + +“There isn’t much more to tell. Ramiro swore before God that if I gave +him the clue he would let me go, and then—then, well, then, after I had +fallen into the pit and disgraced myself, he said that it was not +sufficient, and that the marriage must take place.” + +At this point Foy and Martin laughed outright. Yes, even there they +laughed. + +“Why, you silly child,” said Foy, “what else did you expect him to +say?” + +“Oh! Martin, do you forgive me?” said Elsa. “Immediately after I had +done it I knew how shameful it was, and that he would try to hunt you +down, and that is why I have been afraid to tell you ever since. But I +pray you believe me; I only spoke because, between shame and fear, I +did not know right from wrong. Do you forgive me?” + +“Lady,” answered the Frisian, smiling in his slow fashion, “if I had +been there unknown to Ramiro, and you had offered him this head of mine +on a dish as a bribe, not only would I have forgiven you but I would +have said that you did right. You are a maid, and you had to protect +yourself from a very dreadful thing; therefore who can blame you?” + +“I can,” said Martha. “Ramiro might have torn me to pieces with red-hot +pincers before I told him.” + +“Yes,” said Martin, who felt that he had a debt to pay, “Ramiro might, +but I doubt whether he would have gone to that trouble to persuade you +to take a husband. No, don’t be angry. ‘Frisian thick of head, Frisian +free of speech,’ goes the saying.” + +Not being able to think of any appropriate rejoinder, Martha turned +again upon Elsa. + +“Your father died for that treasure,” she said, “and Dirk van Goorl +died for it, and your lover and his serving-man there went to the +torture-den for it, and I—well, I have done a thing or two. But you, +girl, why, at the first pinch, you betray the secret. But, as Martin +says, I was fool enough to tell you.” + +“Oh! you are hard,” said Elsa, beginning to weep under Martha’s bitter +reproaches; “but you forget that at least none of you were asked to +marry—oh! I mustn’t say that. I mean to become the wife of one man;” +then her eyes fell upon Foy and an inspiration seized her; here, at +least, was one of whom she could make a friend—“when you happen to be +very much in love with another.” + +“Of course not,” said Foy, “there is no need for you to explain.” + +“I think there is a great deal to explain,” went on Martha, “for you +cannot fool me with pretty words. But now, hark you, Foy van Goorl, +what is to be done? We have striven hard to save that treasure, all of +us; is it to be lost at the last?” + +“Aye,” echoed Martin, growing very serious, “is it to be lost at the +last? Remember what the worshipful Hendrik Brant said to us yonder on +that night at The Hague—that he believed that in a day to come +thousands and tens of thousands of our people would bless the gold he +entrusted to us.” + +“I remember it all,” answered Foy, “and other things too; his will, for +instance,” and he thought of his father and of those hours which Martin +and he had spent in the Gevangenhuis. Then he looked up at Martha and +said briefly: “Mother, though they call you mad, you are the wisest +among us; what is your counsel?” + +She pondered awhile and answered: “This is certain, that so soon as +Ramiro finds that we have escaped, having the key to it, he will take +boat and sail to the place where the barrels are buried, knowing well +that otherwise we shall be off with them. Yes, I tell you that by dawn, +or within an hour of it, he will be there,” and she stopped. + +“You mean,” said Foy, “that we ought to be there before him.” + +Martha nodded and answered, “If we can, but I think that at best there +must be a fight for it.” + +“Yes,” said Martin, “a fight. Well, I should like another fight with +Ramiro. That fork-tongued adder has got my sword, and I want to get it +back again.” + +“Oh!” broke in Elsa, “is there to be more fighting? I hoped that at +last we were safe, and going straight to Leyden, where the Prince is. I +hate this bloodshed; I tell you, Foy, it frightens me to death; I +believe that I shall die of it.” + +“You hear what she says?” asked Foy. + +“We hear,” answered Martha. “Take no heed of her, the child has +suffered much, she is weak and squeamish. Now I, although I believe +that my death lies before me, I say, go on and fear not.” + +“But I do take heed,” said Foy. “Not for all the treasures in the world +shall Elsa be put in danger again if she does not wish it; she shall +decide, and she alone.” + +“How good you are to me,” she murmured, then she mused a moment. “Foy,” +she said, “will you promise something to me?” + +“After your experience of Ramiro’s oaths I wonder that you ask,” he +answered, trying to be cheerful. + +“Will you promise,” she went on, taking no note, “that if I say yes and +we go, not to Leyden, but to seek the treasure, and live through it, +that you will take me away from this land of bloodshed and murder and +torments, to some country where folk may live at peace, and see no one +killed, except it be now and again an evil-doer? It is much to ask, but +oh! Foy, will you promise?” + +“Yes, I promise,” said Foy, for he, too, was weary of this daily +terror. Who would not have been that had passed through the siege of +Haarlem? + +Foy was steering, but now Martha slipped aft and took the tiller from +his hand. For a moment she studied the stars that grew clearer in the +light of the sinking moon, then shifted the helm a point or two to port +and sat still. + +“I am hungry again,” said Martin presently; “I feel as though I could +eat for a week without stopping.” + +Adrian looked up from over his oar, at which he was labouring +dejectedly, and said: + +“There are food and wine in the locker. I hid them there. Perhaps Elsa +could serve them to those who wish to eat.” + +So Elsa, who was doing nothing, found the drink and victuals, and +handed them round to the rowers, who ate and drank as best they might +with a thankful heart, but without ceasing from their task. To men who +have starved for months the taste of wholesome provender and sound wine +is a delight that cannot be written in words. + +When at length they had filled themselves, Adrian spoke. + +“If it is your good will, brother,” he said, addressing Foy, “as we do +not know what lies in front, nor how long any of us have to live, I, +who am an outcast and a scorn among you, wish to tell you a story.” + +“Speak on,” said Foy. + +So Adrian began from the beginning, and told them all his tale. He told +them how at the first he had been led astray by superstitions, vanity, +and love; how his foolish confidences had been written down by spies; +how he had been startled and terrified into signing them with results +of which they knew. Then he told them how he was hunted like a mad dog +through the streets of Leyden after his mother had turned him from her +door; how he took refuge in the den of Hague Simon, and there had +fought with Ramiro and been conquered by the man’s address and his own +horror of shedding a father’s blood. He told them of his admission into +the Roman faith, of the dreadful scene in the church when Martha had +denounced him, of their flight to the Red Mill. He told them of the +kidnapping of Elsa, and how he had been quite innocent of it although +he loved her dearly; of how at last he was driven into marrying her, +meaning her no harm, to save her from the grip of Ramiro, and knowing +at heart that it was no marriage; of how, when the flood burst upon +them, he had been hustled from the mill where, since she could no +longer be of service to him and might work him injury, as he discovered +afterwards, Ramiro had left Elsa to her fate. Lastly, in a broken +voice, he told them of his life during the long siege which, so he +said, was as the life of a damned spirit, and of how, when death +thinned the ranks of the Spaniards, he had been made an officer among +them, and by the special malice of Ramiro forced to conduct the +executions and murders of such Hollanders as they took. + +Then at last his chance had come. Ramiro, thinking that now he could +never turn against him, had given him Elsa, and left him with her while +he went about his duties and to secure a share of the plunder, meaning +to deal with his prisoners on the morrow. So he, Adrian, a man in +authority, had provided the boat and freed them. That was all he had to +say, except to renounce any claim upon her who was called his wife, and +to beg their forgiveness. + +Foy listened to the end. Then, dropping his oar for a moment, he put +his arm about Adrian’s waist and hugged him, saying in his old cheery +voice: + +“I was right after all. You know, Adrian, I always stood up for you, +notwithstanding your temper and queer ways. No, I never would believe +that you were a villain, but neither could I ever have believed that +you were quite such an ass.” + +To this outspoken estimate of his character, so fallen and crushed was +he, his brother had not the spirit to reply. He could merely tug at his +oar and groan, while the tears of shame and repentance ran down his +pale and handsome face. + +“Never mind, old fellow,” said Foy consolingly. “It all went wrong, +thanks to you, and thanks to you I believe that it will all come right +again. So we will cry quits and forget the rest.” + +Poor Adrian glanced up at Foy and at Elsa sitting on the thwart of the +boat by his side. + +“Yes, brother,” he answered, “for you and Elsa it may come right, but +not for me in this world, for I—I have sold myself to the devil and—got +no pay.” + +After that for a while no one spoke; all felt that the situation was +too tragic for speech; even the follies, and indeed the wickedness, of +Adrian were covered up, were blotted out in the tragedy of his utter +failure, yes, and redeemed by the depth of his atonement. + +The grey light of the summer morning began to grow on the surface of +the great inland sea. Far behind them they beheld the sun’s rays +breaking upon the gilt crown that is set above the tower of St. Bavon’s +Church, soaring over the lost city of Haarlem and the doomed patriots +who lay there presently to meet their death at the murderer’s sword. +They looked and shuddered. Had it not been for Adrian they would be +prisoners now, and what that meant they knew. If they had been in any +doubt, what they saw around must have enlightened them, for here and +there upon the misty surface of the lake, or stranded in its shallows, +were the half-burnt out hulls of ships, the remains of the conquered +fleet of William the Silent; a poor record of the last desperate effort +to relieve the starving city. Now and again, too, something limp and +soft would cumber their oars, the corpse of a drowned or slaughtered +man still clad perchance in its armour. + +At length they passed out of these dismal remains of lost men, and Elsa +could look about her without shuddering. Now they were in fleet water, +and in among the islands whereon the lush summer growth of weeds and +the beautiful marsh flowers grew as greenly and bloomed as bright as +though no Spaniard had trampled their roots under foot during all those +winter months of siege and death. These islets, scores and hundreds of +them, appeared on every side, but between them all Martha steered an +unerring path. As the sun rose she stood up in the boat, and shading +her eyes with her hand to shut out its level rays, looked before her. + +“There is the place,” she said, pointing to a little bulrush-clad isle, +from which a kind of natural causeway, not more than six feet wide, +projected like a tongue among muddy shallows peopled by coots and +water-hens with their red-beaked young. + +Martin rose too. Then he looked back behind him and said; + +“I see the cap of a sail upon the skyline. It is Ramiro.” + +“Without doubt,” answered Martha calmly. “Well, we have the half of an +hour to work in. Pull, bow oar, pull, we will go round the island and +beach her in the mud on the further side. They will be less likely to +see us there, and I know a place whence we can push off in a hurry.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX +ADRIAN COMES HOME AGAIN + + +They landed on the island, wading to it through the mud, which at this +spot had a gravelly bottom; all of them except Elsa, who remained on +the boat to keep watch. Following otter-paths through the thick rushes +they came to the centre of the islet, some thirty yards away. Here, at +a spot which Martha ascertained by a few hurried pacings, grew a dense +tuft of reeds. In the midst of these reeds was a duck’s nest with the +young just hatching out, off which the old bird flew with terrified +quackings. + +Beneath this nest lay the treasure, if it were still there. + +“At any rate the place has not been disturbed lately,” said Foy. Then, +even in his frantic haste, lifting the little fledglings—for he loved +all things that had life, and did not wish to see them hurt—he +deposited them where they might be found again by the mother. + +“Nothing to dig with,” muttered Martin, “not even a stone.” Thereon +Martha pushed her way to a willow bush that grew near, and with the +smaller of the two axes, which she held in her hand, cut down the +thickest of its stems and ran back with them. By the help of these +sharpened stakes, and with their axes, they began to dig furiously, +till at length the point of Foy’s implement struck upon the head of a +barrel. + +“The stuff is still here, keep to it, friends,” he said, and they +worked on with a will till three of the five barrels were almost free +from the mud. + +“Best make sure of these,” said Martin. “Help me, master,” and between +them one by one they rolled them to the water’s edge, and with great +efforts, Elsa aiding them, lifted them into the boat. As they +approached with the third cask they found her staring white-faced over +the tops of the feathery reeds. + +“What is it, sweet?” asked Foy. + +“The sail, the following sail,” she answered. + +They rested the barrel of gold upon the gunwale and looked back across +the little island. Yes, there it came, sure enough, a tall, white sail +not eight hundred yards away and bearing down straight upon the place. +Martin rolled the barrel into position. + +“I hoped that they would not find it,” he said, “but Martha draws maps +well, too well. Once, before she married, she painted pictures, and +that is why.” + +“What is to be done?” asked Elsa. + +“I don’t know,” he answered, and as he spoke Martha ran up, for she +also had seen the boat. “You see,” he went on, “if we try to escape +they will catch us, for oars can’t race a sail.” + +“Oh!” said Elsa, “must we be taken after all?” + +“I hope not, girl,” said Martha, “but it is as God wills. Listen, +Martin,” and she whispered in his ear. + +“Good,” he said, “if it can be done, but you must watch your chance. +Come, now, there is no time to lose. And you, lady, come also, for you +can help to roll the last two barrels.” + +Then they ran back to the hole, whence Foy and Adrian, with great toil, +had just dragged the last of the tubs. For they, too, had seen the +sail, and knew that time was short. + +“Heer Adrian,” said Martin, “you have the cross-bow and the bolts, and +you used to be the best shot of all three of us; will you help me to +hold the causeway?” + +Now Adrian knew that Martin said this, not because he was a good shot +with the cross-bow, but because he did not trust him, and wished to +have him close to his hand, but he answered: + +“With all my heart, as well as I am able.” + +“Very good,” said Martin. “Now let the rest of you get those two casks +into the boat, leaving the Jufvrouw hidden in the reeds to watch by it, +while you, Foy and Martha, come back to help us. Lady, if they sail +round the island, call and let us know.” + +So Martin and Adrian went down to the end of the little gravelly tongue +and crouched among the tall meadow-sweet and grasses, while the others, +working furiously, rolled the two barrels to the water-edge and shipped +them, throwing rushes over them that they might not catch the eye of +the Spaniards. + +The sailing boat drew on. In the stern-sheets of it sat Ramiro, an open +paper, which he was studying, upon his knee, and still slung about his +body the great sword Silence. + +“Before I am half an hour older,” reflected Martin, for even now he did +not like to trust his thoughts to Adrian, “either I will have that +sword back again, or I shall be a dead man. But the odds are great, +eleven of them, all tough fellows, and we but three and two women.” + +Just then Ramiro’s voice reached them across the stillness of the +water. + +“Down with the sail,” he cried cheerily, “for without a doubt that is +the place—there are the six islets in a line, there in front the other +island shaped like a herring, and there the little promontory marked +‘landing place.’ How well this artist draws to be sure!” + +The rest of his remarks were lost in the creaking of the blocks as the +sail came down. + +“Shallow water ahead, Señor,” said a man in the bows sounding with a +boat hook. + +“Good,” answered Ramiro, throwing out the little anchor, “we will wade +ashore.” + +As he spoke the Spanish soldier with the boat-hook suddenly pitched +head first into the water, a quarrel from Adrian’s crossbow through his +heart. + +“Ah!” said Ramiro, “so they are here before us. Well, there can’t be +many of them. Now then, prepare to land.” + +Another quarrel whistled through the air and stuck in the mast, doing +no hurt. After this no more bolts came, for in his eagerness Adrian had +broken the mechanism of the bow by over-winding it, so that it became +useless. They leaped into the water, Ramiro with them, and charged for +the land, when of a sudden, almost at the tip of the little promontory, +from among the reeds rose the gigantic shape of Red Martin, clad in his +tattered jerkin and bearing in his hand a heavy axe, while behind him +appeared Foy and Adrian. + +“Why, by the Saints!” cried Ramiro, “there’s my weather-cock son again, +fighting against us this time. Well, Weather-cock, this is your last +veer,” then he began to wade towards the promontory. “Charge,” he +cried, but not a man would advance within reach of that axe. They stood +here and there in the water looking at it doubtfully, for although they +were brave enough, there was none of them but knew of the strength and +deeds of the red Frisian giant, and half-starved as he was, feared to +meet him face to face. Moreover, he had a position of advantage, of +that there could be no doubt. + +“Can I help you to land, friends?” said Martin, mocking them. “No, it +is no use looking right or left, the mud there is very deep.” + +“An arquebus, shoot him with an arquebus!” shouted the men in front; +but there was no such weapon in the boat, for the Spaniards, who had +left in a hurry, and without expecting to meet Red Martin, had nothing +but their swords and knives. + +Ramiro considered a moment, for he saw that to attempt to storm this +little landing-place would cost many lives, even if it were possible. +Then he gave an order, “Back aboard.” The men obeyed with alacrity. +“Out oars and up anchor!” he cried. + +“He is clever,” said Foy; “he knows that our boat must be somewhere, +and he is going to seek for it.” + +Martin nodded, and for the first time looked afraid. Then, as soon as +Ramiro had begun to row round the islet, leaving Martha to watch that +he did not return and rush the landing-stage, they crossed through the +reeds to the other side and climbed into their boat. Scarcely were they +there, when Ramiro and his men appeared, and a shout announced that +they were discovered. + +On crept the Spaniards as near as they dared, that is to within a dozen +fathoms of them, and anchored, for they were afraid to run their own +heavy sailing cutter upon the mud lest they might be unable to get her +off again. Also, for evident reasons, being without firearms and +knowing the character of the defenders, they feared to make a direct +attack. The position was curious and threatened to be prolonged. At +last Ramiro rose and addressed them across the water. + +“Gentlemen and lady of the enemy,” he said, “for I think that I see my +little captive of the Red Mill among you, let us take counsel together. +We have both of us made this expedition for a purpose, have we +not—namely, to secure certain filthy lucre which, after all, would be +of slight value to dead men? Now, as you, or some of you, know, I am a +man opposed to violence; I wish to hurry the end of none, nor even to +inflict suffering, if it can be avoided. But there is money in the +question, to secure which I have already gone through a great deal of +inconvenience and anxiety, and, to be brief, that money I must have, +while you, on the other hand are doubtless anxious to escape hence with +your lives. So I make you an offer. Let one of our party come under +safe conduct on board your boat and search it, just to see if anything +lies beneath those rushes for instance. Then, if it is found empty, we +will withdraw to a distance and let you go, or the same if full, that +is, upon its contents being unladen into the mud.” + +“Are those all your terms?” asked Foy. + +“Not quite all, worthy Heer van Goorl. Among you I observe a young +gentleman whom doubtless you have managed to carry off against his +will, to wit, my beloved son, Adrian. In his own interests, for he will +scarcely be a welcome guest in Leyden, I ask that, before you depart, +you should place this noble cavalier ashore in a position where we can +see him. Now, what is your answer?” + +“That you may go back to hell to look for it,” replied Martin rudely, +while Foy added: + +“What other answer do you expect from folk who have escaped out of your +clutches in Haarlem?” + +As he said the words, at a nod from Martin, Martha, who by now had +crept up to them, under cover of his great form and of surrounding +reeds, let go the stern of the boat and vanished. + +“Plain words from plain, uncultivated people, not unnaturally irritated +by the course of political events with which, although Fortune has +mixed me up in them, I have nothing whatever to do,” answered Ramiro. +“But once more I beg of you to consider. It is probable that you have +no food upon your boat, whereas we have plenty. Also, in due course, +darkness will fall, which must give us a certain advantage; moreover, I +have reason to hope for assistance. Therefore, in a waiting game like +this the cards are with me, and as I think your poor prisoner, Adrian, +will tell you, I know how to play a hand at cards.” + +About eight yards from the cutter, in a thick patch of water-lilies, +just at this moment an otter rose to take air—an old dog-otter, for it +was grey-headed. One of the Spaniards in the boat caught sight of the +ring it made, and picking up a stone from the ballast threw it at it +idly. The otter vanished. + +“We have been seeking each other a long while, but have never come to +blows yet, although, being a brave man, I know you would wish it,” said +Red Martin modestly. “Señor Ramiro, will you do me the honour to +overlook my humble birth and come ashore with me for a few minutes, man +against man. The odds would be in your favour, for you have armour and +I have nothing but a worn bull’s hide, also you have my good sword +Silence and I only a wood-man’s axe. Still I will risk it, and, what is +more, trusting to your good faith, we are willing to wager the treasure +of Hendrik Brant upon the issue.” + +So soon as they understood this challenge a roar of laughter went up +from the Spaniards in the boat, in which Ramiro himself joined +heartily. The idea of anyone voluntarily entering upon a single combat +with the terrible Frisian giant, who for months had been a name of fear +among the thousands that beleaguered Haarlem, struck them as really +ludicrous. + +But of a sudden they ceased laughing, and one and all stared with a +strange anxiety at the bottom of their boat, much as terrier dogs stare +at the earth beneath which they hear invisible vermin on the move. Then +a great shouting arose among them, and they looked eagerly over the +gunwales; yes, and began to stab at the water with their swords. But +all the while through the tumult and voices came a steady, regular +sound as of a person knocking heavily on the further side of a thick +door. + +“Mother of Heaven!” screamed someone in the cutter, “we are scuttled,” +and they began to tear at the false bottom of their boat, while others +stabbed still more furiously at the surface of the Mere. + +Now, rising one by one to the face of that quiet water, could be seen +bubbles, and the line of them ran from the cutter towards the rowing +boat. Presently, within six feet of it, axe in hand, rose the strange +and dreadful figure of a naked, skeleton-like woman covered with mud +and green weeds, and bleeding from great wounds in the back and sides. + +There it stood, shaking an axe at the terror-stricken Spaniards, and +screaming in short gasps, + +“Paid back! paid back, Ramiro! Now sink and drown, you dog, or come, +visit Red Martin on the shore.” + +“Well done, Martha,” roared Martin, as he dragged her dying into the +boat. While he spoke, lo! the cutter began to fill and sink. + +“There is but one chance for it,” cried Ramiro, “overboard and at them. +It is not deep,” and springing into the water, which reached to his +neck, he began to wade towards the shore. + +“Push off,” cried Foy, and they thrust and pulled. But the gold was +heavy, and their boat had settled far into the mud. Do what they might, +she would not stir. Then uttering some strange Frisian oath, Martin +sprang over her stern, and putting out all his mighty strength thrust +at it to loose her. Still she would not move. The Spaniards came up, +now the water reached only to their thighs, and their bright swords +flashed in the sunlight. + +“Cut them down!” yelled Ramiro. “At them for your lives’ sake.” + +The boat trembled, but she would not stir. + +“Too heavy in the bows,” screamed Martha, and struggling to her feet, +with one wild scream she launched herself straight at the throat of the +nearest Spaniard. She gripped him with her long arms, and down they +went together. Once they rose, then fell again, and through a cloud of +mud might be seen struggling upon the bottom of the Mere till presently +they lay still, both of them. + +The lightened boat lifted, and in answer to Martin’s mighty efforts +glided forward through the clinging mud. Again he thrust, and she was +clear. + +“Climb in, Martin, climb in,” shouted Foy as he stabbed at a Spaniard. + +“By heaven! no,” roared Ramiro splashing towards him with the face of a +devil. + +For a second Martin stood still. Then he bent, and the sword-cut fell +harmless upon his leather jerkin. Now very suddenly his great arms shot +out; yes, he seized Ramiro by the thighs and lifted, and there was seen +the sight of a man thrown into the air as though he were a ball tossed +by a child at play, to fall headlong upon the casks of treasure in the +skiff prow where he lay still. + +Martin sprang forward and gripped the tiller with his outstretched hand +as it glided away from him. + +“Row, master, row,” he cried, and Foy rowed madly until they were clear +of the last Spaniard, clear by ten yards. Even Elsa snatched a rollock, +and with it struck a soldier on the hand who tried to stay them, +forcing him to loose his grip; a deed of valour she boasted of with +pride all her life through. Then they dragged Martin into the boat. + +“Now, you Spanish dogs,” the great man roared back at them as he shook +the water from his flaming hair and beard, “go dig for Brant’s treasure +and live on ducks’ eggs here till Don Frederic sends to fetch you.” + +The island had melted away into a mist of other islands. No living +thing was to be seen save the wild creatures and birds of the great +lake, and no sound was to be heard except their calling and the voices +of the wind and water. They were alone—alone and safe, and there at a +distance towards the skyline rose the church towers of Leyden, for +which they headed. + +“Jufvrouw,” said Martin presently, “there is another flagon of wine in +that locker, and we should be glad of a pull at it.” + +Elsa, who was steering the boat, rose and found the wine and a horn +mug, which she filled and handed first to Foy. + +“Here’s a health,” said Foy as he drank, “to the memory of Mother +Martha, who saved us all. Well, she died as she would have wished to +die, taking a Spaniard for company, and her story will live on.” + +“Amen,” said Martin. Then a thought struck him, and, leaving his oars +for a minute, for he rowed two as against Foy’s and Adrian’s one, he +went forward to where Ramiro lay stricken senseless on the kegs of +specie and jewels in the bows, and took from him the great sword +Silence. But he strapped the Spaniard’s legs together with his belt. + +“That crack on the head keeps him quiet enough,” he said in +explanation, “but he might come to and give trouble, or try to swim for +it, since such cats have many lives. Ah! Señor Ramiro, I told you I +would have my sword back before I was half an hour older, or go where I +shouldn’t want one.” Then he touched the spring in the hilt and +examined the cavity. “Why,” he said, “here’s my legacy left in it safe +and sound. No wonder my good angel made me mad to get that sword +again.” + +“No wonder,” echoed Foy, “especially as you got Ramiro with it,” and he +glanced at Adrian, who was labouring at the bow oar, looking, now that +the excitement of the fight had gone by, most downcast and wretched. +Well he might, seeing the welcome that, as he feared, awaited him in +Leyden. + +For a while they rowed on in silence. All that they had gone through +during the last four and twenty hours and the seven preceding months of +war and privation, had broken their nerve. Even now, although they had +escaped the danger and won back the buried gold, capturing the +arch-villain who had brought them so much death and misery, and their +home, which, for the present moment at any rate, was a strong place of +refuge, lay before them, still they could not be at ease. Where so many +had died, where the risks had been so fearful, it seemed almost +incredible that they four should be living and hale, though weary, with +a prospect of continuing to live for many years. + +That the girl whom he loved so dearly, and whom he had so nearly lost, +should be sitting before him safe and sound, ready to become his wife +whensoever he might wish it, seemed to Foy also a thing too good to be +true. Too good to be true was it, moreover, that his brother, the +wayward, passionate, weak, poetical-minded Adrian, made by nature to be +the tool of others, and bear the burden of their evil doing, should +have been dragged before it was over late, out of the net of the +fowler, have repented of his sins and follies, and, at the risk of his +own life, shown that he was still a man, no longer the base slave of +passion and self-love. For Foy always loved his brother, and knowing +him better than any others knew him, had found it hard to believe that +however black things might look against him, he was at heart a villain. + +Thus he thought, and Elsa too had her thoughts, which may be guessed. +They were silent all of them, till of a sudden, Elsa seated in the +stern-sheets, saw Adrian suddenly let fall his oar, throw his arms +wide, and pitch forward against the back of Martin. Yes, and in place +of where he had sat appeared the dreadful countenance of Ramiro, +stamped with a grin of hideous hate such as Satan might wear when souls +escape him at the last. Ramiro recovered and sitting up, for to his +feet he could not rise because of the sword strap, in his hand a thin, +deadly-looking knife. + +“_Habet!_” he said with a short laugh, “_habes_, Weather-cock!” and he +turned the knife against himself. + +But Martin was on him, and in five more seconds he lay trussed like a +fowl in the bottom of the boat. + +“Shall I kill him?” said Martin to Foy, who with Elsa was bending over +Adrian. + +“No,” answered Foy grimly, “let him take his trial in Leyden. Oh! what +accursed fools were we not to search him!” + +Ramiro’s face turned a shade more ghastly. + +“It is your hour,” he said in a hoarse voice, “you have won, thanks to +that dog of a son of mine, who, I trust, may linger long before he +dies, as die he must. Ah! well, this is what comes of breaking my oath +to the Virgin and again lifting my hand against a woman.” He looked at +Elsa and shuddered, then went on: “It is your hour, make an end of me +at once. I do not wish to appear thus before those boors.” + +“Gag him,” said Foy to Martin, “lest our ears be poisoned,” and Martin +obeyed with good will. Then he flung him down, and there the man lay, +his back supported by the kegs of treasure he had worked so hard and +sinned so deeply to win, making, as he knew well, his last journey to +death and to whatever may lie beyond that solemn gate. + +They were passing the island that, many years ago, had formed the +turning post of the great sledge race in which his passenger had been +the fair Leyden heiress, Lysbeth van Hout. Ramiro could see her now as +she was that day; he could see also how that race, which he just failed +to win, had been for him an augury of disaster. Had not the Hollander +again beaten him at the post, and that Hollander—Lysbeth’s own son by +another father—helped to it by her son born of himself, who now lay +there death-stricken by him that gave him life. . . . They would take +him to Lysbeth, he knew it; she would be his judge, that woman against +whom he had piled up injury after injury, whom, even when she seemed to +be in his power, he had feared more than any living being. . . . And +after he had met her eyes for the last time, then would come the end. +What sort of an end would it be for the captain red-handed from the +siege of Haarlem, for the man who had brought Dirk van Goorl to his +death, for the father who had just planted a dagger between the +shoulders of his son because, at the last, that son had chosen to be +true to his own people, and to deliver them from a dreadful doom? . . . +Why did it come back to him, that horrible dream which had risen in his +mind when, for the first time after many years, he met Lysbeth face to +face there in the Gevangenhuis, that dream of the pitiful little man +falling, falling through endless space, and at the bottom of the gulf +two great hands, hands hideous and suggestive, reaching through the +shadows to receive him? + +Like his son, Adrian, Ramiro was superstitious; more, his intellect, +his reading, which in youth had been considerable, his observation of +men and women, all led him to the conclusion that death is a wall with +many doors in it; that on this side of the wall we may not linger or +sleep, but must pass each of us through his appointed portal straight +to the domain prepared for us. If so, what would be his lot, and who +would be waiting to greet him yonder? Oh! terrors may attend the wicked +after death, but in the case of some they do not tarry until death; +they leap forward to him whom it is decreed must die, forcing attention +with their eager, craving hands, with their obscure and ominous voices. +. . . About him the sweet breath of the summer afternoon, the skimming +swallows, the meadows starred with flowers; within him every hell at +which the imagination can so much as hint. + +Before he passed the gates of Leyden, in those few short hours, Ramiro, +to Elsa’s eyes, had aged by twenty years. + +Their little boat was heavy laden, the wind was against them, and they +had a dying man and a prisoner aboard. So it came about that the day +was closing before the soldiers challenged them from the watergate, +asking who they were and whither they went. Foy stood up and said: + +“We are Foy van Goorl, Red Martin, Elsa Brant, a wounded man and a +prisoner, escaped from Haarlem, and we go to the house of Lysbeth van +Goorl in the Bree Straat.” + +Then they let them through the watergate, and there, on the further +side, were many gathered who thanked God for their deliverance, and +begged tidings of them. + +“Come to the house in the Bree Straat and we will tell you from the +balcony,” answered Foy. + +So they rowed from one cut and canal to another till at last they came +to the private boat-house of the van Goorls, and entered it, and thus +by the small door into the house. + +Lysbeth van Goorl, recovered from her illness now, but aged and grown +stern with suffering, sat in an armchair in the great parlour of her +home in the Bree Straat, the room where as a girl she had cursed +Montalvo; where too not a year ago, she had driven his son, the traitor +Adrian, from her presence. At her side was a table on which stood a +silver bell and two brass holders with candles ready to be lighted. She +rang the bell and a woman-servant entered, the same who, with Elsa, had +nursed her in the plague. + +“What is that murmuring in the street?” Lysbeth asked. “I hear the +sound of many voices. Is there more news from Haarlem?” + +“Alas! yes,” answered the woman. “A fugitive says that the executioners +there are weary, so now they tie the poor prisoners back to back and +throw them into the mere to drown.” + +A groan burst from Lysbeth’s lips. “Foy, my son, is there,” she +muttered, “and Elsa Brant his affianced wife, and Martin his servant, +and many another friend. Oh! God, how long, how long?” and her head +sank upon her bosom. + +Soon she raised it again and said, “Light the candles, woman, this +place grows dark, and in its gloom I see the ghosts of all my dead.” + +They burned up—two stars of light in the great room. + +“Whose feet are those upon the stairs?” asked Lysbeth, “the feet of men +who bear burdens. Open the large doors, woman, and let that enter which +it pleases God to send us.” + +So the doors were flung wide, and through them came people carrying a +wounded man, then following him Foy and Elsa, and, lastly, towering +above them all, Red Martin, who thrust before him another man. Lysbeth +rose from her chair to look. + +“Do I dream?” she said, “or, son Foy, hath the Angel of the Lord +delivered you out of the hell of Haarlem?” + +“We are here, mother,” he answered. + +“And whom,” she said, pointing to the figure covered with a cloak, “do +you bring with you?” + +“Adrian, mother, who is dying.” + +“Then, son Foy, take him hence; alive, dying, or dead, I have done +with——” Here her eyes fell upon Red Martin and the man he held, “Martin +the Frisian,” she muttered, “but who——” + +Martin heard, and by way of answer lifted up his prisoner so that the +fading light from the balcony windows fell full upon his face. + +“What!” she cried. “Juan de Montalvo as well as his son Adrian, and in +this room——” Then she checked herself and added, “Foy, tell me your +story.” + +In few words and brief he told it, or so much as she need know to +understand. His last words were: “Mother, be merciful to Adrian; from +the first he meant no ill; he saved all our lives, and he lies dying by +that man’s dagger.” + +“Lift him up,” she said. + +So they lifted him up, and Adrian, who, since the knife pierced him had +uttered no word, spoke for the first and last time, muttering hoarsely: + +“Mother, take back your words and forgive me—before I die.” + +Now the sorrow-frozen heart of Lysbeth melted, and she bent over him +and said, speaking so that all might hear: + +“Welcome to your home again, Adrian. You who once were led astray, have +done bravely, and I am proud to call you son. Though you have left the +faith in which you were bred, here and hereafter may God bless you and +reward you, beloved Adrian!” Then she bent down and kissed his dying +lips. Foy and Elsa kissed him also in farewell before they bore him, +smiling happily to himself, to the chamber, his own chamber, where +within some few hours death found him. + +Adrian had been borne away, and for a little while there was silence. +Then, none commanding him, but as though an instinct pushed him +forward, Red Martin began to move up the length of the long room, half +dragging, half carrying his captive Ramiro. It was as if some automaton +had suddenly been put in motion, some machine of gigantic strength that +nothing could stop. The man in his grip set his heels in the floor and +hung back, but Martin scarcely seemed to heed his resistance. On he +came, and the victim with him, till they stood together before the +oaken chair and the stern-faced, white-haired woman who sat in it, her +cold countenance lit by the light of the two candles. She looked and +shuddered. Then she spoke, asking: + +“Why do you bring this man to me, Martin?” + +“For judgment, Lysbeth van Goorl,” he answered. + +“Who made me a judge over him?” she asked. + +“My master, Dirk van Goorl, your son, Adrian, and Hendrik Brant. Their +blood makes you judge of his blood.” + +“I will have none of it,” Lysbeth said passionately, “let the people +judge him.” As she spoke, from the crowd in the street below there +swelled a sudden clamour. + +“Good,” said Martin, “the people shall judge,” and he began to turn +towards the window, when suddenly, by a desperate effort, Ramiro +wrenched his doublet from his hand, and flung himself at Lysbeth’s feet +and grovelled there. + +“What do you seek?” she asked, drawing back her dress so that he should +not touch it. + +“Mercy,” he gasped. + +“Mercy! Look, son and daughter, this man asks for mercy who for many a +year has given none. Well, Juan de Montalvo, take your prayer to God +and to the people. I have done with you.” + +“Mercy, mercy!” he cried again. + +“Eight months ago,” she said, “I uttered that prayer to you, begging of +you in the Name of Christ to spare the life of an innocent man, and +what was your answer, Juan de Montalvo?” + +“Once you were my wife,” he pleaded; “being a woman, does not that +weigh with you?” + +“Once he was my husband, being a man did that weigh with you? The last +word is said. Take him, Martin, to those who deal with murderers.” + +Then that look came upon Montalvo which twice or thrice before Lysbeth +has seen written in his face—once when the race was run and lost, and +once when in after years she had petitioned for the life of her +husband. Lo! it was no longer the face of a man, but such a countenance +as might have been worn by a devil or a beast. The eyeball started, the +grey moustache curled upwards, the cheek-bones grew high and sharp. + +“Night after night,” he gasped, “you lay at my side, and I might have +killed you, as I have killed that brat of yours—and I spared you, I +spared you.” + +“God spared me, Juan de Montalvo, that He might bring us to this hour; +let Him spare you also if He will. I do not judge. He judges and the +people,” and Lysbeth rose from her chair. + +“Stay!” he cried, gnashing his teeth. + +“No, I stay not, I go to receive the last breath of him you have +murdered, my son and yours.” + +He raised himself upon his knees, and for a moment their eyes met for +the last time. + +“Do you remember?” she said in a quiet voice, “many years ago, in this +very room, after you had bought me at the cost of Dirk’s life, certain +words I spoke to you? Now I do not think that it was I who spoke, Juan +de Montalvo.” + +And she swept past him and through the wide doorway. + +Red Martin stood upon the balcony gripping the man Ramiro. Beneath him +the broad street was packed with people, hundreds and thousands of +them, a dense mass seething in the shadows, save here and again where a +torch or a lantern flared showing their white faces, for the moon, +which shone upon Martin and his captive, scarcely reached those down +below. As gaunt, haggard, and long-haired, he stepped upon the balcony, +they saw him and his burden, and there went up such a yell as shook the +very roofs of Leyden. Martin held up his hand, and there was silence, +deep silence, through which the breath of all that multitude rose in +sighs, like the sighing of a little wind. + +“Citizens of Leyden, my masters,” the Frisian cried, in a great, deep +voice that echoed down the street, “I have a word to say to you. This +man here—do you know him?” + +Back came an answering yell of “_Aye!_” + +“He is a Spaniard,” went on Martin, “the noble Count Juan de Montalvo, +who many years past forced one Lysbeth van Hout of this city into a +false marriage, buying her at the price of the life of her affianced +husband, Dirk van Goorl, that he might win her fortune.” + +“We know it,” they shouted. + +“Afterwards he was sent to the galleys for his crimes. He came back, +and was made Governor of the Gevangenhuis by the bloody Alva, where he +brought to death your brother and past burgomaster, Dirk van Goorl. +Afterwards he kidnapped the person of Elsa Brant, the daughter of +Hendrik Brant, whom the Inquisition murdered at The Hague. We rescued +her from him, my master, Foy van Goorl, and I. Afterwards he served +with the Spaniards as a captain of their forces in the siege of Haarlem +yonder—Haarlem that fell three days ago, and whose citizens they are +murdering to-night, throwing them two by two to drown in the waters of +the Mere.” + +“Kill him! Cast him down!” roared the mob. “Give him to us, Red +Martin.” + +Again the Frisian lifted his hand and again there was silence; a +sudden, terrible silence. + +“This man had a son; my mistress, Lysbeth van Goorl, to her shame and +sorrow, was the mother of him. That son, repenting, saved us from the +sack of Haarlem, yea, through him the three of us, Foy van Goorl, Elsa +Brant, and I, Martin Roos, their servant, are alive to-night. This man +and his Spaniards overtook us on the lake, and there we conquered him +by the help of Martha the Mare, Martha whom they made to carry her own +husband to the fire. We conquered him, but she—she died in the fray; +they stabbed her to death in the water as men stab an otter. Well, that +son, the Heer Adrian, he was murdered in the boat with a knife-blow +given by his own father from behind, and he lies here in this house +dead or dying. + +“My master and I, we brought this man, who to-day is called Ramiro, to +be judged by the woman whose husband and son he slew. But she would not +judge him; she said, ‘Take him to the people, let them judge.’ So judge +now, ye people,” and with an effort of his mighty strength Martin swung +the struggling body of Ramiro over the parapet of the balcony and let +him hang there above their heads. + +They yelled, they screamed in their ravenous hate and rage; they leapt +up as hounds leap at a wolf upon a wall. + +“Give him to us, give him to us!” that was their cry. + +Martin laughed aloud. “Take him then,” he said; “take him, ye people, +and judge him as you will,” and with one great heave he hurled the +thing that writhed between his hands far out into the centre of the +street. + +The crowd below gathered themselves into a heap like water above a boat +sinking in the heart of a whirlpool. For a minute or more they snarled +and surged and twisted. Then they broke up and went away, talking in +short, eager sentences. And there, small and dreadful on the stones, +lay something that once had been a man. + +Thus did the burghers of Leyden pass judgment and execute it upon that +noble Spaniard, the Count Juan de Montalvo. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX +TWO SCENES + + +_Scene the First_ + + +Some months had gone by, and Alkmaar, that heroic little city of the +north, had turned the flood of Spanish victory. Full of shame and rage, +the armies of Philip and of Valdez marched upon Leyden, and from +November, 1573, to the end of March, 1574, the town was besieged. Then +the soldiers were called away to fight Louis of Nassau, and the leaguer +was raised till, on the fatal field of Mook Heath, the gallant Louis, +with his brother Henry and four thousand of their soldiers, perished, +defeated by D’Avila. Now once more the victorious Spaniards threatened +Leyden. + +In a large bare room of the Stadthuis of that city, at the beginning of +the month of May, a man of middle-age might have been seen one morning +walking up and down, muttering to himself as he walked. He was not a +tall man and rather thin in figure, with brown eyes and beard, hair +tinged with grey, and a wide brow lined by thought. This was William of +Orange, called the Silent, one of the greatest and most noble of human +beings who ever lived in any age; the man called forth by God to whom +Holland owes its liberties, and who for ever broke the hideous yoke of +religious fanaticism among the Teuton races. + +Sore was his trouble on this May morning. But last month two more of +his brothers had found death beneath the sword of the Spaniard, and now +this same Spaniard, with whom he had struggled for all these weary +years, was marching in his thousands upon Leyden. + +“Money,” he was muttering to himself. “Give me money, and I will save +the city yet. With money ships can be built, more men can be raised, +powder can be bought. Money, money, money—and I have not a ducat! All +gone, everything, even to my mother’s trinkets and the plate upon my +table. Nothing is left, no, not the credit to buy a dozen geldings.” + +As he thought thus one of his secretaries entered the room. + +“Well, Count,” said the Prince, “have you been to them all?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And with what success?” + +“The burgomaster, van de Werff, promises to do everything he can, and +will, for he is a man to lean on, but money is short. It has all left +the country and there is not much to get.” + +“I know it,” groaned Orange, “you can’t make a loaf from the crumbs +beneath the table. Is the proclamation put up inviting all good +citizens to give or lend in this hour of their country’s need?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Thank you, Count, you can go; there is nothing more to do. We will +ride for Delft to-night.” + +“Sir,” said the secretary, “there are two men in the courtyard who wish +to see you.” + +“Are they known?” + +“Oh yes, perfectly. One is Foy van Goorl, who went through the siege of +Haarlem and escaped, the son of the worthy burgher, Dirk van Goorl, +whom they did to death yonder in the Gevangenhuis; and the other a +Friesland giant of a man called Red Martin, his servant, of whose feats +of arms you may have heard. The two of them held a shot tower in this +town against forty or fifty Spaniards, and killed I don’t know how +many.” + +The Prince nodded. “I know. This Red Martin is a Goliath, a brave +fellow. What do they want?” + +“I am not sure,” said the secretary with a smile, “but they have +brought a herring-cart here, the Frisian in the shafts for a horse, and +the Heer van Goorl pushing behind. They say that it is laden with +ammunition for the service of their country.” + +“Then why do they not take it to the Burgomaster, or somebody in +authority?” + +“I don’t know, but they declare that they will only deliver it to you +in person.” + +“You are sure of your men, Count? You know,” he added, with a smile, “I +have to be careful.” + +“Quite, they were identified by several of the people in the other +room.” + +“Then admit them, they may have something to say.” + +“But, sir, they wish to bring in their cart.” + +“Very well, let them bring it in if it will come through the door,” +answered the Prince, with a sigh, for his thoughts were far from these +worthy citizens and their cart. + +Presently the wide double doors were opened, and Red Martin appeared, +not as he was after the siege of Haarlem, but as he used to be, +well-covered and bland, with a beard even longer and more fiery than of +yore. At the moment he was strangely employed, for across his great +breast lay the broad belly-band of a horse, and by its means, harnessed +between the shafts, he dragged a laden cart covered with an old sail. +Moreover the load must have been heavy, for notwithstanding his +strength and that of Foy, no weakling, who pushed behind, they had +trouble in getting the wheels up a little rise at the threshold. + +Foy shut the doors, then they trundled their cart into the middle of +the great room, halted and saluted. So curious was the sight, and so +inexplicable, that the Prince, forgetting his troubles for a minute, +burst out laughing. + +“I daresay it looks strange, sir,” said Foy, hotly, the colour rising +to the roots of his fair hair, “but when you have heard our story I am +not sure that you will laugh at us.” + +“Mynheer van Goorl,” said the Prince with grave courtesy, “be assured +that I laugh at no true men such as yourself and your servant, Martin +the Frisian, and least of all at men who could hold yonder shot tower +against fifty Spaniards, who could escape out of Haarlem and bring home +with them the greatest devil in Don Frederic’s army. It was your +equipage I laughed at, not yourselves,” and he bowed slightly first to +the one and then to the other. + +“His Highness thinks perhaps,” said Martin, “that the man who does an +ass’s work must necessarily be an ass,” at which sally the Prince +laughed again. + +“Sir,” said Foy, “I crave your patience for a while, and on no mean +matter. Your Highness has heard, perhaps, of one Hendrik Brant, who +perished in the Inquisition.” + +“Do you mean the goldsmith and banker who was said to be the richest +man in the Netherlands?” + +“Yes, sir, the man whose treasure was lost.” + +“I remember—whose treasure was lost—though it was reported that some of +our own people got away with it,” and his eyes wandered wonderingly to +the sail which hid the burden on the cart. + +“Sir,” went on Foy, “you heard right; Red Martin and I, with a pilot +man who was killed, were they who got away with it, and by the help of +the waterwife, who now is dead, and who was known as Mother Martha, or +the Mare, we hid it in Haarlemer Meer, whence we recovered it after we +escaped from Haarlem. If you care to know how, I will tell you later, +but the tale is long and strange. Elsa Brant was with us at the time——” + +“She is Hendrik Brant’s only child, and therefore the owner of his +wealth, I believe?” interrupted the Prince. + +“Yes, sir, and my affianced wife.” + +“I have heard of the young lady, and I congratulate you. Is she in +Leyden?” + +“No, sir, her strength and mind were much broken by the horrors which +she passed through in the siege of Haarlem, and by other events more +personal to her. Therefore, when the Spaniards threatened their first +leaguer of this place, I sent her and my mother to Norwich in England, +where they may sleep in peace.” + +“You were wise indeed, Heer van Goorl,” replied the Prince with a sigh, +“but it seems that you stopped behind?” + +“Yes, sir, Martin and I thought it our duty to see this war out. When +Leyden is safe from the Spaniards, then we go to England, not before.” + +“When Leyden is safe from the Spaniards——” and again the Prince sighed, +adding, “well, you have a true heart, young sir, and a right spirit, +for which I honour both of you. But I fear that things being thus the +Jufvrouw cannot sleep so very peacefully in Norwich after all.” + +“We must each bear our share of the basket,” answered Foy sadly; “I +must do the fighting and she the watching.” + +“It is so, I know it, who have both fought and watched. Well, I hope +that a time will come when you will both of you do the loving. And now +for the rest of the story.” + +“Sir, it is very short. We read your proclamation in the streets this +morning, and learned from it for certain what we have heard before, +that you are in sore want of money for the defence of Leyden and the +war at large. Therefore, hearing that you were still in the city, and +believing this proclamation of yours to be the summons and clear +command for which we waited, we have brought you Hendrik Brant’s +treasure. It is there upon the cart.” + +The Prince put his hand to his forehead and reeled back a step. + +“You do not jest with me, Foy van Goorl?” he said. + +“Indeed no.” + +“But stay; this treasure is not yours to give, it belongs to Elsa +Brant.” + +“Sir, the legal title to it is in myself, for my father was Brant’s +lawful heir and executor, and I inherit his rights. Moreover, although +a provision for her is charged upon it, it is Elsa’s desire—I have it +written here under her hand and witnessed—that the money should be +used, every ducat of it, for the service of the country in such way as +I might find good. Lastly, her father, Hendrik Brant, always believed +that this wealth of his would in due season be of such service. Here is +a copy of his will, in which he directs that we are to apply the money +‘for the defence of our country, the freedom of religious Faith, and +the destruction of the Spaniards in such fashion and at such time or +times as God shall reveal to us.’ When he gave us charge of it also, +his words to me were: ‘I am certain that thousands and tens of +thousands of our folk will live to bless the gold of Hendrik Brant.’ On +that belief too, thinking that God put it into his mind, and would +reveal His purpose in His own hour, we have acted all of us, and +therefore for the sake of this stuff we have gone to death and torture. +Now it has come about as Brant foretold; now we understand why all +these things have happened, and why we live, this man and I, to stand +before you, sir, to-day, with the hoard unminished by a single florin, +no, not even by Martin’s legacy.” + +“Man, you jest, you jest!” said Orange. + +Foy made a sign, and Martin going to the cart, pulled off the +sail-cloth, revealing the five mud-stained barrels painted, each of +them, with the mark B. There, too, ready for the purpose, were a +hammer, mallet, and chisel. Resting the shafts of the cart upon a +table, Martin climbed into it, and with a few great blows of the +mallet, drove in the head of a cask selected at hazard. Beneath +appeared wool, which he removed, not without fear lest there might be +some mistake; then, as he could wait no longer, he tilted the barrel up +and shot its contents out upon the floor. + +As it chanced this was the keg that contained the jewels into which, +foreseeing troublous days, from time to time Brant had converted the +most of his vast wealth. Now in one glittering stream of red and white +and blue and green, breaking from their cases and wrappings that the +damp had rotted, save for those pearls, the most valuable of them all, +which were in the watertight copper box—they fell jingling to the open +floor, where they rolled hither and thither like beans shot from a sack +in the steading. + +“I think there is only this one tub of jewels,” said Foy quietly; “the +rest, which are much heavier, are full of gold coin. Here, sir, is the +inventory so that you may check the list and see that we have kept back +nothing.” + +But William of Orange heeded him not, only he looked at the priceless +gems and muttered, “Fleets of ships, armies of men, convoys of food, +means to bribe the great and buy goodwill—aye, and the Netherlands +themselves wrung from the grip of Spain, the Netherlands free and rich +and happy! O God! I thank Thee Who thus hast moved the hearts of men to +the salvation of this Thy people from sore danger.” + +Then in the sudden ecstasy of relief and joy, the great Prince hid his +face in his hands and wept. + +Thus it came about that the riches of Hendrik Brant, when Leyden lay at +her last gasp, paid the soldiers and built the fleets which, in due +time, driven by a great wind sent suddenly from heaven across the +flooded meadows, raised the dreadful siege and signed the doom of +Spanish rule in Holland. Therefore it would seem that not in vain was +Hendrik Brant stubborn and foresighted, that his blood and the blood of +Dirk van Goorl were not shed in vain; that not in vain also did Elsa +suffer the worst torments of a woman’s fear in the Red Mill on the +marshes; and Foy and Martin play their parts like men in the +shot-tower, the Gevangenhuis and the siege, and Mother Martha the Sword +find a grave and rest in the waters of the Haarlem Meer. + +There are other morals to this story also, applicable, perhaps, to our +life to-day, but the reader is left to guess them. + +_Scene the Second_ + + +Leyden is safe at last, and through the broken dykes Foy and Martin, +with the rescuing ships, have sailed, shouting and red-handed, into her +famine-stricken streets. For the Spaniards, those that are left of +them, are broken and have fled away from their forts and flooded +trenches. + +So the scene changes from warring, blood-stained, triumphant Holland to +the quiet city of Norwich and a quaint gabled house in Tombland almost +beneath the shadow of the tall spire of the cathedral, which now for +about a year had been the home of Lysbeth van Goorl and Elsa Brant. +Here to Norwich they had come in safety in the autumn of 1573 just +before the first siege of Leyden was begun, and here they had dwelt for +twelve long, doubtful, anxious months. News, or rather rumours, of what +was passing in the Netherlands reached them from time to time; twice +even there came letters from Foy himself, but the last of these had +been received many weeks ago just as the iron grip of the second +leaguer was closing round the city. Then Foy and Martin, so they +learned from the letter, were not in the town but with the Prince of +Orange in Delft, working hard at the fleet which was being built and +armed for its relief. + +After this there was a long silence, and none could tell what had +happened, although a horrible report reached them that Leyden had been +taken, sacked, and burnt, and all its inhabitants massacred. They lived +in comfort here in Norwich, for the firm of Munt and Brown, Dirk van +Goorl’s agents, were honest, and the fortune which he had sent over +when the clouds were gathering thick, had been well invested by them +and produced an ample revenue. But what comfort could there be for +their poor hearts thus agonised by doubts and sickening fears? + +One evening they sat in the parlour on the ground floor of the house, +or rather Lysbeth sat, for Elsa knelt by her, her head resting upon the +arm of the chair, and wept. + +“Oh! it is cruel,” she sobbed, “it is too much to bear. How can you be +so calm, mother, when perhaps Foy is dead?” + +“If my son is dead, Elsa, that is God’s Will, and I am calm, because +now, as many a time before, I resign myself to the Will of God, not +because I do not suffer. Mothers can feel, girl, as well as +sweethearts.” + +“Would that I had never left him,” moaned Elsa. + +“You asked to leave, child; for my part I should have bided the best or +the worst in Leyden.” + +“It is true, it is because I am a coward; also he wished it.” + +“He wished it, Elsa, therefore it is for the best; let us await the +issue in patience. Come, our meal is set.” + +They sat themselves down to eat, these two lonely women, but at their +board were laid four covers as though they expected guests. Yet none +were bidden—only this was Elsa’s fancy. + +“Foy and Martin _might_ come,” she said, “and be vexed if it seemed +that we did not expect them.” So for the last three months or more she +had always set four covers at the table, and Lysbeth did not gainsay +her. In her heart she too hoped that Foy might come. + +That very night Foy came, and with him Red Martin, the great sword +Silence still strapped about his middle. + +“Hark!” said Lysbeth suddenly, “I hear my son’s footsteps at the door. +It seems, Elsa, that, after all, the ears of a mother are quicker than +those of a lover.” + +But Elsa never heard her, for now—now at length, she was wrapped in the +arms of Foy; the same Foy, but grown older and with a long pale scar +across his forehead. + +“Yet,” went on Lysbeth to herself, with a faint smile on her white and +stately face, “the son’s lips are for the lover first.” + +An hour later, or two, or three, for who reckoned time that night when +there was so much to hear and tell, while the others knelt before her, +Foy and Elsa hand in hand, and behind them Martin like a guardian +giant, Lysbeth put up her evening prayer of praise and thanksgiving. + +“Almighty God,” she said in her slow, sonorous voice, “Thy awful Hand +that by my own faithless sin took from me my husband, hath given back +his son and mine who shall be to this child a husband, and for us as +for our country over sea, out of the night of desolation is arisen a +dawn of peace. Above us throughout the years is Thy Everlasting Will, +beneath us when our years are done, shall be Thy Everlasting Arms. So +for the bitter and the sweet, for the evil and the good, for the past +and for the present, we, Thy servants, render Thee glory, thanks, and +praise, O God of our fathers, That fashioneth us and all according to +Thy desire, remembering those things which we have forgotten and +foreknowing those things which are not yet. Therefore to Thee, Who +through so many dreadful days hast led us to this hour of joy, be glory +and thanks, O Lord of the living and the dead. Amen.” + +And the others echoed “To Thee be glory and thanks, O Lord of the +living and the dead. Amen.” + +Then, their prayer ended, the living rose, and, with separations done +and fears appeased at last, leant towards each other in the love and +hope of their beautiful youth. + +But Lysbeth sat silent in the new home, far from the land where she was +born, and turned her stricken heart towards the dead. + +FINIS + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYSBETH *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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