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diff --git a/5754-h/5754-h.htm b/5754-h/5754-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e67ba2 --- /dev/null +++ b/5754-h/5754-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23178 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lysbeth, by H. Rider Haggard</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lysbeth, by H. Rider Haggard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lysbeth<br /> +A Tale Of The Dutch</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. Rider Haggard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 27, 2002 [eBook #5754]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 4, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYSBETH ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>Lysbeth</h1> + +<h3>A Tale Of The Dutch</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by H. Rider Haggard</h2> + +<h4>1901</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">DEDICATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref02">AUTHOR’S NOTE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#book01"><b>BOOK THE FIRST THE SOWING</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE WOLF AND THE BADGER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. SHE WHO BUYS—PAYS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. MONTALVO WINS A TRICK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. THREE WAKINGS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE DREAM OF DIRK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE BETROTHAL OF LYSBETH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. HENDRIK BRANT HAS A VISITOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. THE MARE’S STABLE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#book02"><b>BOOK THE SECOND THE RIPENING</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. ADRIAN, FOY, AND MARTIN THE RED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. ADRIAN GOES OUT HAWKING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. ADRIAN RESCUES BEAUTY IN DISTRESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. THE SUMMONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. MOTHER’S GIFTS ARE GOOD GIFTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. SWORD SILENCE RECEIVES THE SECRET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. SEÑOR RAMIRO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE MASTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. BETROTHED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. FOY SEES A VISION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE FRAY IN THE SHOT TOWER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. IN THE GEVANGENHUIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. HOW MARTIN TURNED COWARD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. A MEETING AND A PARTING</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#book03"><b>BOOK THE THIRD THE HARVESTING</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. FATHER AND SON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. MARTHA PREACHES A SERMON AND TELLS A SECRET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. THE RED MILL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. THE BRIDEGROOM AND THE BRIDE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. WHAT ELSA SAW IN THE MOONLIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. ATONEMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. ADRIAN COMES HOME AGAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. TWO SCENES</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>DEDICATION</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>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.</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref02"></a>AUTHOR’S NOTE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>LYSBETH<br /> +A TALE OF THE DUTCH</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="book01"></a>BOOK THE FIRST<br /> +THE SOWING</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +THE WOLF AND THE BADGER</h2> + +<p> +The time was in or about the year 1544, when the Emperor Charles V. ruled the +Netherlands, and our scene the city of Leyden. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You keep ill company, lady,” said the cap-seller in a harsh voice. +</p> + +<p> +“It was none of my seeking,” answered Lysbeth, astonished into +making a reply. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right, cousin,” answered Pieter, a pleasant-faced and +alert young man, “look at <i>him</i>, scold <i>him</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought as much,” said Lysbeth. “Dirk can only keep an +appointment with a church bell or a stadhuis chandelier.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Dirk, taking fire at once. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“As we worship Him,” broke in Van de Werff with a cough. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant these thoughts flashed through her mind, but all she did was to +murmur something about the Heer van Goorl—— +</p> + +<p> +“Has already given his consent, like an unselfish gentleman,” broke +in Captain Juan tendering her his hand. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the course, Señor?” Lysbeth asked, hoping that it would +be a short one. +</p> + +<p> +But in this she was to be disappointed, for he answered: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The Badger is coming up,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care, brother,” it cried, “he will overthrow us.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“The Spaniard, the Spaniard wins!” said the first cry that was +answered by another and a deeper roar. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Hollander, the Hollander! The Hollander comes up!” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Once more she seemed to faint, while in her ears there rang the +cry—“The Hollander! Outstayed! Outstayed! Conquered is the accursed +Spaniard!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Lysbeth knew that it was over, and again the faintness overpowered her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> +SHE WHO BUYS—PAYS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“If your Excellency would come now,” the sergeant was saying, +“this little matter can be settled without any further trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is she?” asked Montalvo. +</p> + +<p> +“Not more than a mile or so away, near the place called Steene +Veld.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the Count did not wish to listen to condolences on his defeat, or +perhaps he desired to prolong the <i>tête-à-tête</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we going, Señor?” asked Lysbeth anxiously. “The +race is over and I must seek my friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, officer,” broke in Montalvo, addressing the sergeant in a +quiet, wearied voice, “what is all this about? Set out your case.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that she will be taken to the prison to be dealt with by the +Holy Office?” queried Montalvo. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the evidence?” asked Montalvo. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, in an agony of mind, Lysbeth turned and looked at Montalvo. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Señora,” asked Montalvo, “if you have sufficiently +reflected shall I administer the oath in the form provided?” +</p> + +<p> +“Administer it,” she said hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“In the name of God the Son and of His Blessed Mother, you swear?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Good, Señora. Now listen to me. Did you meet that woman this +afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I met her on the ice.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid that is not quite enough, Señora; I may have misquoted the +exact words. Did the woman say anything of the sort?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The water is cold to die in!” the Mare said, in a meditative +voice, as though she were thinking aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did you run away from the warm fire, heretic witch?” +jeered Black Meg. +</p> + +<p> +Now Lysbeth hesitated no longer, but again answered in a monosyllable, +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what did she do or say, Señora?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a lie,” screamed Black Meg in fierce, strident tones. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I will do nothing of the sort; the prison here is over-full already. +Untie her arms and let her go.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth winced visibly. “I thought, Señor, that you were going to return +to the fete.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Still she hesitated, dismay written on her face. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>had</i> bought and she +<i>must</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout there?” he asked anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, but before she could say more Montalvo broke +in, inquiring what might be the matter. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Señor,” she said briefly, “take me home; I grow +faint.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> +MONTALVO WINS A TRICK</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Jufvrouw van Hout,” he said as he pulled up, “do you +remember that you are still wearing skates?” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered briefly, “I will call my servant.” +</p> + +<p> +Then for the first time the Count became complimentary in a dignified Spanish +manner. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sure enough it is she, Tante Clara, and some one is taking off her +boots.” +</p> + +<p> +“Skates, Señor, skates,” interrupted Montalvo, glancing backward +over his shoulder, then added in a whisper as he bent once more to his task, +“ahem—<i>pays</i>. You will introduce me, is it not so? I think it +will be less awkward for you.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk, Cousin Dirk, I think you know—this is—the Honourable +Captain the Count Juan de Montalvo.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—“<i>pays</i>.” +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Now Montalvo knew that his difficulties were over for that evening at any rate, +since he had crossed the threshold and was a guest. +</p> + +<p> +Half unconsciously Lysbeth guided him to the balconied <i>sit-kamer</i> 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—“<i>pays</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>did</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What a good man! What a delightful man!” murmured Aunt Clara to +Dirk in the buzz of conversation which ensued. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, cousin, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“And what discrimination he has, what taste! Did you notice what he said +about the cooking?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard something, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have upset the red wine over it, that is all,” answered Dirk, +sulkily. “It is spoiled.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Mynheer, if I were a small man I should yield to the clamour of +the starving folk and surrender——” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you were a big man, captain?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would drown out the farmers and ruin the land for twenty +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so, Mynheer, but when the corn has to be saved, who thinks of +spoiling the straw?” +</p> + +<p> +“I follow you, Señor, your proverb is good, although I have never heard +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> +THREE WAKINGS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>bonhomie</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it came about that, as the only suitable <i>partie</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>tête-à-tête</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>humanum est</i>, etc. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the woman here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellency, she is here, though I had difficulty enough in persuading +her to come, for I found her in bed and out of humour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace to your difficulties. Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the small inner room, Excellency.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The moonlit figure turned its head, for he could see the light shine upon the +whites of the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that is just the point. Now what do you know about Dirk van +Goorl?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, the cold water has dulled your wits. When I ask you about a man +I want to learn what you know <i>against</i> him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where does he attend Mass?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the Groote Kerke once a week, but he does not take the Sacrament or +go to confession.” +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds bad, mother, very bad. You don’t mean to say that he +is a heretic?” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably he is, Excellency; most of them are about here.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“You waste time, Excellency,” replied his visitor with a snort. +“What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in the interests of this young lady, I want to prove that this man +<i>is</i> a heretic, and it has struck me that—as one accustomed to this +sort of thing—you might be able to find the evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” he asked again. +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred florins down.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +THE DREAM OF DIRK</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry if Mynheer sees visions,” answered that young woman +imperturbably. “I told Mynheer that the ladies had gone out +sleighing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you did, Greta; but why should they go out sleighing in a wet +thaw?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, Mynheer. Ladies do those things that please them. It +is not my place to ask their reasons.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“If the other gentlemen wish it,” said Dirk, modestly, +“though my apartment is but a poor place for such company.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, I know,” answered Dirk, thinking of Lysbeth’s +supper, and at the door of his lodgings they parted. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Caramba</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ghosts!” answered Dirk, “no, I never heard of any; I do not +believe in ghosts. Take some more of that pasty.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Montalvo hesitated. Then he took the money, pouring it carelessly into his +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“You have not checked the sum,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later the two Spaniards took their departure, leaving Dirk and +his cousin Brant alone. +</p> + +<p> +“A very successful evening,” said Brant, “and, cousin, you +won a great deal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Dirk, “but all the same I am a poorer man +than I was yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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, “<i>Jesus</i>,” and +paused. Brant also crossed his hands and answered, or, rather, continued, +“<i>wept</i>.” It was the password of those of the New Religion. +</p> + +<p> +“You are one of us, cousin?” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You say that both she and her aunt are Catholics?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, perhaps,” said Dirk, “but I know not what to +do,” and in his perplexity he struck his forehead with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, brother, in that case what hinders that we should ask Him Who can +tell you?” said Brant, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are rich, indeed,” answered Brant; “sometime you must +tell me how and where you came by it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here in Leyden, if one can afford to pay for them, such goods are not +hard to get,” said Dirk; “what <i>is</i> hard is to keep them +safely, for to be found with a Bible in your pocket is to carry your own +death-warrant.” +</p> + +<p> +Brant nodded. “Is it safe to show it here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Brant. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“First let us pray,” said Brant. +</p> + +<p> +It seems curious, does it not, that two young men as a <i>finale</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When at length he had finished they rose from their knees. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I open the Book at a hazard,” asked Dirk, “and read +what my eye falls on?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“The first letter of Paul to the Corinthians, which I have never read +before,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Continue to the end of the chapter,” said Brant, so the reader +went on. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk finished the chapter and closed the Book. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems that you have your answer, Brother,” said Brant quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dirk, “as soon as may be, but there is one thing +more; ought I tell her all the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> +THE BETROTHAL OF LYSBETH</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my friend,” he said, “have you the evidence?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is bad, very bad,” said Montalvo shaking his head, +“but——” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw,” she went on in her hoarse voice, “the pair of them +read the Bible.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your reward? Ah! your reward. No, I think not at present, for a reward +presupposes services—and I see none.” +</p> + +<p> +Black Meg began to storm. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke he rang a bell which stood upon a table, and before Meg could +answer the soldier appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is your mistress in?” he stammered. “I have come to see your +mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” said Dirk aghast, “and where have they gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Mynheer, I do not know that, they did not tell me,” and no +other answer could he extract from her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Confess, dear lady,” he said, “that there is some other man +more fortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth did not confess, but, on the other hand, neither did she deny. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, Señor?” asked Lysbeth, bridling. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such accusations should not be made,” said Lysbeth sternly, +“unless they can be proved. Even then——” and she +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Three days later the ladies returned to Leyden. Within an hour of their arrival +the Count called, and was admitted. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you come here?” she asked; “I have given you my +answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” broke in Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“A slight mistake, I think, Jufvrouw, I mean a conversation about an +excellent friend of yours, whose spiritual affairs seem to interest you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of it, Señor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only this; I have made inquiries and——” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth looked up unable to conceal her anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Jufvrouw, let me beg of you to learn to control your expression; the +open face of childhood is so dangerous in these days.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is my cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know; were he anything more, I should be so grieved, but we can most +of us spare a cousin or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you would cease amusing yourself, Señor——” +</p> + +<p> +“And come to the point? Of course I will. Well, the result of my +inquiries has been to find out that this worthy person <i>is</i> a heretic of +the most pernicious sort. I said inquiries, but there was no need for me to +make any. He has been——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not denounced,” broke in Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has he done?” asked Lysbeth in a low voice, and bending down +her head to hide the working of her features. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Bible! Why should that be wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Almost thou persuadest me——” began Lysbeth bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! lady—to be, what you are, an angel.” +</p> + +<p> +There came a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“What will happen to him?” asked Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there no escape?” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really interested in this heretic, and do you desire to save +him?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She also gave up fencing. +</p> + +<p> +“I am and I do,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it can be done—at a price.” +</p> + +<p> +“What price?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yourself in marriage within three weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth quivered slightly, then sat still. +</p> + +<p> +“Would not my fortune do instead?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Still there was no answer. Montalvo, playing his trump card, drew from his vest +an official-looking document, sealed and signed. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth bowed her head. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth looked a question. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, never,” said Lysbeth, “I cannot be put to such a +shame. I defy you.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>bonhomie</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +Another instant and there came a knock upon the door. She opened it. +</p> + +<p> +“The Heer van Goorl stands below,” said the voice of Greta, +“wishing to see you, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Admit him,” answered Lysbeth, and going to a chair almost in the +centre of the room, she seated herself. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been to the sea with my Aunt Clara,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +Then for a while—five minutes or more—there followed a strained and +stilted conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lysbeth,” said Dirk at last, “I want to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on, cousin,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>am</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk heard, and his ruddy face turned ashen grey. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +As for Lysbeth she cast herself at full length, and in the bitterness of her +heart beat her brow upon the boards. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth struggled to her knees and watched him thrust the document between two +glowing peats. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +She ceased. Montalvo looked at her and tried to speak. Again he looked and +again he tried to speak, but no words would come. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /> +HENDRIK BRANT HAS A VISITOR</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +So the time went on. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your business with me?” Brant asked sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your business?” said Brant. +</p> + +<p> +“Mynheer,” she answered, dropping her husky voice, “you are a +friend of the Countess Montalvo, she who was Lysbeth van Hout?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am acquainted with her, that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“At least you are a friend of the Heer Dirk van Goorl who has left this +town for Alkmaar; he who was her lover?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am his cousin, but he is not the lover of any married +woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed? I know nothing of her present life: she must reap the field +which she has sown. That door is shut.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not altogether perhaps. I thought it might interest Dirk van Goorl to +learn that it is still ajar.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no time to waste in chopping riddles. What is your errand? Tell +it, or leave it untold, but be quick.” +</p> + +<p> +Black Meg leant forward, and the hoarse voice sank to a cavernous whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It does not much matter what I would give you, for I saw the thing done +in the Groote Kerk yonder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Things are not always done that seem to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, woman, I have had enough of this,” and Brant pointed to +the door. +</p> + +<p> +Black Meg did not stir, only she produced a packet from the bosom of her dress +and laid it on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“A man can’t have two wives living at once, can he?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I suppose not—that is, legally.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if I show you that Montalvo has two wives, how much?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“If you <i>proved</i> it,” he said, “let us say two hundred +florins.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not enough, Mynheer.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is all I have to offer, and, mind you, what I promise to pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you come by these, woman?” asked Brant. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, most honest merchant, and what might you have been doing in his +Excellency’s room?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Brant’s face hardened, and he became more watchful. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did he wish such evidence?” +</p> + +<p> +“To use it to prevent the marriage of Jufvrouw Lysbeth with the Heer Dirk +van Goorl.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. And did you get the evidence?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Black Meg shrank back, and turned a little blue about the lips. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand, Mynheer,” said Black Meg with a grin and vanished. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Ah! who could tell indeed? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I,” answered Lysbeth, and again there was silence. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she broke it. “What do you want?” she asked. “More +money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I want money,” he answered furiously. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at her hand. “You have still that ring,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going away then?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Montalvo turned away and pretended not to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, thank God for it,” Lysbeth added, “only I wish that +you could take your memory and everything else of yours with you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” asked Montalvo furiously. +</p> + +<p> +The subaltern saluted as he entered: +</p> + +<p> +“My captain, forgive me, but I act under orders, and they are to arrest +you alive, or,” he added significantly, “dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon what charge?” asked Montalvo. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, notary, you had best read the charge,” said the subaltern, +“but perhaps the lady would like to retire first,” he added +awkwardly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Lysbeth, “it might concern me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +When her eyes opened again, Montalvo, officer, notary, and soldiers, all had +vanished. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +THE MARE’S STABLE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s got it now,” said one. +</p> + +<p> +“Serve her right, too,” answered the other, “for running +after and marrying a Spanish don.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Glancing behind her, Lysbeth saw the creature nip her nostrils with her +fingers, as though to shut out an evil smell. +</p> + +<p> +Then she could bear it no longer, and turned upon them. +</p> + +<p> +“You are evil slanderers,” she said, and walked away swiftly, +pursued by the sound of their loud, insulting laughter. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +After this came a sound of singing in her ears and—darkness. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you awake, lady?” asked a hoarse voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Lysbeth, “but tell me, how did I come here, +and who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You are Martha the Mare,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth made no answer; the story seemed hard to begin with this strange woman. +Then Martha went on: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come out and look,” said Martha when her guest had done eating. +And she led her through the doorway of the hut. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now tell me,” she said, “upon which of them is my stable +built?” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth shook her head helplessly. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I must be going home,” faltered Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! child, had you but known of me, and where to find me, you should +have asked my aid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, mother, what could you have done?” answered Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +She sank back aghast. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Cease, I pray you,” said Lysbeth in a low voice; “I am +faint, I am ill.” +</p> + +<p> +Ill she was indeed, and before morning there, in that lonely hovel on the +island of the mere, a son was born to her. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +When she was strong enough her nurse spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“Will you keep the brat, or shall I kill it?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I kill my child?” said Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I kill my own child? Touch it not,” answered Lysbeth +sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +So the black-eyed boy lived and throve. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not touch me,” she cried, “remember what I am and why I +stay here.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the child,” she murmured, “it lives, and it is mine and +the man’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s face hardened a little, but he only answered: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +So these two plighted their troth. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There also was an end of the strange and tragic courtship of Dirk van Goorl and +Lysbeth van Hout. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As it happened, she bore no other children. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="book02"></a>BOOK THE SECOND<br /> +THE RIPENING</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> +ADRIAN, FOY, AND MARTIN THE RED</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then at his bidding every member of that little congregation knelt in prayer +for the passing spirit of Andreas Jansen. +</p> + +<p> +Again Arentz looked through the window. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<i>Dum spiro, spero</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Three people,” he whispered; “a woman who flies and two men +who follow.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The Vrouw Andreas Jansen,” whispered Martin again, “flying +from two of the guard who burned her husband.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“My business, masters,” he muttered; “you would make a +noise,” and they heard his breath come thick. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“My God! he has killed them,” muttered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“And a good job, too, father,” said Foy, “only I wish that I +had shared in it.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use of that, mother?” said Foy. “Your +fretting yourself won’t make things better or worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! dear, how can I help it?” she replied softly; “we cannot +all be young and cheerful, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, wife, true,” broke in Dirk, “though I wish we could; +we should be lighter-hearted so,” and he looked at her and sighed. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it done?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, wife, our brethren are now saints in Paradise, therefore +rejoice.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps our grandchildren will be able to answer that question,” +replied Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“That poor Vrouw Jansen,” broke in Lysbeth, “just married, +and so young and pretty. I wonder what will become of her.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk and Foy looked at each other, and Martin, who was hovering about near the +door, slunk back guiltily into the passage as though <i>he</i> had attempted to +injure the Vrouw Jansen. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow we will look to it, wife. And now let us eat, for we are faint +with hunger.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Adrian?” asked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” answered Lysbeth. “I thought that +perhaps——” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied her husband hastily; “he did not accompany us; +he rarely does.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brother Adrian likes to look underneath the spoon before he licks +it,” said Foy with his mouth full. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He took his seat without speaking, nor did the others speak to him till his +stepfather Dirk said: +</p> + +<p> +“You were not at the works to-day, Adrian, although we should have been +glad of your help in founding the culverin.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk flushed up, but made no answer, only Foy remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right, Adrian, look after your own skin.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hope you won’t be one of them,” interrupted Foy again. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have you been this evening, son?” asked Lysbeth hastily, +fearing a quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been mixing with the people, mother, at the scene on the +market-place yonder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the martyrdom of our good friend, Jansen, surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Martin’s round blue eyes flashed, then went pale and dead again. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Martin shut the door and lit three lanterns, which he hung to hooks upon the +wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready for a turn, master?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Forget what, master?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! the prayings and the burnings and Vrouw Jansen, and Adrian’s +sea-lawyer sort of talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Foy sharply and flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“What I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“But not your father’s son, master. It’s the sire sets the +strain; I have bred horses, and I know.” +</p> + +<p> +Foy looked at him and hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t like Spaniards,” broke in Foy. “Martin, +you are a pig-headed, prejudiced, unjust jackass.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good reasons, Martin. How did you do it? I couldn’t see +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Drop it,” said Foy, kicking at his shins. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stick first, then point,” answered Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“At any rate I am beaten,” said Foy; “now take the rapiers +and give me a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re dead, old fellow,” he said at the second thrust. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>Silentium</i>, “Silence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it called ‘Silence,’ Martin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it makes people silent, I suppose, master.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing worth mentioning, Master Foy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out with it, Martin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you wish to know, I am the son of a Friesland boor.” +</p> + +<p> +“—And an Englishwoman from Yarmouth: I know all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>she</i> 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——” +</p> + +<p> +“And—” said Foy, fixing him with his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“And,” jerked out Martin in an unwilling fashion, “fell into +bad habits.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drink?” suggested the merciless Foy. +</p> + +<p> +Martin sighed and hung his great head. He had a tender conscience. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you took to prize-fighting,” went on his tormentor; +“you can’t deny it; look at your nose.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You killed the Spanish boxer here in Leyden,” said Foy sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>had</i> to kill +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly Martin the unreminiscent developed a marvellous memory, and with +much wealth of detail set out the exact circumstances of that historic +encounter. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“And then,” said Foy, growing excited, for Martin really told the +story very well, “what happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, that was very wrong of him. But they arrested you, didn’t +they, Martin?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you fear for that, Martin,” said Foy as he took his +departure, “<i>absolvo te</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> +ADRIAN GOES OUT HAWKING</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What grows near, you fool?” asked Meg in her deep mannish voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“And slit the throats of the guests,” interpolated Meg. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Simon turned purple with rage; that aunt story was one which touched him on the +raw. “Ugly——” he began. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Meg’s hand shot out and grasped the neck of a bottle, whereon +he changed his tune. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You are nice ones,” he said sulkily, “to be so suspicious +about an old friend, especially when he comes on a job.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Meg, “who sent you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Hans leant forward and whispered for a long while. The other two listened in +silence, only nodding from time to time. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t seem much for the job,” said Simon when Hans had +finished. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Simon hesitated, but Meg announced with decision, +</p> + +<p> +“It is good enough; these merchant woman generally have jewels hidden in +their stays.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” interrupted Simon. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +After this Simon said no more, for he had this virtue, so useful in domestic +life—he knew when to yield. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poetry, mother,” said Adrian sententiously, “is a great +consoler; it lifts the mind from the contemplation of petty and sordid +cares.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the door opened and Martin’s huge and flaming poll +appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell them I can’t come,” he said, drawing the key from his +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, Heer Adrian, why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I am writing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Writing what?” queried Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“A sonnet.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s a sonnet?” asked Martin blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful,” he said, “beautiful! Read it again, +master.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian did so with much delight, remembering the tale of how the music of +Orpheus had charmed the very beasts. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Martin, “that’s a love-letter, isn’t +it, to that splendid, black-eyed marchioness, whom I saw looking at you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so. Well, Master Adrian, just you send it to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think that she might be offended?” queried Adrian +doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus did Foy, the commonplace and practical, make a mock of the poetic efforts +of the high-souled and sentimental Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Whilst he was thus occupied suddenly a rude voice called, +</p> + +<p> +“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, +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“They shall pay for it,” he muttered. “Oh! I will not forget, +I will not forget.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Once he had asked the same question of his stepfather, Dirk van Goorl, +whereupon Dirk looked ill at ease and answered: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” replied Adrian haughtily; “at least I trust that +there is nothing against my mother’s reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> +ADRIAN RESCUES BEAUTY IN DISTRESS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Acting on the impulse of the moment, Adrian shouted, +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Señor,” said Elsa, clasping her hands, “how can I thank +you enough?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder why they attacked us,” said Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +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.’” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Worthy sir,” went on Van Broekhoven, “tell us whom we have +to thank.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Adrian, called Van Goorl,” Adrian replied with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, sir, are you Foy?” asked Elsa in a puzzled voice. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Adrian, shortly, “I am his brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Here was an opening not to be neglected by a young man of Adrian’s stamp. +</p> + +<p> +“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.) +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! now I understand the shadow—how strange,” she exclaimed +in a new voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter? What is strange?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Again that curious look returned into Elsa’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is I, cousin Dirk, I, Elsa, Hendrik Brant’s daughter,” +she said, sliding from her mule. +</p> + +<p> +“Elsa Brant!” ejaculated Dirk. “Why, how came you +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“In truth, yes,” answered Elsa curtseying, a salute which Arentz +acknowledged by saying gravely, +</p> + +<p> +“Daughter, I greet you in the name of the Lord, who has brought you to +this house safely, for which give thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked, “have I changed so much?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +At this speech everybody laughed, including the Pastor, while Elsa, reddening +still more, replied, “Cousin, I remember that <i>you</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I your permission to sit down, mother?” he asked in a loud +voice, for no one had seen him come in. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, son, why not?” answered Lysbeth, kindly. Adrian’s +voice warned her that his temper was ruffled. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What you think, or do not think, is a matter of indifference to +me,” replied Adrian, seating himself with an injured air. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Like David on the Philistines,” suggested Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Adrian, is this so?” asked Dirk in the silence which followed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, stepfather,” answered Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the laughing boyish look passed out of the face of Foy, and it grew +stern. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Adrian, Adrian,” broke in Foy, “don’t be a fool; +stop before you say something you will be sorry for.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Adrian, Adrian!” cried Foy, in warning, but the madman heeded not. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Shame on thee, my son,” said the wail, “who art not ashamed +to speak thus of the mother that bore thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” echoed Dirk, in the stillness that followed, “shame on +thee! Once thou wast warned, but now I warn no more.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he stepped to the door, opened it, and called, “Martin, come +hither.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Your pleasure, master,” he said at length. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> +THE SUMMONS</h2> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the words he used, son. Remember the words.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>is</i> sadly placed and +innocent, whatever others may have been, and I don’t wonder that he feels +sore about the story.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the door opened and Lysbeth entered. +</p> + +<p> +“How goes it with Adrian, wife?” Dirk asked hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Adrian is not as other men are, and ought not to be measured by the same +rule,” said Lysbeth, almost repeating Foy’s words. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you read the letter from your cousin Brant?” asked Lysbeth, +changing the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can he mean by that?” interrupted Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.—H<small>ENDRIK</small> +B<small>RANT</small>. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“A sad letter and sad times!” said Dirk at length. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Elsa,” muttered Foy, then added, with a return of +hopefulness, “perhaps he is mistaken, he may escape after all.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth shook her head as she answered, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, then, does he not fly?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came other long lists of precious stones, too numerous to mention, but of +less individual value, and after them this entry: +</p> + +<p> +“Item: Four casks filled with gold coin (I know not the exact weight or +number).” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +All of this inventory Dirk read aloud, and when he had finished Lysbeth gasped +with amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should my son’s life be risked on this mad errand?” +asked Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of himself Dirk smiled and bade him summon Martin. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you sleepy lump, it’s treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care about treasure,” replied Martin, indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds better,” said Martin, shutting his mouth. “Tell +me about it, Master Foy, while I pull on my jerkin.” +</p> + +<p> +So Foy told him as much as he could in two minutes. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he accompanied Foy to the upper room, and there received his instructions +from Dirk with a solemn and unmoved countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you listening?” asked Dirk, sharply. “Do you +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“At all hazards,” answered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“And if we cannot bring it through, it must be hidden in the best way +possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if people should try to interfere with us, I understand that we must +fight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if in the fighting we chance to kill anybody I shall not be +reproached and called a murderer by the pastor or others?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” replied Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“And if anything should happen to my young master here, his blood will +not be laid upon my head?” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth groaned. Then she stood up and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Dirk who answered. +</p> + +<p> +“You go to carry out the wishes of my cousin Brant; they must be attended +to before anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” replied Martin; “you quite understand, Heer +Foy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! perfectly,” replied that young man, grinning. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no hurry,” said Martin, “but it will be as +well to get out of Leyden before many people are about.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke Lysbeth entered the room fully dressed, for she had not slept that +night, carrying in her hand a little leathern bag. +</p> + +<p> +“How is Adrian, mother?” asked Foy, as she stooped down to kiss +him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Steel shirt!” exclaimed Martin, nodding his head in approval, and +adding, “good wear for those who mix with Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Better than money, much better than money. God knew that and made them +leave the mail.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t fair, Martin,” he said, “that I should be +wrapped in steel and you in nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +MOTHER’S GIFTS ARE GOOD GIFTS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he came to Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“Name?” he said, shortly, although he knew him well enough. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very glib,” sneered the sandy-whiskered man; “what +is the mule laden with? It may be Bibles for all I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing half so valuable, master,” replied Foy; “it is a +church chandelier in pieces.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unpack it and show me the pieces,” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +Foy flushed with anger and set his teeth, but Martin, administering to him a +warning nudge in the ribs, submitted with prompt obedience. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When Foy and Martin followed them twenty minutes later, they were out of sight, +for the pair were well mounted and rode hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you recognise them?” asked Martin so soon as they were clear +of the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Foy; “who are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does it all mean, Martin?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will they waylay us?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“At least you might dye it,” answered Foy; “if it were black +you would be less like a beacon on a church tower.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +At length Red Bow halted and knocked upon a small recessed door, which +instantly was opened by a man who bore no light. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” he whispered, and all four of them passed into a +darksome passage. “Quick, quick!” said the man, “I hear +footsteps.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Foy looked at him and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +So Foy told him all that story. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“They press us hard,” muttered Brant, “but, friends, we will +beat them yet. Eat now, and drink while you may.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>Swallow</i>, +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 <i>Swallow</i>. 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 <i>Swallow</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think that they will pursue us, then?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say the little boat sails fast, master?” queried Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Martin said nothing, only he shook his great red head, nor did the silent pilot +at the table speak at all. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Martin nodded his head vigorously, and fumbled at the handle of the sword +Silence, while Brant went on: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t got it yet,” interrupted Foy. “And now, +what are you going to do with that paper?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that hole for?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You might lose your sword,” suggested Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Hendrik Brant had been whispering to the quiet man at the table, who +now rose and said: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>Swallow</i>, but if naught happens we will put them ashore at the next +wharf. Come,” and he led the way from the cellar. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you hurt, master?” asked Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit,” replied Foy, “but I am afraid the lady is. She +went undermost.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Then they all took oars and rowed till presently they drew near a wharf. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, daughters, make ready,” said Hans, and the girls stood up. As +they touched the wharf Red Bow bent down and kissed Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“The rest were in play, this is in earnest,” she said, “and +for luck. Good-night, companion, and think of me sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, companion,” answered Foy, returning the kiss. Then she +leapt ashore. They never met again. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +And now, having played their part in it, these two brave girls are out of the +story. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +SWORD SILENCE RECEIVES THE SECRET</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What have the bargemen to say?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“So,” said Foy, “well, I hope that by then what they seek +will be far away. Now show us this ship.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>B</i> in +white paint. +</p> + +<p> +“That is what men will die for before to-morrow night,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“The treasure?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The silent, hard-faced Hans leant forward and stared up the darkling water, his +hand behind his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear them,” he said presently. +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“The Spaniards and the wind—both,” he answered. “Come, +up with the mainsail and pole her out to midstream.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Martin, “and here with it come the +Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +But now the <i>Swallow</i> had begun to fly, making the water hiss upon either +side of her bows. +</p> + +<p> +“How far is it to the sea?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for,” asked Foy, “to cook breakfast?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What now?” cried Martin. “They are going to stop the mouth +of the channel.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Foy and Martin tumbled down the hatchway, for they could do no good on deck. +Only Foy kept one eye above its level. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out!” he said, and ducked. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” said Foy, “they are throwing out anchors fore and aft. +Is there room to go past them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Hans, “the water is too shallow under the +bank, and they know it. Bring me a burning brand.” +</p> + +<p> +Foy crept forward, and returned with the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Now light the slow-match, master.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Good for a young one!” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i>, causing her to heel over and +sweep down on the boat like a swooping falcon. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“If we sink now it will be in deep water, so there is no need to fly up +before we go down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and see if she leaks,” said Hans. +</p> + +<p> +They went and searched the forehold but could not find that the <i>Swallow</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That was good steering,” said Foy to Hans, when they returned, +“and nothing seems to be amiss.” +</p> + +<p> +Hans nodded. “I hit him neatly,” he muttered. “Look. +He’s gone.” As he spoke the <i>Swallow</i> gave a sharp pitch, and +the corpse of the Spaniard fell with a heavy splash into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, master, I want to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You are hit,” he said. “Martin, Martin, Hans is hit!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Martin and Foy shook their heads. Like most Hollanders they were good +sailormen, but they only knew their own coasts. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Martin took the tiller while Foy watched Hans. In ten minutes he was dead. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“The sea runs high upon the bar and it is ebb tide,” said Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“Even so we must try it, master,” answered Martin. “Perhaps +she will scrape through,” and he put the <i>Swallow</i> about and ran for +the mouth of the gut. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“At least we have got a start of them,” said Foy, “for they +can never get across until the tide rises.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall need it all,” answered Martin; “so now hoist the +white flag and let us eat while we may.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And I think that a Spaniard has found us,” said Foy, drawing his +knife. +</p> + +<p> +Then a hoarse voice spoke, saying, “Who are you that signal for a pilot +on my waters?” +</p> + +<p> +“The question is—who are you?” answered Foy, “and be so +good as to tell us quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am the pilot,” said the voice, “and this boat by the rig +of her and her signals should be the <i>Swallow</i> of The Hague, but why must +I crawl aboard of her across the corpse of a dead man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come into the cabin, pilot, and we will tell you,” said Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mynheer.” So Foy led the way to the cabin, but Martin +stopped behind a while. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> to where she will lie safe to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i>. As they went, Foy +told Martha all the story of their mission and escape. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fulfil our orders,” said Foy. “Hide it if we can; if not, +destroy it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“We might sink the ship,” suggested Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“And leave her mast for a beacon,” added Martin sarcastically. +</p> + +<p> +“Or put the stuff into the boat and sink that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And never find it again in this great sea,” objected Martin. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us be going,” said Martha. “There is no time to +lose.” So they straightened their backs and wiped the sweat from their +brows. +</p> + +<p> +“There is earth lying about, which may tell its story,” said +Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, “if any see it within the next ten days, +after which in this damp place the mosses will have hidden it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then once more they entered the boat and rowed away somewhat wearily, Martha +steering them. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is madness,” gasped Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is she going to do?” whispered Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Put about and row,” it gasped, and they obeyed while the Mare +clothed herself again in her skin garment. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you done?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later they were on board the <i>Swallow</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do now?” asked Foy when they had finished. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at present,” answered Martha, “but give me pen and +paper.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do with this picture which is worth so much?” said +Foy helplessly, “for in truth I fear to keep the thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“There may be fewer Spaniards left to plague us,” suggested Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> and the lake beyond. By this time the Spaniards were +alongside the <i>Swallow</i>, 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 <i>Swallow</i>, for of a sudden he put his boat about, and +the wind catching the sail soon drew him clear of her. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And having had enough fire for one night, thinks that he will leave his +mates to quench it,” added Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“The second boat is coming alongside,” went on Foy, “and +surely the mine should spring.” +</p> + +<p> +“Scarcely time yet,” answered Martin, “the matches were set +for six minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“They are running for their boat,” said Foy, “and the captain +is sailing farther off. Heavens! how they scream.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we had best try to catch him,” said Martha, who, by standing +up, could see this also. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, let him be,” answered Foy, “we have sent enough men to +their account,” and he shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /> +SEÑOR RAMIRO</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +Instead of attempting to cross the North Sea the little <i>Swallow</i> 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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Sixty hours and he is not back,” Lysbeth was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“Martin said we were not to trouble ourselves before they had been gone +for a hundred,” answered Dirk consolingly. +</p> + +<p> +Just then Foy, surveying them from the shadowed doorway, stepped forward, +saying in his jovial voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Sixty hours to the very minute.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I apologise,” he said. “I won’t touch him, I +won’t speak loud near him. Adrian, do you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who could help it?” moaned the prostrate Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, cousin, I saw him,” answered Foy presently. +</p> + +<p> +“And how was he—oh! and all the rest of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was well.” +</p> + +<p> +“And free and in no danger?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! thank God for that,” said Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, son, what news?” said Dirk, speaking for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” said Adrian. “Take that horrid thing away.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you bury it?” asked Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You awkward beast!” roared Foy, “you have crushed my +toes,” and he hopped towards a chair upon one leg. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian, overcome by the fearful crash, closed his eyes and sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Master,” countered Martin imperturbably, “why did you hit me +in the pit of the stomach with your elbow?” +</p> + +<p> +“To keep your tongue quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is the name of my sword?” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Foy wheeled round. “What do you mean, Martin?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not? I have faith in my brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The rack?” he whispered. Martin nodded, and answered beneath his +breath, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Foy trembled and leaned against the wall. “What would betray +us?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or you?” queried Foy, looking up. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“If all this be so,” said Foy, with a flush of sudden passion, +“I have said too much already.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are unjust to Adrian, Martin, as you always have been, and I am +angry with you. Say, what is to be done now?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to say this to my father and mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so, Martin, it is not lost; Mother Martha knows it, and they all +will guess that she does know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she boarded and fired the Spanish ship—so the man Ramiro and +his companion would probably have seen her.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you not caution me before, Martin?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +THE MASTER</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i> was blown up with all the Spanish boarders, Elsa clasped +her hands, saying, “Horrible! Horrible! Think of the poor creatures +hurled thus into eternity.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>Swallow</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, son,” said Dirk. “Martha, who knows every island +on the great lake, must remember the spot.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Martin,” asked Dirk, suspiciously, “is this true?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely true, master,” replied Martin; “it is wonderful +how well he remembers.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I think, Master Foy,” he said, fixing his eyes upon Lysbeth, +“that your lady mother wishes to say something.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk advanced to his son, and kissed him on the forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>Swallow</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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, <i>not even to my young master, +Adrian, who lies sick abed upstairs.</i>” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>herself</i>, and to lard it with compliment and amorous +innuendo, then she demurred, and fled to the romances for refuge. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +That was all. Tidings reached them that the destruction of so many men by the +blowing up of the <i>Swallow</i>, 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 <i>Swallow</i> was flying from them, nothing had been done in the matter. +Indeed, nothing could be done, for it was not known who manned the +<i>Swallow</i>, and, as Ramiro had foreseen, her crew were supposed to have +been destroyed with her in the Haarlemer Meer. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Swallow</i>. 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven above us! Heer Adrian,” broke in Elsa in alarm, “are +you—are you—getting giddy?” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Heer Adrian, don’t waste all this fine poetry upon me. I am +too stupid to understand it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poetry!” he exclaimed, becoming suddenly natural, “it +isn’t poetry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what is it?” she asked, and next moment could have bitten her +tongue out. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Rise, Heer Adrian,” she said gently, holding out her hand to help +him to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed, and glancing at her face, saw that it was very calm and cold as +winter ice. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of another man?” he queried, and suddenly becoming +theatrical again, added, “Speak on, let me hear the worst; I will not +quail.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! is he dead?” she gasped. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, for he dared not trust himself to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“How? Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the Poort prison at The Hague.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen a man who helped to bury him.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up as though to ask for further details, but Dirk turned away +muttering, “He is dead, he is dead, let be.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>was</i> picturesque and ready, +at the first opportunity, to wrap himself up in her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful, wonderful!” gasped Adrian; “most learned señor, +every word you say is true.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What terms, señor?” +</p> + +<p> +“The old terms, without which no wonder can be worked—faith, +absolute faith.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian hesitated a little. Absolute faith seemed a large present to give a +complete stranger at a first interview. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t poisonous?” suggested Adrian doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Fool, do I deal in poisons? It will poison the girl’s heart in +your favour, that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how is it to be administered?” asked Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure that there is no fee?” hesitated Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” sighed the sage, “I do indeed understand +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he went to the door, calling, “Meg, hostess mine, Meg.” +</p> + +<p> +He might have saved himself the trouble, however, since, on opening it +suddenly, that lady fell almost into his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he called her in, and having inspected the chamber narrowly, proceeded to +make certain arrangements. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +BETROTHED</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Will it really work upon her heart?” asked Adrian, eyeing the +stuff. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I have met with an accident,” Meg explained. “In cutting up +a pig the chopper caught this finger and severed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you wear a ring on it?” asked Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, with sombre fury. +</p> + +<p> +“How very strange!” ejaculated Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“May be, Heer Adrian, but where is it now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it is, or was, in a bottle of spirits tied by a thread to the +cork.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want it for?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish the dagger hilt also?” he asked mischievously. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him out of the corners of her black eyes. This Adrian knew too +much. +</p> + +<p> +“I want the finger and the ring on it which I lost in chopping up the +pig.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I want the pig, I’ll search his stye. You bring that bottle, +or——” +</p> + +<p> +She did not finish her sentence, for the door opened, and through it came the +sage. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he used to make them,” interrupted Adrian, taking the +bait. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“F-o-y—Foy,” interrupted Adrian again. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Master, you’re wrong,” said Adrian with emphasis; +“Martin was not there; he stopped behind to watch the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” asked the seer doubtfully. “I look and I seem +to see him,” and he stared blankly at the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“So you might see him often enough, but not at last week’s +meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +So while Adrian, lost in dreams, waited in the sitting-room Elsa and Lysbeth +left the house by the side door. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasten,” she said to Elsa, as she pushed through the crowd, +“for doubtless some horror passes here.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Ramiro,” she whispered, “Ramiro the spy, the man who +dogged my father at The Hague.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come,” she muttered and, drawing the girl with her, passed +out of the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +Elsa began to talk in a strained voice that from time to time broke into a sob. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want with me, Foy van Goorl?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” he repeated; “why I want to be your husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a time for marrying and giving in marriage?” she asked +again, but almost as though she were speaking to herself. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew away and looked at him, shaking her head sadly. “My +father,” she began—— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“My thought was always his thought, and—Foy—I wish it +also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Priceless things are not lightly won,” said he, quoting +Brant’s words as though by some afterthought. +</p> + +<p> +“There he must have been talking of the treasure, Foy,” she +answered, her face lightening to a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, of the treasure, sweet, the treasure of your dear heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“A poor thing, Foy, but I think that—it rings true.” +</p> + +<p> +“It had need, Elsa, yet the best of coin may crack with rough +usage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine will wear till death, Foy.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough,” he broke in impatiently. “Why do you talk of such +things, and in these riddles which puzzle me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of which I have no doubt we shall find plenty,” Foy replied +cheerfully. “Meanwhile, the kisses make a good road to travel on.” +</p> + +<p> +After this Elsa did not argue any more. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with me, Vrouw van Goorl? Is it the smallpox coming +on? Tell me, friend, the doctor would not speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear that it is worse; it is the plague,” said Lysbeth, startled +into candour. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning she heard that the Vrouw Jansen was dead, the pest that struck her +being of the most fatal sort. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that, Dirk?” she asked with sudden suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +He pretended not to hear, and she repeated the query. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, wife, if you wish to know,” he answered in his blunt +fashion, “it is my will.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about, husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s jaw dropped and his florid face whitened. “Juan de +Montalvo!” he said. “I heard that he was dead long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should he know of Brant’s treasure, wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because <i>he is Ramiro</i>, the man who dogged him down, the man who +followed the ship <i>Swallow</i> to the Haarlemer Meer. Elsa was with me this +afternoon, she knew him again.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk thought a while, resting his head upon his hand. Then he lifted it and +said: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“My counsel is that we should fly from Leyden—all of us, yes, this +very night before worse happens.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night, to-night,” she urged, “or some of us stay for +ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“So be it, husband,” she replied, “but I think it is through +my heart that the sword will pass,” and she burst out weeping. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you been doing this afternoon, mother?” Adrian asked +presently. +</p> + +<p> +“I, son?” she replied with a start, “I have been visiting the +unhappy Vrouw Jansen, whom I found very sick.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with her, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth’s mind, which had wandered away, again returned to the subject at +hand with an effort. +</p> + +<p> +“The matter? Oh! she has the plague.” +</p> + +<p> +“The plague!” exclaimed Adrian, springing to his feet, “do +you mean to say you have been consorting with a woman who has the +plague?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear so,” she answered with a smile, “but do not be +frightened, Adrian, I have burnt my clothes and fumigated myself.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> +FOY SEES A VISION</h2> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>Swallow</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Foy and Martin have it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” she answered; “but, oh! Dirk, it would be +hard—to part.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so,” answered Lysbeth hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Have no fear,” said Foy. “We will die before we +betray.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will try to die before we betray,” grumbled Martin in his deep +voice, “but flesh is frail and God knows.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He gasped and shook himself, gripping his hands together. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you seen, son?” asked Lysbeth, watching his face. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Father and mother,” said Foy again, “while we are gathered +here there is something I wish to say to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, son?” asked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday I became affianced to Elsa Brant, and we wish to ask your +consent and blessing.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be gladly given, son, for I think this very good news. Bring +her here, Foy,” answered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“This betrothal does not please you; you are sad, wife,” said Dirk, +looking at her quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what has he to do with the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only that he is madly in love with the girl. Have you not seen it? +And—you know his temper.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! children, doubtless you love each other well, but is this a time for +marrying and giving in marriage?” +</p> + +<p> +“My own words, my very words,” exclaimed Elsa, springing to her +feet and turning pale. +</p> + +<p> +Foy looked vexed. Then recovering himself and trying to smile, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“And I give them the same answer—that two are better than one; +moreover, this is a betrothal, not a marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” muttered Martin behind, thinking aloud after his fashion, +“betrothal is one thing and marriage another,” but low as he spoke +Elsa overheard him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +They left the room, but as Martin was following them Lysbeth called him back. +</p> + +<p> +“Go armed to the factory, Martin,” she said, “and see that +your young master wears that steel shirt beneath his jerkin.” +</p> + +<p> +Martin nodded and went. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> any of the usual +advantages. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa looked at him out of the corners of her eyes; probably by this time she +had learnt the real cause of the disturbance. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry, Heer Adrian,” she said, “but your mother is not +very well this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa became suspicious. “Your mother wants me, Heer Adrian,” she +said, turning towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Let her rest, Elsa, let her rest; there is no medicine like sleep for +the sick.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I have said that I am busy, Heer Adrian, so please let me +pass.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian remained immovable. “Not until I have spoken to you,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +Now as escape was impossible Elsa drew herself up and asked in a cold voice: +</p> + +<p> +“What is your pleasure? I pray you, be brief.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgotten!” he sighed, “forgotten! With you ever before my +eyes how can I forget?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I cannot say,” she answered, “but I know that I +wish to forget this folly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have known me exactly five weeks, Heer Adrian——” +</p> + +<p> +“Which, sweet lady, makes me desire to know you for fifty years.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa sighed, for she found the prospect dreary. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“None to give!” he gasped, “none to give! You don’t +mean to tell me that you have given it to anybody else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” she answered, for by now Elsa was thoroughly angry. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied quietly, “it is Foy.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday afternoon, if you want to know,” she said in the same +calm and ominous voice. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian heard, and an inspiration took him. He dashed his hand to his brow and +thought a moment; then he laughed loud and shrilly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>was</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later Adrian was at Black Meg’s house. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /> +THE FRAY IN THE SHOT TOWER</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, that you disturb me at such an hour?” she asked +sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must see him. I will see him,” shouted Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay,” replied Black Meg, squinting significantly at his +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Enraged as he was Adrian took the hint. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the devil is that?” he exclaimed, wheeling round to find +himself face to face with the draped and majestic form of the Master. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil! That is an ill word upon young lips, my friend,” said +the sage, shaking his head in reproof. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay,” replied Adrian, “but what the—I mean how +did you get here? I never heard the door open.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did I get here? Well, now you mention it, I wonder how I did. The +door—what have I to do with doors?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I don’t know,” answered Adrian shortly, “but +most people find them useful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough of such material talk,” interrupted the sage with +sternness. “Your spirit cried to mine, and I <i>am</i> here, let that +suffice.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that Black Meg fetched you,” went on Adrian, sticking to +his point, for the philtre fiasco had made him suspicious. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Something glinted ominously beneath the hood, it was the sage’s one eye. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” ejaculated Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean—” said Adrian, and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Adrian, “but I do not see what that has to do +with the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is,” answered Adrian, “but——” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence!” again thundered the sage, “or by my Lord +Zoroaster, I throw up the case.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian collapsed, and there was another pause. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never told you so,” said Adrian, “but I think it is a +fact; at least there is a lot of packing going on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never told me! Do you not understand that there is no need for you +to tell me anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, in the name of your Lord Zoroaster, why do you ask?” +exclaimed the exasperated Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“That you will know presently,” he answered musing. +</p> + +<p> +Once more Adrian heard the strange squeaking as of young and hungry rats. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +The Master made no answer, only, which was curious conduct for a sage, he began +to whistle a tune. +</p> + +<p> +“By your leave,” said Adrian, for the magician’s back was +against the door. “I have business——” +</p> + +<p> +“And so have I,” replied the sage, and went on whistling. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Got it all down?” asked the Master in an easy, everyday kind of +voice. +</p> + +<p> +The monk bowed, and producing several folios of manuscript, laid them on the +table together with an ink-horn and a pen. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. And now, my young friend, be so good as to sign there, at the +foot of the writing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sign what?” gasped Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“Explain to him,” said the Master. “He is quite right; a man +should know what he puts his name to.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the monk spoke in a low, business-like voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the witness so desires,” said the Master. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that document for?” whispered Adrian in a hoarse voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not sign!” shouted Adrian. “I have been tricked! +There is treachery!” and he bent forward to spring for the door. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Then Ramiro spoke to him very suavely and quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because love blinded me,” said Adrian loftily. +</p> + +<p> +Ramiro put his hand upon his shoulder and shook him slightly as he answered: +</p> + +<p> +“And has it not struck you, you vain puppy, that other things may blind +you also—hot irons, for instance?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” gasped Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What right have you to question me?” asked Adrian, striving to +build up his tottering courage with bold words. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian turned pale but said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Painful, isn’t it?” said Ramiro. “Well, I have no more +time to waste, break his arm.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Adrian gave in, for he was not fitted to bear torture; his imagination was +too lively. +</p> + +<p> +“I will sign,” he whispered, the perspiration pouring from his pale +face. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” groaned Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Now here is the pen. Sign.” +</p> + +<p> +So Adrian signed. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Martin and Foy saw him and shrank back. Could this be Adrian, they thought, or +was it an evil vision? +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Foy stood astonished till Martin struck him on the shoulder, and said roughly: +</p> + +<p> +“Come, let us get out of this. Either he is mad, or he knows something. +Have you your sword and dagger? Quick, then.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you brain-sick,” asked Martin, “that you lock the gate +on us?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” replied Foy, as he came back to him. “It is +too late to escape. Soldiers are marching down the street.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What can two men do against fifty?” asked Foy, lifting his +steel-lined cap to scratch his head. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so too,” answered Foy, taking courage. “Now how can +we hurt them most before they quiet us?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That would be a good place to hold,” he said; “and crossbows +hang upon the walls.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do now?” said Foy, “barricade the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there nothing more to do?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you speak,” said Foy, “I can’t think of +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +So Martin began a prayer which is perhaps worthy of record:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Foy did his own praying, and it was hearty enough, but we need scarcely +stop to set down its substance. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you shoot?” asked Foy. “You might catch him +with a bolt.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The hammering at the gate went on, but it was very stout and would not give. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Look! look!” cried Martin. “The gate is down. Now, first +shot to you,” and he stepped to one side. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“To the doorway,” said Martin, “and remember what I told you. +Away with the bows, cold steel must do the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“For my part, I prefer to die in the air,” coughed Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX<br /> +IN THE GEVANGENHUIS</h2> + +<p> +When Adrian left the factory he ran on to the house in the Bree Straat. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! what has happened?” said his mother as he burst into the room +where she and Elsa were at work. +</p> + +<p> +“They are coming for him,” he gasped. “The soldiers from the +Gevangenhuis. Where is he? Let him escape quickly—my stepfather.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth staggered and fell back into her chair. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +At the question Adrian’s head swam and his heart stood still. Yet his +lips found a lie. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa moaned aloud, then she turned on him like a tiger, asking: +</p> + +<p> +“If so, why did you not stay to help them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” he answered with a touch of his old pomposity, “my +first duty was towards my mother and you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The officer in command of the troops advanced to make his report. +</p> + +<p> +“What is all that noise?” asked the Inquisitor in a frightened, +squeaky voice. “Is this city also in rebellion?” +</p> + +<p> +“And where are the rest of you?” said Ramiro, scanning the thin +files. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You need linen,” said a woman’s voice, speaking from the +next den. “Wait awhile and I will give you my smock.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take it and welcome,” said the unknown in sweet, low tones, +“I want it no more; they are going to execute me to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Execute you to-night?” muttered Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! God, where art Thou?” groaned Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you thinking about, sir?” asked the lady on the other +side of the bars. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you not hurt yourself?” asked the voice presently. +</p> + +<p> +“A little, nothing to speak of; a few cuts and bruises, that’s all; +this bull’s hide turned their swords.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me whom you have been fighting,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! what a fearful fight—two against so many,” said the +voice with a ring of admiration in it. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“God pardon their souls,” murmured the unknown. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Martin gave him water from the pitcher. +</p> + +<p> +“Where am I?” he asked, and he told him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” asked Foy drowsily. +</p> + +<p> +“Another prisoner,” answered Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is time and I am ready,” answered the thin voice. +“Good-bye, friends, God be with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have no fear, noble sir,” answered Ramiro, “the villain is +quite unarmed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty,” answered Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>Swallow</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Now it was Foy’s turn to bow, while even on Martin’s grim and +impassive countenance flickered a faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally,” went on Ramiro, “I wish to save such men, I wish +you to go hence quite free and unharmed,” and he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“How can we after we have been condemned to death?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it does not seem so difficult. My friend, the tailor—I mean +the Inquisitor—who, for all his soft words, <i>is</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is there to show us that you would release us after all?” +asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless,” said Foy, angrily, “upon such honour as +gentlemen learn in the galleys, Señor Ramiro—I beg your pardon, Count +Juan de Montalvo.” +</p> + +<p> +Ramiro’s face grew crimson to the hair. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Martin spoke for the first time, very slowly and respectfully. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, my good friend, and where is that piece of paper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! sir, when I was lighting the fuses on board the <i>Swallow</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be so good as to speak plainly,” said Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“It is useless to try to bribe me, for I do not know where the money +is.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he called aloud, “Sergeant, ask the Professor Baptiste to be so good +as to step this way.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI<br /> +HOW MARTIN TURNED COWARD</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What methods does your Excellency wish employed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Man, I leave that to you. Am I a master of your filthy trade? Any +method, provided it is effective.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Begone and do what I tell you,” said Ramiro, glaring at him +fiercely. “Guard, attend upon the executioner Baptiste.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring them along,” grumbled the Professor. +</p> + +<p> +“No need for violence, worthy sir,” muttered Martin; “show +the way and we follow,” and stooping down he lifted Foy from his chair. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” sneered the Professor, “undress that big gentleman +while I make ready his little bed.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now he is ready if you are,” said the sergeant. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor rubbed his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, my little man,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Then Martin’s nerve gave way, and he began to shiver and to shake. +</p> + +<p> +“Oho!” laughed the Professor, “even in this stuffy place he +is cold without his clothes; well we must warm him—we must warm +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Martin heard the words, and was seized with such an intense access of fear that +he burst into a sweat all over his body. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every well has a bottom, master,” whined Martin, “and mine +is the rack. Forgive me, but I can’t abide the sight of it.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Take that, cur.” Whereat, as Foy observed, the cowed prisoner +perspired more profusely than before, and shrank away towards the wall. +</p> + +<p> +God in Heaven! What had happened? The door of the torture den was opened, and +suddenly, uttering the words, “<i>To me, Foy!</i>” 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Closer,” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“To bid <i>him</i> farewell,” hissed Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re mad,” said Foy; “let’s fly while we can. +That door may give—they are shouting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you are right,” answered Martin doubtfully. “Come. +On to my back with you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Finding their wits again the guards started in pursuit, but a voice from among +the passers-by cried out: +</p> + +<p> +“It is Martin, Red Martin, and Foy van Goorl, who escape from the +Gevangenhuis,” and instantly a stone flew towards the soldiers. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s interest was excited. Putting his hand into his pocket he drew out +a gold piece, which he gave to the man. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The man nodded, took the money, and thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” went on Dirk, “while you clean the room, tell me about +this escape, for small things amuse those who hear no tidings.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk nodded, for this Professor was well known in Leyden. “And +then?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, friend, were they not taken outside the gaol?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You have heard the news?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded, and answered, “I believe so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then could they not bargain for their lives by surrendering its +secret?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, cousin, but I come to you to save those lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” she answered fiercely. “Why, by raising the town; by +attacking the Gevangenhuis and rescuing them, by driving the Spaniards out of +Leyden——” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I care not what I see so long as I save my son and my husband,” +she answered desperately. +</p> + +<p> +“There speaks the woman, not the patriot. It is better that three men +should die than a whole city full.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a strange argument to find in your mouth, cousin, the argument +of Caiaphas the Jew.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What matter, cousin? It will come sooner or later.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII<br /> +A MEETING AND A PARTING</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +About eleven o’clock in the morning this woman rushed into her chamber +crying, “They have escaped! They have escaped!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” gasped Lysbeth, springing from her chair. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +As she listened Lysbeth’s eyes flamed up with a fire of pride. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! good and faithful servant,” she murmured, “you have +saved my son, but alas! your master you could not save.” +</p> + +<p> +Another hour passed, and the woman appeared again bearing a letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Who brought this?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A Spanish soldier, mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she cut the silk and read it. It was unsigned, and ran:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“Give me my cloak and veil,” she said to the woman, “and now +go tell the man that I am coming.” +</p> + +<p> +At the door she found the soldier, who saluted her, and said respectfully, +“Follow me, lady, but at a little distance.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is most good of you, Vrouw van Goorl,” he began, “to have +responded so promptly to my invitation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, Count de Montalvo,” she replied, “you will do me +the favour to set out your business in as few words as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth made no answer, only her mouth grew a trifle more stern. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, your worthy husband, who, happily for my reputation as captain of +one of His Majesty’s prisons, occupies an upstairs room.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of him?” asked Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What situation do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, principally that of the treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“What treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what about this treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want it, that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you had best go to seek it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Lysbeth never stirred, she had expected this. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot help what you believe or do not believe. You may remember that +it was always my habit to speak the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically she read it and understood. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a devil?” gasped Lysbeth, springing back. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Swiftly, very swiftly, Lysbeth came to her dreadful decision. Then she spoke in +a hoarse voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you wish me to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if I will not, or he will not, or cannot?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will go,” she said, “but I must see him alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is unusual,” he answered, “but provided you satisfy me +that you carry no weapon, I do not know that I need object.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he said, and Lysbeth passed out. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Presently Montalvo and Lysbeth were together again in the little room. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear,” he said, “from what I saw just now, that your +mission has failed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry that I cannot believe you,” said Montalvo, +“so”—and he stretched out his hand towards a bell upon the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“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——‘” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +A soldier entered the room, saluted, and asked his commands. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In the room was Elsa, who ran to her crying, +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true? Is it true?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, daughter, that Foy and Martin have +escaped——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! God is good!” wept the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“And that my husband is a prisoner and condemned to death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” gasped Elsa, “I am selfish.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not afraid of that,” answered Elsa. “Did I never tell +you? As a child I had it in The Hague.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently Adrian entered, and Elsa, watching everything, noticed that he looked +sadly changed and ill. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am indeed rejoiced,” cried Adrian excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Hypocrite, be silent,” hissed his mother, and he knew that the +worst had overtaken him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! oh!” cried Elsa, and Adrian groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you anything to say?” asked Lysbeth. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, mother, I signed something, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Get you gone before I call up such servants as are left to me to thrust +you to the street.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When he had gone Lysbeth took pen and paper and wrote in large letters these +words:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is done,” she said. “Cease weeping, Elsa, and lead me to +my bed, whence I pray God that I may never rise again.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Two days went by, and a fugitive rode into the city, a worn and wounded man of +Leyden, with horror stamped upon his face. +</p> + +<p> +“What news?” cried the people in the market-place, recognising him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mechlin! Mechlin!” he gasped. “I come from Mechlin.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of Mechlin and its citizens?” asked Pieter van de Werff, +stepping forward. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Unfed and untended, the end had overtaken him very swiftly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="book03"></a>BOOK THE THIRD<br /> +THE HARVESTING</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br /> +FATHER AND SON</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>their</i> eyes, and from time to time jerked <i>their</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“Be more careful and wipe that up,” said Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“Wipe it yourself,” answered the man, rudely turning upon his heel. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Take it to Dirk van Goorl. He’ll be glad of it soon.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Traitor!” “Spanish spy!” “Murderer!” they +screamed. “Who gave evidence against our Dirk? Who sold his brother to +the rack?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop him,” yelled the mob, whereon he lunged at them wildly, +running a small boy through the arm. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who can it be?” marvelled Meg. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and see,” said Meg. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and see yourself, you——” and he added an epithet +calculated to anger the meekest woman. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the Don! Mother of Heaven! it is the Don,” gurgled +Simon. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop laughing,” he said, “or I will put this through you. I +am a desperate man.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look it,” said Simon, but he laughed no more, for the joke had +become risky. “What do you want, Heer Adrian?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want food and lodging for so long as I please to stop here. +Don’t be afraid, I have money to pay you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am thinking that you are a dangerous guest,” broke in Meg. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Meg nodded. She understood perfectly; for those of her trade Leyden was growing +a risky habitation. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian’s breath caught in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but he keeps his room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he coming back?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so, sometime, as he keeps his room. Do you want to see +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Like as two devils in hell,” Simon answered critically, then +added, “Your food is ready; come, Mynheer, and eat.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Another hour went by, and once more the street door was opened with a key, to +be carefully shut when the visitor had entered. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian made no answer, but lifted his sword. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Make ready, you are about to die,” said Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” replied the prostrate Ramiro. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” asked Adrian, astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Son? Father?” said Adrian. “Do you +mean——?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do mean that we have the happiness of filling those sacred +relationships to each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie,” said Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prove it,” said Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Rise,” he said, lifting his foot, “I can kill you afterwards +if I wish.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“She hates me,” broke in Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian reflected, then as his mind had a practical side, he put a question. +</p> + +<p> +“You spoke of the prospect of enormous wealth; what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” replied Adrian, loftily, “especially as I am +not mercenary.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they?” asked Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br /> +MARTHA PREACHES A SERMON AND TELLS A SECRET</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Ramiro. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we had best begone,” said Ramiro. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Can your reverences make any suggestions?” asked Ramiro, +“for if not—” and he shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us pray,” said one of them in a trembling voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Then the sacristan, with white lips and knocking knees, whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me, all of you. Stay, blow out the lights.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Are we all to be snared for the sake of one priest?” +</p> + +<p> +So they went on, till presently in that great place his shouts grew fainter, +and were lost in the roar of the multitude without. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we?” asked a priest of the verger, when he had pulled +the stone close and joined them. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Hark! The doors are down. Aid us, St. Pancras!” and falling upon +his knees he began to pray very earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“They are not here, let us be going,” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let God deal with them,” said the first voice, which to Adrian +sounded familiar. “We have done enough. Go home in peace.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him go,” said the voice of the Pastor Arentz. “We fight +the Church, not its ministers.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the Mare,” roared the multitude. “It is Martha of the +Mere. Preach on, Martha. What’s your text?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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? <i>That priest who stands before +you.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough, enough!” roared the crowd. “A rope, a rope; up with +him to the arm of the Rood.” +</p> + +<p> +“My friends,” cried Arentz, “let the man go. Vengeance is +mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll fall,” said one. +</p> + +<p> +“Pish!” answered another, “it is steeplejack Jan, who can +hang on a wall like a fly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look out for the ends of the rope,” cried the thin voice above, +and down they came. +</p> + +<p> +“Spare me,” screamed the wretched priest, as his executioners +caught hold of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, as you spared the Heer Jansen a few months ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was to save his soul,” groaned Dominic. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so, and now we are going to save yours; your own medicine, father, +your own medicine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spare me, and I will tell you where the others are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, where are they?” asked the ringleader, pushing his +companions away. +</p> + +<p> +“Hidden in the church, hidden in the church.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“We are lost,” moaned a priest, losing control of himself. +“We are lost. They will kill us as they have killed the holy Abbe.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Before dawn broke it had led him out of Leyden. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“My mistress lies between life and death with the plague,” answered +the servant. “Get you gone from this pest-house, whoever you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“She can see none at such an hour,” answered the servant. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell her I come from Foy van Goorl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enter,” said the servant wondering, and shut the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +A minute later Elsa, pale-faced, worn, but still beautiful, rushed into the +room, gasping, “What news? Does he live? Is he well?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +In the rapture of her relief Elsa seized the woman’s hand, and would have +kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Touch it not, it is bloodstained,” said Martha, drawing her hand +away. +</p> + +<p> +“Blood? Whose blood is on it?” asked Elsa, shrinking back. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me more of Foy and Martin,” said Elsa, who was frightened and +bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell it me,” said Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +And she told it while the girl listened with clasped hands. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Foy and Martin will return?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, if they are not stopped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stopped?”—and she put her hand upon her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The treasure! Oh! that thrice accursed treasure!” broke in Elsa, +shivering as though beneath an icy wind; “would that we were rid of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Elsa shook her head, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I neither know nor wish to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa looked at her questioningly, and Martha, leaning forward, whispered in her +ear: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>It lies in the hilt of the Sword Silence</i>. If Red Martin should be +taken or killed, seek out his sword and open the hilt. Do you +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa nodded and answered, “But if aught happens to Martin the sword may +be lost.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would write a word, if you can wait. They will bring you food.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good; write on and I will eat. Love for the young and meat for the old, +and for both let God be thanked.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV<br /> +THE RED MILL</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have we come here—father,” Adrian was about to add, but +the word stuck in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +Ramiro shrugged his shoulders and looked round him with his one criticising +eye. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how long are we to stop here?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +So they played and Adrian won, whereon, to his amazement, his father paid him +the money. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the use of that?” asked Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen should always pay their debts at cards.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if they cannot?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the use of this farce?” asked Adrian. “Brant’s +treasure would scarcely pay that bill.” +</p> + +<p> +His father pricked his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +His father rose, and, standing by the great peat fire, watched him depart +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>ennui</i>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“Steady, here is the place, praise the Saints! Now, then, out passengers +and let us be gone.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The bundle lifted its head, and the faint light shone upon the white and +terrified face of—Elsa Brant. +</p> + +<p> +“May God reward you for this evil deed, Adrian, called van Goorl,” +said the pitiful voice. +</p> + +<p> +“This deed! What deed?” he stammered in answer. “I know +nothing of it, Elsa Brant.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Free her,” roared Adrian, rushing at the Butcher to see a knife +gleaming in his hand and another in that of Black Meg. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the picture. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It means that this brute beast but now threw Elsa Brant upon her +face,” gasped Adrian as he rose, “and I punished him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why am I brought here, Señor,” broke in Elsa, “in defiance +of laws and justice?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“He says that he knows nothing, Señor.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does all this mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have had nothing to do with the business; I wash my hands of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I refuse to marry her against her will.” +</p> + +<p> +“As to that you can please yourself. But somebody has got to marry +her—you, or I.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—<i>you!</i>” gasped Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>must</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +At breakfast the following morning, when Elsa did not appear, the pair met. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian looked out of the lattice at the snow, which fell and fell without +pause. Then he turned and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Of the two it is best that she should marry me, though I think that +such a crime will bring its own reward.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian looked at him, opened his lips to speak, then changed his mind and +marched out of the house into the blinding snow. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven he is gone at last!” reflected his father, and called +for Hague Simon, with whom he held a long and careful interview. +</p> + +<p> +“You understand?” he ended. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The pay, friend Simon, remember the pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! yes, it all sounds well enough, but I should like something on +account.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br /> +THE BRIDEGROOM AND THE BRIDE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Meg departed on her errand, and Adrian looked up suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Elsa received the message as she received everything else, in silence. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have you kidnapped me, and where am I going?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because we are paid to do it, and you are going to Adrian van +Goorl,” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +Then she understood, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I your permission to enter, Jufvrouw?” he asked. Then Elsa, +knowing that the moment of trial had come, steeled herself for the encounter. +</p> + +<p> +“You are master here,” she answered, in a voice cold as the falling +snow without, “why then do you mock me?” +</p> + +<p> +He motioned to the women to leave the room, and when they had gone, replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be so good as to set out this matter, Señor Ramiro? Am I +brought here to be tried for heresy?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will explain. My son Adrian, a worthy young man on the +whole—you know that he <i>is</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa made an impatient movement with her hand, as though to brush aside all +this web of words. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fortune you speak of, Señor Ramiro, is lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is lost, but I have reason to hope that it will be found.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that this is purely a matter of money?” +</p> + +<p> +“So far as I am concerned, purely. For Adrian’s feelings I cannot +speak, since who knows the mystery of another’s heart?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if the money were forthcoming—or a clue to it—there +need be no marriage?” +</p> + +<p> +“So far as I am concerned, none at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if the money is not forthcoming, and I refuse to marry the Heer +Adrian, or he to marry me—what then?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Another bridegroom! Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your humble and devoted adorer.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa shuddered and recoiled a step. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said, “I should not have bowed, you saw my white +hairs—to the young a hateful sight.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa’s indignation rose, and she answered: +</p> + +<p> +“It is not your white hair that I shrink from, Señor, which in some would +be a crown of honour, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I am in a position, what then?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +A struggle shook Elsa, and do what she would some trace of it appeared in her +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you swear that?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear it—before God.” +</p> + +<p> +“Knowing that God will be revenged upon you if you break the oath, you +still swear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I still swear. Why these needless repetitions?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sword Silence? What sword is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“The great sword of Red Martin.” +</p> + +<p> +Stirred out of his self-control, Ramiro struck his hand upon his knee. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wherever Red Martin is, that is all I know. I can tell you no more; the +plan of the hiding-place is there.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You swore, you swore,” she gasped, “you swore before +God!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Elsa broke down. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +But Elsa, shamed and broken-hearted, threw herself upon the bed and wept. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Your pleasure?” asked Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“My father wished,” he began humbly—“I mean that I have +come to speak to you about—our marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden Elsa’s delicate features seemed to turn to ice, while, to his +fancy at any rate, her brown eyes became fire. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not my fault,” he answered sullenly, but shrinking beneath +her words. “You know, Elsa, that I wished to wed you honourably +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +In the bitterness of his heart Adrian groaned aloud, and from that groan Elsa, +listening eagerly, gathered some kind of hope. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“But what? Where is the use of this wickedness? For your soul’s +sake, refuse to have aught to do with such a sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if so, my father will marry you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! help me to escape,” she moaned, “and I will bless you +all my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is impossible,” he answered. “Escape from this guarded +place, through those leagues of melting snow? I tell you that it is +impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Swear,” she implored, “swear,” clinging with her hands +to the lappet of his coat and lifting to him her white and piteous face. +</p> + +<p> +“I make it an offering in expiation of my sins,” he groaned, +“you shall go free of me.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa uttered a sigh of relief. She put no faith whatever in Adrian’s +promises, but at the worst it would give her time. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that I should not appeal in vain——” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then followed talk and oaths, and at length the man retreated grumbling. +</p> + +<p> +“Enter, Father Thomas,” said Ramiro; “you have had a wet +journey, I fear. Enter and give us your blessing.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The more reason, Father, for getting through this little business +quickly; but first you will wish for something to drink.” +</p> + +<p> +Father Thomas nodded, and Ramiro filling a small mug with brandy, gave it to +him. He gulped it off. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Ramiro took him apart and they talked together for a while. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Father Thomas hesitated, while Ramiro gently clinked the gold coins in his hand +and murmured, +</p> + +<p> +“I should be sorry to think, Father, that you had taken such a rough +journey for nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What trick are you at now?” growled the priest. “Well, after +all it is a mere form. Give me the names.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you devil, you devil!” Adrian gasped; then he moved towards +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s get through with this,” growled the half-drunken, +ruffian priest. “I take the willingness of the parties for +granted.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The priest turned upon Ramiro. +</p> + +<p> +“How am I to marry them in the face of this?” he asked. “If +only she were silent it might be done——” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Elsa struggled a little, then was quiet, and turned her piteous eyes on Adrian, +who stepped forward and opened his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember the alternative,” said his father in a low voice, and +he stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may reckon on his silence, Father Thomas,” replied Ramiro. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Congratulations! Señora,” muttered Father Thomas, eyeing her +nervously. “I fear you felt a little faint during the service, but a +sacrament——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the door was burst open, and two men rushed in, their eyes +starting, their very beards bristling with terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Come forth!” they cried. +</p> + +<p> +“What has chanced?” screamed the priest. +</p> + +<p> +“The great dyke has burst—hark, hark, hark! The floods are upon +you, the mill will be swept away.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Father Thomas bounded through the door yelling, “The boat, the +boat!” For a moment Ramiro thought, considering the situation, then he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch the Jufvrouw. No, not you, Adrian; she would die rather than come +with you. You, Simon, and you, Meg. Swift, obey.” +</p> + +<p> +They departed on their errand. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Elsa?” screamed Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” said one of the boatmen, pointing to a dark object +which floated among the tangled <i>debris</i> of sere weeds and woodwork +collected against the base of the mill. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Elsa, Elsa,” moaned Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Till he had something that was worth inheriting, perhaps. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br /> +WHAT ELSA SAW IN THE MOONLIGHT</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Here was no hint of any journey, so if such had been taken it must be without +Elsa’s own consent. +</p> + +<p> +“Martin, what do you make of it?” asked Foy, staring at him with +anxious, hollow eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Ramiro—Adrian—stolen away—” answered Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why would they take her?” asked Foy hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I find them I will kill them both,” said Foy, grinding his +teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, so will I, but first we have got to find them—and her, +which is the same thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“How, Martin, how?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you think, man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am trying to, master; it’s you who don’t think. You talk +too much. Be silent a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” asked Foy thirty seconds later, “have you finished +thinking?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +So they returned to the Haarlemer Meer and told Martha their sad tale. +</p> + +<p> +“Bide here a day or two and be patient,” she said; “I will go +out and search.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” answered Foy, “we will come with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you choose, but it will make matters more difficult. Martin, get +ready the big boat.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you thinking of, master?” asked Martin presently. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Foy drew apart two of the bundles of reeds and looked out into the driving +rain. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he said, “it is Martha and a man.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this man?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a friend of mine named Marsh Jan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you news?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, at least Marsh Jan has.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak, and be swift,” said Foy, turning on the man fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I not said so,” answered Martha, “and does the Mare +break her word?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“That is all, Mynheer, I know nothing more, but I can explain to you +where the place is.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can show us, you mean,” said Foy. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Marsh Jan professed himself quite willing to sail to the Red Mill, which +he said they ought to reach by nightfall. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The mill should be near,” said Marsh Jan, “let us put +about.” So they turned, rowing with weary arms, for the wind had fallen. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +It was very odd, and why did he say Haarlem and not Leyden? Next the second +voice, which also seemed familiar, said: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Foy, Foy,” she cried, “you must not kiss me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because—because I am married.” +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden his happy face became ghastly. “Married!” he stammered. +“Who to?” +</p> + +<p> +“To—your brother, Adrian.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at her in amazement, then asked slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“Did you run away from Leyden to marry him?” +</p> + +<p> +“How dare you ask such a question?” replied Elsa with a flash of +spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, then, you would explain?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Adrian, my friend,” groaned Foy, “wait till I catch you, +my friend Adrian.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he sacrificed himself—the good, kind-hearted man,” +interrupted Foy, grinding his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +“And where is your self-denying—oh! I can’t say the +word.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I suppose that he and Ramiro escaped in the boat, or +perhaps he was drowned.” +</p> + +<p> +“In which case you are a widow sooner than you could have +expected,” said Foy more cheerfully, edging himself towards her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“One question first, Foy. How did you find me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, sweetheart,” he asked, “is it true that you think +anything of this forced marriage?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is no marriage,” echoed Martin, “and if it be, and I +live, then the sword shall cut its knot.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if the law cannot, or will not, Elsa, what then?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +So they smiled on each other, these two lovers of long ago, and sailed bravely +on to the closing gates of Haarlem. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> +ATONEMENT</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” he answered in a harsh, unnatural voice, “but +oh! God, if Thou art, have pity upon her. Oh! God have pity.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a girl,” said the sergeant in command of them, +“who isn’t bad looking. Pull her out, men.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“There they are, captain,” said a soldier, one of those who had +fled; “shall we shoot them?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “I think not. Such desperate characters must +be reserved for separate trial.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where can they be kept, captain?” asked the sergeant sulkily. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +At this the soldiers laughed openly. +</p> + +<p> +“I repeat—his wife, for whom he has been searching these many +months,” said Ramiro, “and, therefore, to be respected. Do you +understand, men?” +</p> + +<p> +Apparently they did understand, at least no one made any answer. Their captain, +as they had found, was not a man who loved argument. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then, you fellows,” went on Ramiro, “give up your +arms.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hand that to me,” said Ramiro. “It is a curious weapon to +which I have taken a fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is poisoned,” said Foy, smelling at it hungrily. +</p> + +<p> +“What need to take the trouble to poison us?” answered Martin. +“Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Foy, Martin,” he said, “get up and follow me if you would +save your lives.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly they were wide awake. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow you—<i>you?</i>” stammered Foy in a choked voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“It is madness to trust ourselves to you,” interrupted Martin, and +Adrian seemed to wince at the contempt in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because we do not believe you,” said Foy; “besides, there is +Elsa. I will not go without Elsa.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have thought of that,” answered Adrian. “Elsa is here. +Come, Elsa, show yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +So they hesitated no more, but went. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Enter and be gone,” said Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +They scrambled into the boat and took the oars, while Martha began to push off. +</p> + +<p> +“Adrian,” said Elsa, “what is to become of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! no,” she cried, “come with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” echoed Foy, although again that bitter pang of jealousy +gripped his heart, “come with us—brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really mean it?” Adrian asked, hesitating. “Think, I +might betray you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Then they rowed away. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we going?” asked Martin. +</p> + +<p> +“To Leyden, I suppose,” said Foy, “if we can get there, +which, without a sail or weapons, seems unlikely.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You? How did you know it?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother Martha told me on the night of the church burning after you +escaped from Leyden.” +</p> + +<p> +Martin grunted. “One woman to trust another, and at her age too; what a +fool!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“From what?” +</p> + +<p> +“From being married.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian winced palpably, and Foy, noting it, could not resist pushing the point. +</p> + +<p> +“From being married? But I understand—doubtless Adrian will explain +the thing,” he added grimly—“that you were forced through +some ceremony.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind Adrian’s feelings and his goodness, but go on with the +story,” interrupted Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point Foy and Martin laughed outright. Yes, even there they laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you silly child,” said Foy, “what else did you expect +him to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” said Martha. “Ramiro might have torn me to pieces +with red-hot pincers before I told him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Not being able to think of any appropriate rejoinder, Martha turned again upon +Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” said Foy, “there is no need for you to +explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean,” said Foy, “that we ought to be there before +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha nodded and answered, “If we can, but I think that at best there +must be a fight for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You hear what she says?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How good you are to me,” she murmured, then she mused a moment. +“Foy,” she said, “will you promise something to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“After your experience of Ramiro’s oaths I wonder that you +ask,” he answered, trying to be cheerful. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I am hungry again,” said Martin presently; “I feel as though +I could eat for a week without stopping.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian looked up from over his oar, at which he was labouring dejectedly, and +said: +</p> + +<p> +“There are food and wine in the locker. I hid them there. Perhaps Elsa +could serve them to those who wish to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When at length they had filled themselves, Adrian spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on,” said Foy. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Adrian glanced up at Foy and at Elsa sitting on the thwart of the boat by +his side. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Martin rose too. Then he looked back behind him and said; +</p> + +<p> +“I see the cap of a sail upon the skyline. It is Ramiro.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /> +ADRIAN COMES HOME AGAIN</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Beneath this nest lay the treasure, if it were still there. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, sweet?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“The sail, the following sail,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is to be done?” asked Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Elsa, “must we be taken after all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not, girl,” said Martha, “but it is as God wills. +Listen, Martin,” and she whispered in his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“With all my heart, as well as I am able.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Ramiro’s voice reached them across the stillness of the water. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +The rest of his remarks were lost in the creaking of the blocks as the sail +came down. +</p> + +<p> +“Shallow water ahead, Señor,” said a man in the bows sounding with +a boat hook. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” answered Ramiro, throwing out the little anchor, “we +will wade ashore.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Ramiro, “so they are here before us. Well, there +can’t be many of them. Now then, prepare to land.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“He is clever,” said Foy; “he knows that our boat must be +somewhere, and he is going to seek for it.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are those all your terms?” asked Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you may go back to hell to look for it,” replied Martin +rudely, while Foy added: +</p> + +<p> +“What other answer do you expect from folk who have escaped out of your +clutches in Haarlem?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +There it stood, shaking an axe at the terror-stricken Spaniards, and screaming +in short gasps, +</p> + +<p> +“Paid back! paid back, Ramiro! Now sink and drown, you dog, or come, +visit Red Martin on the shore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well done, Martha,” roared Martin, as he dragged her dying into +the boat. While he spoke, lo! the cutter began to fill and sink. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Cut them down!” yelled Ramiro. “At them for your +lives’ sake.” +</p> + +<p> +The boat trembled, but she would not stir. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Climb in, Martin, climb in,” shouted Foy as he stabbed at a +Spaniard. +</p> + +<p> +“By heaven! no,” roared Ramiro splashing towards him with the face +of a devil. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Martin sprang forward and gripped the tiller with his outstretched hand as it +glided away from him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Jufvrouw,” said Martin presently, “there is another flagon +of wine in that locker, and we should be glad of a pull at it.” +</p> + +<p> +Elsa, who was steering the boat, rose and found the wine and a horn mug, which +she filled and handed first to Foy. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Habet!</i>” he said with a short laugh, “<i>habes</i>, +Weather-cock!” and he turned the knife against himself. +</p> + +<p> +But Martin was on him, and in five more seconds he lay trussed like a fowl in +the bottom of the boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I kill him?” said Martin to Foy, who with Elsa was bending +over Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Foy grimly, “let him take his trial in Leyden. +Oh! what accursed fools were we not to search him!” +</p> + +<p> +Ramiro’s face turned a shade more ghastly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Before he passed the gates of Leyden, in those few short hours, Ramiro, to +Elsa’s eyes, had aged by twenty years. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come to the house in the Bree Straat and we will tell you from the +balcony,” answered Foy. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that murmuring in the street?” Lysbeth asked. “I +hear the sound of many voices. Is there more news from Haarlem?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +They burned up—two stars of light in the great room. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I dream?” she said, “or, son Foy, hath the Angel of the +Lord delivered you out of the hell of Haarlem?” +</p> + +<p> +“We are here, mother,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“And whom,” she said, pointing to the figure covered with a cloak, +“do you bring with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Adrian, mother, who is dying.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lift him up,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, take back your words and forgive me—before I die.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the sorrow-frozen heart of Lysbeth melted, and she bent over him and said, +speaking so that all might hear: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you bring this man to me, Martin?” +</p> + +<p> +“For judgment, Lysbeth van Goorl,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Who made me a judge over him?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“My master, Dirk van Goorl, your son, Adrian, and Hendrik Brant. Their +blood makes you judge of his blood.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you seek?” she asked, drawing back her dress so that he +should not touch it. +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy,” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy, mercy!” he cried again. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Once you were my wife,” he pleaded; “being a woman, does not +that weigh with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay!” he cried, gnashing his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I stay not, I go to receive the last breath of him you have +murdered, my son and yours.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised himself upon his knees, and for a moment their eyes met for the last +time. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +And she swept past him and through the wide doorway. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Back came an answering yell of “<i>Aye!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“We know it,” they shouted. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kill him! Cast him down!” roared the mob. “Give him to us, +Red Martin.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the Frisian lifted his hand and again there was silence; a sudden, +terrible silence. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +They yelled, they screamed in their ravenous hate and rage; they leapt up as +hounds leap at a wolf upon a wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Give him to us, give him to us!” that was their cry. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Thus did the burghers of Leyden pass judgment and execute it upon that noble +Spaniard, the Count Juan de Montalvo. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX<br /> +TWO SCENES</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Scene the First</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +As he thought thus one of his secretaries entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Count,” said the Prince, “have you been to them +all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And with what success?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Count, you can go; there is nothing more to do. We will ride +for Delft to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the secretary, “there are two men in the +courtyard who wish to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they known?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince nodded. “I know. This Red Martin is a Goliath, a brave fellow. +What do they want?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do they not take it to the Burgomaster, or somebody in +authority?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, but they declare that they will only deliver it to +you in person.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are sure of your men, Count? You know,” he added, with a +smile, “I have to be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, they were identified by several of the people in the other +room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then admit them, they may have something to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, sir, they wish to bring in their cart.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean the goldsmith and banker who was said to be the richest man +in the Netherlands?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, the man whose treasure was lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“She is Hendrik Brant’s only child, and therefore the owner of his +wealth, I believe?” interrupted the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, and my affianced wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard of the young lady, and I congratulate you. Is she in +Leyden?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were wise indeed, Heer van Goorl,” replied the Prince with a +sigh, “but it seems that you stopped behind?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must each bear our share of the basket,” answered Foy sadly; +“I must do the fighting and she the watching.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince put his hand to his forehead and reeled back a step. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not jest with me, Foy van Goorl?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed no.” +</p> + +<p> +“But stay; this treasure is not yours to give, it belongs to Elsa +Brant.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Man, you jest, you jest!” said Orange. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then in the sudden ecstasy of relief and joy, the great Prince hid his face in +his hands and wept. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +There are other morals to this story also, applicable, perhaps, to our life +to-day, but the reader is left to guess them. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Scene the Second</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it is cruel,” she sobbed, “it is too much to bear. How +can you be so calm, mother, when perhaps Foy is dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that I had never left him,” moaned Elsa. +</p> + +<p> +“You asked to leave, child; for my part I should have bided the best or +the worst in Leyden.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, it is because I am a coward; also he wished it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He wished it, Elsa, therefore it is for the best; let us await the issue +in patience. Come, our meal is set.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Foy and Martin <i>might</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +That very night Foy came, and with him Red Martin, the great sword Silence +still strapped about his middle. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +And the others echoed “To Thee be glory and thanks, O Lord of the living +and the dead. Amen.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But Lysbeth sat silent in the new home, far from the land where she was born, +and turned her stricken heart towards the dead. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +FINIS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYSBETH ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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. 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