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{\LARGE\strut{LEATHERFACE}}
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\noindent
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 \hyperlink{project-gutenberg-license}{Project Gutenberg License} included with
this ebook or online at {https://www.gutenberg.org/license}. If you
are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
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\noindent
Title: Leatherface
 \\
       A Tale of Old Flanders
 \\

 \\
Author: Baroness Orczy
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 \\
Release Date: August 14, 2012 {[}eBook \#40500{]}
 \\

 \\
Language: English
 \\

 \\
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEATHERFACE ***
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\noindent
Produced by Al Haines.
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{\normalsize{ BY}}
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{\Large\strut{BARONESS ORCZY}}
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{\footnotesize{AUTHOR OF "THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL"}}
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{\normalsize{ NEW YORK
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GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY}}
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{\footnotesize{COPYRIGHT, 1916,
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BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY}}
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{\footnotesize{PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA}}
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{\footnotesize{{[}Transcriber's note: several passages in this book
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use "f" for "s" to convey the archaic long "s" as "f".{]}}}
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{\normalsize{ By BARONESS ORCZY}}
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{\normalsize{ THE BRONZE EAGLE
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A BRIDE OF THE PLAINS
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THE LAUGHING CAVALIER
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"UNTO CAESAR"
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EL DORADO
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MEADOWSWEET
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THE NOBLE ROGUE
 \\
THE HEART OF A WOMAN
 \\
PETTICOAT RULE}}
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{\normalsize{ GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
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NEW YORK}}
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{\normalsize{ BOOK ONE; BRUSSELS}}
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{\normalsize{ BOOK TWO: DENDERMONDE}}
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{\normalsize{ BOOK THREE: GHENT}}
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{\Large\strut{PROLOGUE: MONS, SEPTEMBER, 1572}}
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{\normalsize{ MONS: SEPTEMBER, 1572}}
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\vs{2}
{\noindent}
It lacked two hours before the dawn on this sultry night
early in September.  The crescent moon had long ago
sunk behind a bank of clouds in the west, and not a
sound stirred the low-lying land around the besieged city.\par

To the south the bivouac fires of Alva's camp had died
out one by one, and here the measured tread of the sentinels
on their beat alone broke the silence of the night.  To
the north, where valorous Orange with a handful of
men--undisciplined, unpaid and rebellious--vainly tried to
provoke his powerful foe into a pitched battle, relying on God
for the result, there was greater silence still.  The
sentinels--wearied and indifferent--had dropped to sleep at their
post: the troops, already mutinous, only held to their duty
by the powerful personality of the Prince, slept as soundly
as total indifference to the cause for which they were paid
to fight could possibly allow.\par

In his tent even Orange--tired out with ceaseless
watching--had gone to rest.  His guards were in a profound
sleep.\par

Then it was that from the south there came a stir, and
from Alva's entrenchments waves of something alive that
breathed in the darkness of the night were set in motion,
like when the sea rolls inwards to the shore.\par

Whispered words set this living mass on its way, and
anon it was crawling along--swiftly and silently--more
silently than incoming waves on a flat shore--on and on,
always northwards in the direction of the Prince of
Orange's camp, like some gigantic snake that creeps with
belly close to the ground.\par

"Don Ramon," whispered a voice in the darkness, "let
Captain Romero deal with the sentinels and lead the
surprise attack, whilst you yourself make straight for the
Prince's tent; overpower his guard first, then seize his
person.  Two hundred ducats will be your reward,
remember, if you bring Orange back here--a prisoner--and
a ducat for each of your men."\par

These were the orders and don Ramon de Linea sped
forward with six hundred arquebusiers--all picked men--they
wore their shirts over their armour, so that in the
mêlée which was to come they might recognise one another
in the gloom.\par

Less than a league of flat pasture land lay between Alva's
entrenchments at St. Florian near the gates of beleaguered
Mons, and Orange's camp at Hermigny.  But at St. Florian
men stirred and planned and threatened, whilst at
Hermigny even the sentinels slept.  Noble-hearted Orange had
raised the standard of revolt against the most execrable
oppression of an entire people which the world has ever
known--and he could not get more than a handful of
patriots to fight for their own freedom against the tyranny
and the might of Spain, whilst mercenary troops were
left to guard the precious life of the indomitable champion
of religious and civil liberties.\par

The moving mass of de Linea's arquebusiers had covered
half a league of the intervening ground; their white shirts
only just distinguishable in the gloom made them look
like ghosts; only another half-league--less perhaps--separated
them from their goal, and still no one stirred
in Orange's camp.  Then it was that something roused the
sentinels from their sleep.  A rough hand shook first
one then the others by the shoulder, and out of the gloom
a peremptory voice whispered hurriedly:\par

"Quick! awake! sound the alarm!  An {\itshape{encamisada}} is
upon you.  You will all be murdered in your sleep."\par

And even before the drowsy sentinels had time to rouse
themselves or to rub their eyes, the same rough hand had
shaken the Prince's guard, the same peremptory voice had
called: "Awake! the Spaniards are upon you!"\par

In the Prince's tent a faint light was glimmering.  He
himself was lying fully dressed and armed upon a couch.
At sound of the voice, of his guards stirring, of the noise
and bustle of a wakening camp, he sat up just in time
to see a tall figure in the entrance of his tent.\par

The feeble light threw but into a dim relief this tall
figure of a man, clad in dark, shapeless woollen clothes
wearing a hood of the same dark stuff over his head and
a leather mask over his face.\par

"Leatherface!" exclaimed the Prince as he jumped to
his feet.  "What is it?"\par

"A night attack," replied a muffled voice behind the
mask.  "Six hundred arquebusiers--they are but half a
league away!--I would have been here sooner only the
night is so infernally dark, I caught my foot in a rabbit-hole
and nearly broke my ankle--I am as lame as a Jew's
horse ... but still in time," he added as he hastily helped
the Prince to adjust his armour and straighten out his
clothes.\par

The camp was alive now with call to arms and rattle of
steel, horses snorting and words of command flying to and
fro.  Don Ramon de Linea, a quarter of a league away,
heard these signs of troops well on the alert and he knew
that the surprise attack had failed.  Six hundred
arquebusiers--though they be picked men--were not sufficient
for a formal attack on the Prince of Orange's entire
cavalry.  Even mercenary and undisciplined troops will
fight valiantly when their lives depend upon their valour.
De Linea thought it best to give the order to return to
camp.\par

And the waves of living men which had been set in
motion an hour ago, now swiftly and silently went back
the way they came.  Don Ramon when he came once more
in the camp at St. Florian and in the presence of Alva's
captain-in-chief, had to report the failure of the night
attack which had been so admirably planned.\par

"The whole camp at Hermigny was astir," he said as
he chawed the ends of his heavy moustache, for he was
sorely disappointed.  "I could not risk an attack under those
conditions.  Our only chance of winning was by surprise."\par

"Who gave the alarm?" queried don Frederic de
Toledo, who took no pains to smother the curses that rose
to his lips.\par

"The devil, I suppose," growled don Ramon de Linea
savagely.\par

And out at Hermigny--in Orange's tent--the man who
was called Leatherface was preparing to go as quietly and
mysteriously as he had come.\par

"They won't be on you, Monseigneur," he said, "now
that they know your troops are astir.  But if I were you,"
he added grimly, "I would have every one of those sentinels
shot at dawn.  They were all of them fast asleep when
I arrived."\par

He gave the military salute and would have turned to
go without another word but that the Prince caught him
peremptorily by the arm:\par

"In the meanwhile, Messire, how shall I thank you
again?" he asked.\par

"By guarding your precious life, Monseigneur," replied
the man simply.  "The cause of freedom in the Low
Countries would never survive your loss."\par

"Well!" retorted the Prince of Orange with a winning
smile, "if that be so, then the cause of our freedom owes
as much to you as it does to me.  Is it the tenth
time--or the twelfth--that you have saved my life?"\par

"Since you will not let me fight with you..."\par

"I'll let you do anything you wish, Messire, for you
would be as fine a soldier as you are a loyal friend.  But
are you not content with the splendid services which you
are rendering to us now?  Putting aside mine own
life--which mayhap is not worthless--how many times has
your warning saved mine and my brother's troops from
surprise attacks?  How many times have Noircarmes' or
don Frederic's urgent appeals for reinforcements failed,
through your intervention, to reach the Duke of Alva until
our own troops were able to rally?  Ah, Messire, believe
me!  God Himself has chosen you for this work!"\par

"The work of a spy, Monseigneur," said the other not
without a touch of bitterness.\par

"Nay! if you call yourself a spy, Messire, then shall
the name of 'spy' be henceforth a name of glory to its
wearer, synonymous with the loftiest patriotism and
noblest self-sacrifice."\par

He held out his hand to the man with the mask, who
bent his tall figure over it in dutiful respect.\par

"You see how well I keep to my share of the compact,
Messire.  Never once--even whilst we were alone--hath
your name escaped my lips."\par

"For which act of graciousness, Monseigneur, I do offer
you my humble thanks.  May God guard your Highness
through every peril!  The cause of justice and of liberty
rests in your hands."\par

After another deeply respectful bow he finally turned to
go.  He had reached the entrance of the tent when once
more the Prince spoke to him.\par

"When shall I see you again--Leatherface?" he asked
cheerily.\par

"When your Highness' precious life or the safety of your
army are in danger," replied the man.\par

"God reward you!" murmured Orange fervently as the
man with the mask disappeared into the night.\par

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{\centering
{\Large\strut{BOOK ONE: BRUSSELS}}
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{\Large\strut{CHAPTER I}}
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{\normalsize{ THE BLOOD COUNCIL}}
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{\normalsize{ I}}
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\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Less than a month later, and tyranny is once more
triumphant.  Mons has capitulated, Orange has withdrawn
his handful of mutinous troops into Holland, Valenciennes
has been destroyed and Mechlin--beautiful, gracious,
august Mechlin--with her cathedrals and her trade-halls,
her ancient monuments of art and civilisation has been
given over for three days to the lust and rapine of Spanish
soldiery!\par

Three whole days!  E'en now we think on those days
and shudder--shudder at what we know, at what the
chroniclers have told us, the sacking of churches, the
pillaging of monasteries, the massacre of peaceful,
harmless citizens!\par

Three whole days during which the worst demons that
infest hell itself, the worst demons that inspire the hideous
passions of men--greed, revenge and cruelty--were let
loose upon the stately city whose sole offence had been
that she had for twenty-four hours harboured Orange and
his troops within her gates and closed them against the
tyrant's soldiery!\par

Less than a month and Orange is a fugitive, and all the
bright hopes for the cause of religious and civil freedom
are once more dashed to the ground.  It seems as if God
Himself hath set His face against the holy cause!  Mons
has fallen and Mechlin is reduced to ashes, and over across
the borders the King of France has caused ten thousand
of his subjects to be massacred--one holy day, the feast
of St. Bartholomew--ten thousand of them!--just
because their religious beliefs did not coincide with his own.
The appalling news drove Orange and his small army to
flight--he had reckoned on help from the King of
France--instead of that promised help the news of the massacre
of ten thousand Protestants!  Catholic Europe was
horror-stricken at the crime committed in the name of religion;
but in the Low Countries, Spanish tyranny had scored a
victory--the ignoble Duke of Alva triumphed and the
cause of freedom in Flanders and Hainault and Brabant
received a blow from which it did not again recover for
over three hundred years!\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Outwardly the house where the Duke of Alva lodged in
Brussels was not different to many of the same size in
the city.  It was built of red brick with stone base and
finely-carved cornice, and had a high slate roof with
picturesque dormer windows therein.  The windows on
the street level were solidly grilled and were ornamented
with richly-carved pediments, as was the massive
doorway too.  The door itself was of heavy oak, and above
it there was a beautifully wrought niche which held a
statue of the Virgin.\par

On the whole it looked a well-constructed, solid and
roomy house, and Mme. de Jassy, its owner, had placed it
at the disposal of the Lieutenant-Governor when first
he arrived in Brussels, and he had occupied it ever since.
The idler as he strolled past the house would hardly pause
to look at it, if he did not happen to know that behind
those brick walls and grilled windows a work of
oppression more heinous than this world had ever known before,
was being planned and carried on by a set of cruel and
execrable tyrants against an independent country and a
freedom-loving people.\par

Here in the dining-hall the Duke of Alva would preside
at the meetings of the Grand Council--the Council of
Blood--sitting in a high-backed chair which had the arms
of Spain emblazoned upon it.  Juan de Vargas and Alberic
del Rio usually sat to right and left of him.  Del
Rio--indolent and yielding--a mere tool for the carrying out
of every outrage, every infamy which the fiendish brain
of those tyrants could devise wherewith to crush the
indomitable spirit of a proud nation jealous of its honour
and of its liberties: and de Vargas--Alva's double and
worthy lieutenant--no tool he, but a terrible reality, active
and resourceful in the invention of new forms of tyranny,
new fetters for the curbing of stiff-necked Flemish and
Dutch burghers, new methods for wringing rivers of gold
out of a living stream of tears and blood.\par

De Vargas!--the very name stinks in the nostrils of
honest men even after the lapse of centuries!--It conjures
up the hideous image of a human bloodhound--lean and
sallow of visage, with drooping, heavy-lidded eyes and
flaccid mouth, a mouth that sneered and jested when men,
women and children were tortured and butchered, eyes that
gloated at sight of stake and scaffold and gibbet--and
within the inner man, a mind intent on the science of
murder and rapine and bloodshed.\par

Alva the will that commanded!  Vargas the brain that
devised!  Del Rio the hand that accomplished!\par

Men sent by Philip II. of Spain, the most fanatical
tyrant the world has ever known, to establish the
abhorrent methods of the Spanish Inquisition in the Low
Countries in order to consolidate Spanish rule there and
wrest from prosperous Flanders and Brabant and
Hainault, from Holland and the Dutch provinces enough gold to
irrigate the thirsty soil of Spain.  "The river of gold which
will flow from the Netherlands to Madrid shall be a yard
deep!" so had Alva boasted when his infamous master
sent him to quell the revolt which had noble-hearted Orange
for its leader--a revolt born of righteous indignation and
an unconquerable love of freedom and of justice.\par

To mould the Netherlands into abject vassals of Spain,
to break their independence of spirit by terrorism and by
outrage, to force Spanish ideas, Spanish culture, Spanish
manners, Spanish religion upon these people of the North
who loathed tyranny and worshipped their ancient charters
and privileges, that was the task which the Duke of Alva
set himself to do--a task for which he needed the help of
men as tyrannical and unscrupulous as himself.\par

Granvelle had begun the work, Alva was completing it!
The stake, the scaffold, the gibbet for all who had one
thought of justice, one desire for freedom.  Mons razed
to the ground, Valenciennes a heap of ruins and ashes,
Mechlin a hecatomb.  Men, women and children outraged
and murdered!  Whole families put to the torture
to wring gold from unwilling givers! churches
destroyed! monasteries ransacked!\par

That was the work of the Grand Council--the odious
Council of Blood, the members of which have put to shame
the very name of religion, for they dared to pretend that
they acted in its name.\par

Alva!  de Vargas!  del Rio!  A trinity of fiends whose
deeds would shame the demons in hell!  But there were
others too, and, O ye gods! were they not infinitely more
vile, since their hands reeked with the blood of their own
kith and kin?  Alva and his two bloodhounds were
strangers in a strange land, owing allegiance to Spain
alone--but Councillor Hessels sat on this same infamous board,
and he was a patrician of Brabant.  And there was Pierre
Arsens, president of Artois, there was de Berlaymont and
Viglius and Hopper--gentlemen (save the mark!) and
burghers of Flanders or Hainault or the Dutch provinces!--and
who can name such creatures without a shudder of
loathing?\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
As for don Ramon de Linea, he was just the usual type
of Spanish soldier--a grandee of Spain, direct descendant
of the Cid, so he averred, yet disdained to prove it.  For
in him there was no sense of chivalry--just personal
bravery and no more--the same kind of bravery you would
meet in a tiger or a jaguar.  In truth there was much in
common between don Ramon and the wild feline tribes
that devastate the deserts: he had the sinuous
movements, the languorous gestures of those creatures, and his
eyes--dark and velvety at times, at others almost of an
orange tint--had all the cruel glitter which comes into the
eyes of the leopard when he is out to kill.  Otherwise
don Ramon was a fine-looking man, dark-skinned and
dark-eyed, a son of the South, with all those cajoling ways about
him which please and so often deceive the women.\par

He it was who had been in command at Mechlin--entrusted
by General de Noircarmes with the hideous task
of destroying the stately city--and he had done it with a
will.  Overproud of his achievements he had obtained leave
to make personal report of them to the Lieutenant-Governor,
and thus it was that on this 2nd day of October,
1572, he was present at the council board, talking with
easy grace and no little satisfaction of all that he had done:
of the churches which he had razed to the ground, the
houses which he had sacked, of the men, women and
children whom he had turned out naked and starving into the
streets.\par

"We laboured hard for three days," he said, "and the
troops worked with a will, for there were heavy arrears
of pay due to them and we told them to make up those
arrears in Mechlin, since they wouldn't get any money from
headquarters.  Oh!  Mechlin got all that she deserved!
Her accursed citizens can now repent at leisure of their
haste in harbouring Orange and his rebel troops!"\par

His voice was deep and mellow and even the guttural
Spanish consonants sounded quite soft when he spoke
them.  Through half-closed lids his glance swept from
time to time over the eager faces around the board, and
his slender hands emphasised the hideous narrative with
a few graceful gestures.  He looked just the true type of
grand seigneur telling a tale of mild adventure and of
sport, and now and then he laughed displaying his teeth,
sharp and white like the fangs of a leopard's cub.\par

No one interrupted him, and Councillor Hessels fell
gradually--as was his wont--into a gentle doze from which
he roused himself now and again in order to murmur
drowsily: "To the gallows with them all!"\par

Viglius and Hopper and de Berlaymont tried hard to
repress a shudder.  They were slaves of Spain, these
gentlemen of the Low Countries, but not Spanish born, and
were not accustomed from earliest childhood to listen--not
only unmoved but with a certain measure of delight--to
these tales of horror.  But there was nothing in what
don Ramon said of which they disapproved.  They were--all
of them--loyal subjects of the King, and the very
thought of rebellion was abhorrent to them.\par

But it was passing strange that the Duke of Alva made
no comment on the young captain's report.  There he sat,
at the head of the table, silent and moody, with one bony
fist clenched above a letter which lay open beneath his
hand, and which bore a large red seal with the royal arms
of Spain impressed upon it.  Not a word of praise or
blame did he speak.  His heavy brows were contracted in
a sullen frown, and his protruding eyes were veiled beneath
the drooping lids.\par

De Vargas, too, was silent--de Vargas who loved to
gloat over such tales as don Ramon had to tell, de Vargas
who believed that these rebellious Low Countries could
only be brought into subjection by such acts of demoniacal
outrage as the Spanish soldiery had just perpetrated in
Mons and in Mechlin.  He, too, appeared moody to-day, and
the story of sick women and young children being dragged
out of their beds and driven out to perish in the streets
while their homes were being pillaged and devastated, left
him taciturn and unmoved.\par

Don Ramon made vain pretence not to notice the
Lieutenant-Governor's moodiness, nor yet de Vargas' silence,
but those who knew him best--and de Vargas was among
these--plainly saw that irritation had seized upon his
nerves.  He was talking more volubly, and his voice had
lost its smoothness, whilst the languor of his gestures had
given place to sharp, febrile movements of hands and
shoulders which he tried vainly to disguise.\par

"Our soldiers," he was saying loudly, "did not leave a
loaf of bread in the bakeries, or a bushel of wheat in the
stores of Mechlin.  The rich citizens we hanged at the rate
of twenty a day, and I drew orders for the confiscation of
their estates to the benefit of our Most Gracious King and
suzerain Lord.  I tell you we made quick work of all the
rebels: stone no longer stands on stone in Mechlin to-day:
its patricians are beggars, its citizens are scattered.  We
have put to the torture and burned at the stake those who
refused to give us their all.  A month ago Mechlin was
a prosperous city: she gave of her wealth and of her
hospitality to the rebel troops of Orange.  To-day she and
her children have ceased to be.  Are you not satisfied?"\par

He brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the
table: surely a very unusual loss of restraint in a grandee
of Spain: but obviously he found it more and more difficult
to keep his temper under control, and those dark eyes
of his were now fixed with a kind of fierce resentment upon
the impassive face of the Duke.\par

Councillor Hessels, only half awake, reiterated with
drowsy emphasis: "To the gallows with them!  Send
them all to the gallows!"\par

Still the Duke of Alva was silent and de Vargas did not
speak.  Yet it was the Duke himself who had given the
order for the destruction of Mechlin: "as a warning to
other cities," he had said.  And now he sat at the head
of the table sullen, moody and frowning, and don Ramon
felt an icy pang of fear gripping him by the throat: the
thought that censure of his conduct was brewing in the
Lieutenant-Governor's mind caused him to lose the last
vestige of self-control, for he knew that censure could
have but one sequel--quick judgment and the headman's axe.\par

"Are you not satisfied?" he cried hoarsely.  "What more
did you expect?  What more ought we to have done?
What other proof of zeal does King Philip ask of me?"\par

Thus directly challenged the Duke raised his head and
looked the young man sternly in the face.\par

"What you have done, Messire," he said slowly--and
the cold glitter in his steely eyes held in it more real and
calculating cruelty than the feline savagery of the other
man, "what you have done is good, but it is not enough.
What use is there in laying low an entire city, when the
one man whose personality holds the whole of this
abominable rebellion together still remains unscathed?  You
hanged twenty noted citizens a day in Mechlin, you say,"
he added with a cynical shrug of the shoulders, "I would
gladly see every one of them spared, so long as Orange's
head fell on the scaffold."\par

"Orange has disbanded his army and has fled almost
alone into Holland," said don Ramon sullenly.  "My
orders were to punish Mechlin and not to run after the
Prince of Orange."\par

"The order to bring the Prince of Orange alive or dead
to Brussels and to me takes precedence of every other
order, as you well know, Messire," retorted Alva roughly.
"We decided on that unanimously at the meeting of the
Grand Council on the day that I sent Egmont and Horn
to the scaffold and Orange refused to walk into the trap
which I had set for him."\par

"He always escapes from the traps which are set for
him," now broke in de Vargas in his calm, even,
expressionless voice.  "During the siege of Mons, according to
don Frederic's report, no fewer than six surprise
night-attacks--all admirably planned--failed, because Orange
appeared to have received timely warning."\par

"Who should know that better than I, señor?" queried
don Ramon hotly, "seeing that I led most of those attacks
myself--they were splendidly planned, our men as silent
as ghosts, the night darker than hell.  Not a word of the
plan was breathed until I gave the order to start.  Yet
someone gave the alarm.  We found Orange's camp astir--every
time we had to retire.  Who but the devil could
have given the warning?"\par

"A spy more astute than yourselves," quoth Alva dryly.\par

"Nay!" here interposed del Rio blandly, "I am of the
same opinion as don Ramon de Linea; there is a subtle
agency at work which appears to guard the life of the
Prince of Orange.  I myself was foiled many a time when
I was on his track--with Ribeiras who wields a dagger
in the dark more deftly than any man I know.  I also
employed Loronzo, who graduated in Venice in the art
of poisons, but invariably the Prince slipped through our
fingers just as if he had been put on his guard by some
mysterious emissary."\par

"The loyalists in Flanders," quoth President Viglius
under his breath, "declare that the agency which works
for the safety of the Prince of Orange is a supernatural
one.  They speak of a tall, manlike figure whose face is
hidden by a mask, and who invariably appears whenever
the Prince of Orange's life is in danger.  Some people
call this mysterious being 'Leatherface,' but no one seems
actually to have seen him.  It sounds as if he were truly
an emissary of the devil."\par

And as the President spoke, a strange silence fell around
the council board: every cheek had become pale, every lip
quivered.  De Vargas made a quick sign of the Cross over
his chest: Alva drew a small medal from the inside of his
doublet and kissed it devoutly.  These men who talked
airily of rapine and of violence perpetrated against
innocent people, who gloated over torture and misery which
they loved to inflict, were held in the cold grip of
superstitious fear, and their trembling lips uttered abject prayers
for mercy to the God whom they outraged by every act of
their infamous lives.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
When the Duke of Alva spoke again, his voice was still
unsteady: "Devil or no devil," he said with an attempt
at dignified composure, "His majesty's latest orders are
quite peremptory.  He desires the death of Orange.  He
will have no more cities destroyed, no more wholesale
massacres until that great object is attained.  Pressure has
been brought to bear upon him: the Emperor, it seems,
has spoken authoritatively, and with no uncertain voice.
It seems that the destruction of Flemish cities is abhorrent
to the rest of Europe."\par

"Rebel cities!" ejaculated de Berlaymont hotly.\par

"Aye! we know well enough that they are rebel cities,"
quoth Alva fiercely, "but what can we do, when a
milk-livered weakling wears the Imperial crown?  Our gracious
King himself dares not disregard the Emperor's protests--and
in his last letter to me he commands that we should
hold our hand and neither massacre a population nor
destroy a town unless we have proof positive that both are
seething with rebellion."\par

"Seething with rebellion!" exclaimed don Ramon, "then
what of Ghent--which is a very nest of rebels?"\par

"Ah!" retorted Alva, "Ghent by the Mass!
Seigniors, all of you who know that accursed city, bring
me proof that she harbours Orange or his troops!  Bring
me proof that she gives him money!  Bring me proof
that plots against our Government are hatched within
her walls!  I have moral proofs that Orange has been in
Ghent lately, that he is levying troops within her very
walls--I know that he has received promises of support
from some of her most influential citizens..."\par

"Nay, then, let your Highness but give the order," broke
in don Ramon once more, "my soldiers would spend three
fruitful days in Ghent."\par

"As I pointed out to His Highness yesterday," rejoined
de Vargas in mellifluous tones, "we should reduce Ghent
to ashes before she hatches further mischief against us.
Once a city hath ceased to be, it can no longer be a source
of danger to the State ... and," he added blandly,
"there is more money in Ghent than in any other city of
Flanders."\par

"And more rebellion in one family there than in the
whole of the population of Brabant," assented Councillor
Arsens.  "I have lived in that accursed city all my life,"
he continued savagely, "and I say that Ghent ought not
to be allowed to exist a day longer than is necessary for
massing together two or three regiments of unpaid soldiery
and turning them loose into the town--just as we did in
Mechlin!"\par

The others nodded approval\par

"And by the Mass..." resumed don Ramon.\par

"Enough, Messire," broke in the Duke peremptorily,
"who are you, I pray, who are you all to be thus
discussing the orders of His Majesty the King?  I have
transmitted to you His Majesty's orders just as I received them
from Madrid yesterday.  It is for you--for us all--to
show our zeal and devotion at this critical moment in our
nation's history, by obeying blindly, whole-heartedly, those
gracious commands.  Do we want our King to be further
embarrassed by a quarrel with the Emperor?  And what are
those orders, I ask you?  Wise and Christianlike as usual.
His Majesty doth not forbid the punishment of rebel
cities--No!--all that he asks is that we deliver Orange unto
him--Orange, the arch-traitor--and that in future we prove
conclusively to Europe and to Maximilian that when we
punish a Flemish city we do so with unquestioned justice."\par

He paused, and his prominent, heavy-lidded eyes
wandered somewhat contemptuously on the sullen faces around
the board.\par

"Proofs, seigniors," he said with a light shrug of the
shoulders, "proofs are not difficult to obtain.  All you
want is a good friend inside a city to keep you well
informed.  The paid spy is not sufficient--oft-times he is
clumsy and himself an object of suspicion.  Orange has
been in Ghent, seigniors; he will go again!  He has
disbanded his army, but at his call another will spring up
... in Ghent mayhap ... where he has so many
friends ... where money is plentiful and rebellion
rife....  We must strike at Ghent before she
becomes an open menace..."\par

"You'll never strike at Orange," broke in Councillor
Arsens obstinately, "while that creature Leatherface is at
large."\par

"He is said to hail from Ghent," added Viglius with
conviction.\par

"Then by the Mass, seigniors," interposed Alva fiercely,
"the matter is even more simple than I had supposed, and
all this talk and these murmurings savour of treason,
meseems.  Are you fools and dolts to imagine that when
His Majesty's orders were known to me, I did not at once
set to work to fulfil them?  We want to strike at Ghent,
seigniors, and want proofs of her rebellion--His Majesty
wants those proofs and he wants the death of Orange.  We
all desire to raze Ghent to the ground!  Then will you
give me your close attention, and I will e'en tell you my
plans for attaining all these objects and earning the
approval of our gracious King and recognition from the rest
of Europe."\par

"Then should not don Ramon de Linea retire?" queried
President Viglius, "surely His Highness's decision can only
be disclosed to members of his council."\par

"Let don Ramon stay," interposed de Vargas with
unanswerable authority, even as the young man was preparing
to take his leave.  "The matter is one that in a measure
will concern him, seeing that it involves the destinies of the
city of Ghent and that His Highness is pleased to give
him the command of our troops stationed in that city."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Don Ramon de Linea glanced up at de Vargas with a
look of agreeable surprise.  The command of the troops
in Ghent!  Of a truth this was news to him, and happy
news indeed.  Rumour was current that the Duke of
Alva--Lieutenant-Governor of the Low Countries and
Captain-General of the forces--was about to visit Ghent, and the
captain in command there would thus be in a position of
doing useful work, mayhap of rendering valuable services,
and in any case, of being well before the eyes of the
Captain-General.\par

All the young man's elegant, languid manner had come
back to him.  He had had a fright, but nothing more,
and commendation--in the shape of this important
promotion--had allayed all his fears: his being allowed to be
present at a deliberation of the Grand Council was also a
signal mark of favour granted to him, no doubt in
recognition of his zeal and loyalty whilst destroying the noble
city of Mechlin for the glory of King Philip of Spain.\par

He now resumed his seat at the board, selecting with
becoming modesty a place at the bottom of the table and
feeling not the least disconcerted by the wrathful, envious
looks which President Viglius and one or two other
Netherlanders directed against him.\par

"The plan, seigniors, which I have in my mind,"
resumed the Duke after a slight pause, "could never have
come to maturity but for the loyal co-operation of señor
Juan de Vargas and of his equally loyal daughter.  Let
me explain," he continued, seeing the look of astonishment
which spread over most of the faces around the board.
"It is necessary, in view of all that we said just now, that
I should have a means--a tool I might say--for the
working out of a project which has both the death of Orange
and the punishment of Ghent for its aim.  I have told
you that I am morally certain that Orange is operating in
Ghent at the present moment.  Is it likely that he would
leave such a storehouse of wealth and rebellion
untouched?--heresy is rampant in Ghent and treachery goes hand in
hand with it.  Our spies unfortunately have been unable to
obtain very reliable information: the inhabitants are astute
and wary--they hatch their plots with devilish cunning
and secrecy.  Obviously, therefore, what we want is a loyal
worker, an efficient and devoted servant of the King in
the very heart of the civic life of the town: if only we
can get to know what goes on in the intimate family circles
of those townsfolk, I feel sure that we shall get all the
proofs that the King desires of the treachery of Ghent."\par

He paused a moment in order to draw breath; absolute
silence--the silence of tense expectation--hung around the
council-board.  The Netherlanders hung obsequiously on
the tyrant's lips, del Rio leaned back in his chair--seemingly
indifferent--and de Vargas was closely watching don
Ramon de Linea; the young man was trying to appear
calmly interested, but the restless look in his eyes and a
slight tremor of his hand betrayed inward agitation.\par

"Some of you reverend seigniors," continued the Duke
of Alva after awhile, in powerful, compelling tones, "will
perhaps have guessed by now, what connection there is
in my mind between that vast project which I have just
put before you and the daughter of my loyal coadjutor
don Juan de Vargas.  I have arranged that she shall marry
a man of influence and position in Ghent, so that she
can not only keep me informed of all the intrigues which
are brewing in that city against the Government of our
gracious King, but also become the means whereby we
can lure Orange to his doom, capture that mysterious
Leatherface, and then deliver Ghent over to don Ramon's
soldiery."\par

He struck the table repeatedly with his fist as he spoke:
there was no doubting the power of the man to
accomplish what he wanted, as well as the cruelty and
vindictiveness wherewith he would pursue anyone who dared to
attempt to thwart him in his projects.  No one thought
of interrupting him.  Don Ramon kept his agitation under
control as best he could, for he felt that de Vargas's eyes
still watched him closely.\par

"A very admirable idea," now murmured Viglius obsequiously.\par

As usual on these occasions, it was obvious that he and
the other Netherlanders were mere figureheads at the
council-board.  Alva was directing, planning, commanding,
de Vargas had been the confidant, and del Rio would always
be the ready tool when needed: but Viglius, de Berlaymont,
Hessels, and the others, were mere servile listeners,
ready to give the approbation which was expected of them
and withholding every word of criticism.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"And doth donna Lenora de Vargas enter into all these
far-reaching schemes?" now asked don Ramon coldly.
"Meseems, they are above a woman's comprehension."\par

De Vargas' persistent glance was irritating his nerves;
he threw a challenging look--wholly defiant--across the
table at the older man.\par

"My daughter, Messire," said the latter loftily, "is
above all a true Spaniard.  She has been brought up to
obey and not to discuss.  She is old enough now to forget
all past youthful follies," he added, answering don Ramon's
defiant glance with one that conveyed a threat.  "Her
devotion to her Church, her King and her country, and her
hatred of Orange and all rebels will influence her actions
in the way the Lieutenant-Governor desires."\par

Don Ramon was silent.  He had understood the threat
which de Vargas' glance had expressed, and he knew
what the other meant when he spoke of "past youthful
follies"--it meant the breaking off of a pleasing romance,
a farewell to many an ambitious dream.  Don Ramon
suppressed a sigh of anger and of disappointment: donna
Lenora de Vargas was beautiful and wealthy, but it were
not wise to let her father see how hard he--Ramon--had
been hit.  He took no further part in the discussion, and
after awhile he succeeded in appearing wholly indifferent
to its sentimental side; but he listened attentively to all
that was said, and when he met de Vargas' glance, which
now and then was fixed mockingly upon him, he answered
it with a careless shrug of the shoulders.\par

"And," now rejoined Pierre Arsens, who was president
of Artois and a patrician of Hainault, "may we ask if His
Highness has already chosen the happy man who is to
become the husband of such a pattern of womanhood?"\par

"My choice has naturally fallen on the son of Mynheer
Charles van Rycke, the High-Bailiff of Ghent," replied
Alva curtly.\par

"A family of traitors if ever there was one," growled
Alberic del Rio savagely.  "I know them.  The father is
all right, so is the younger son Mark--younger, I believe,
by only a couple of hours--a wastrel and something of a
drunkard, so I understand; but the mother and the other
son are impudent adherents of Orange: they have more
than once drawn the attention of the Chief Inquisitor on
themselves, and if I had my way with such cattle, I
would have had the men hanged and the woman burned
long before this."\par

"Van Rycke," said Alva coldly, "is High-Bailiff of Ghent.
He is a good Catholic and so is his wife: he is a man of
great consideration in the city and his sons are popular.
It has not been thought expedient to interfere with them
up to now.  But--bearing my schemes in mind--I have
caused the man to be severely warned once or twice.  These
warnings have reduced him to a state of panic, and lately
when my scheme had matured I told him that my desire was
that one of his sons should wed don Juan de Vargas'
daughter.  He had no thought of refusal.  In fact his
acceptance was positively abject."\par

"And on what grounds was the marriage suggested to
him?" questioned President Arsens.\par

"Grounds, Messire?" retorted the Duke; "we give no
grounds or reasons for our commands to our Flemish
subjects.  We give an order and they obey.  I told Mynheer
van Rycke that I desired the marriage and that was
enough."\par

"Then," interposed President Viglius with an attempt
at jocularity, "we shall soon be able to congratulate two
young people on a happy event!"\par

"You will be able to do that to-morrow, Messire," quoth
the Duke.  "Señor de Vargas goes to Ghent for the
purpose of affiancing the two young people together; the
marriage ceremony will take place within the week.  His
Majesty hath approved of my scheme: he desires that
we should expedite the marriage.  Señor de Vargas is
willing, Messire van Rycke would not think of objecting,
donna Lenora is heart free.  Why should we delay?"\par

"Why, indeed?" murmured don Ramon under his breath.\par

"Donna Lenora," resumed Alva sententiously, "is
indeed lucky in that--unlike most women--she will be able
to work personally for the glory of her King and country.
If through her instrumentality we can bring Orange to
the block and Ghent to her knees, there is no favour which
her father could not ask of us."\par

As he said this, he turned to de Vargas and stretched
out his hand to him.  De Vargas took the hand respectfully
and bent over it in dutiful obedience.\par

"Now, seigniors," resumed the Duke more gaily, and
once more addressing the full council-board, "you know
the full reason of my projected journey to Ghent.  I go
ostensibly in order to inaugurate the statue of our
Sovereign King erected by my orders in the market place, but
also in order to ascertain how our loyal worker will have
progressed in the time.  Donna Lenora de Vargas will have
been the wife of Messire van Rycke for over a sennight
by then: she will--and I mistake not--have much to tell
us.  In the meanwhile señor de Vargas will take up his
residence in the city as {\itshape{vicarius criminalis}}: he will begin
his functions to-morrow by presiding over the engagement
of his daughter to the son of the High-Bailiff: there will
be much public rejoicing and many entertainments during
the week and on the day of the wedding ceremony: to these,
seigniors, ye are graciously bidden.  I pray you go and
mingle as far as you can with that crowd of uncouth and
vulgar burghers whose treachery seems to pierce even
through their ill-fitting doublets.  I pray you also to keep
your eyes and ears open ... an my conjectures are
correct, much goes on in Ghent of which the Holy
Inquisition should have cognisance.  We are out on a special
campaign against cunning traitors, and Ghent is our first
objective.  When we turn our soldiery loose into the city,
yours, seigniors, will be the first spoils....  Ghent
is rich in treasure and money ... those first spoils
will be worth the winning.  Until that happy day, I bid
you {\itshape{au revoir}}, gentle Sirs, and let your toast be at every
banquet: 'To the destruction of Ghent, and to the death
of Orange!'"\par

After which long peroration the Lieutenant-Governor
intimated with a casual wave of his be-ringed hand that the
sitting of the Grand Council was at an end.  The illustrious
councillors rose with alacrity: they were now in rare good
humour.  The parting speech of His Highness tickled their
cupidity.  The first spoils at the sacking of Ghent should
mean a fortune for every member of the board.  General
de Noircarmes had made a huge one at the sacking of Mons,
and even younger officers like don Ramon de Linea had
vastly enriched themselves when Mechlin was given over
to the soldiers.\par

One by one now the grave seigniors withdrew, having
taken respectful leave of His Highness.  To the salute
of the Netherlanders--of Viglius and Hessels, of
Berlaymont and the others, the Duke responded with a curt
bow--to de Vargas and del Rio, and also to don Ramon,
he nodded with easy familiarity.  However obsequious the
Netherlanders might be--however proven their zeal, their
Spanish masters never allowed them to forget that there
was a world of social distinction between a grandee of
Spain and the uncouth burghers and even patricians of this
semi-civilised land.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Having made his last obeisance before the Duke of Alva
and taken leave of the grave seigniors of the Grand
Council, don Ramon de Linea bowed himself out of the
room with all the ceremony which Spanish etiquette
prescribed.  As he did so he noticed that at a significant
sign from Alva, de Vargas and Alberic del Rio remained
behind in the council-chamber, even while all the
Netherlanders were being dismissed.  He watched these latter
gentlemen as one by one they filed quickly out of the
house--loath even to exchange a few friendly words with one
another on the doorstep in this place where every wall had
ears and every nook and cranny concealed a spy.  He
watched them with an air of supercilious contempt, oblivious
of the fact that he himself had been not a little scared by
the black looks cast on him by the all-powerful tyrant and
merciless autocrat.\par

The scare had been unpleasant, but it was all over now:
Fate--that ever fickle jade--seemed inclined to smile on
him.  The penniless scion of a noble race, he seemed at
last on the high road to fortune--the command of the
troops in Ghent was an unexpected gift of the goddess,
whilst the sacking and looting of Mechlin had amply filled
his pockets.\par

But it was a pity about donna Lenora!\par

Don Ramon paused in the vast panelled hall and
instinctively his eyes wandered to the mirror, framed in
rich Flemish carved wood, which hung upon the wall.  By
our Lady! he had well-nigh lost his self-control just now
under de Vargas' mocking gaze, and also that air of
high-breeding and sang-froid which became him so well:
the thought of donna Lenora even in connection with her
approaching marriage caused him to readjust the set of
his doublet and the stiff folds of his ruffle, and his
well-shaped hand wandered lovingly up to his silky moustache.\par

A sound immediately behind him caused him to start
and to turn.  An elderly woman wrapped in a dark shawl
and wearing a black veil right over her face and head
was standing close to his elbow.\par

"Inez?" he exclaimed, "what is it?"\par

"Hist!  I beg of you, señor," whispered the woman, "I
am well-nigh dead with terror at thought that I might
be seen.  The señorita knew that you would be here to-day:
she saw you from the gallery above, and sent me down
to ask you to come to her at once."\par

"The señorita?" broke in don Ramon impatiently, and
with a puzzled frown, "is she here?"\par

"Señor de Vargas won't let her out of his sight now.
When he hath audience of the Lieutenant-Governor or
business with the council he makes the señorita come with
him.  The Duke of Alva hath given her a room in this
house, where she can sit while her father is at the Council."\par

"But Heavens above, why all this mystery?"\par

"The señorita will tell your Graciousness," said the
woman, "I beg of you to come at once.  If I stay longer
down here I shall die of fright."\par

And like a scared hen, old Inez trotted across the hall,
without waiting to see if don Ramon followed her.  The
young man seemed to hesitate for a moment: the call
was a peremptory one, coming as it did from a beautiful
woman whom he loved: at the same time all that he had
heard in the council-chamber was a warning to him to
keep out of de Vargas' way; the latter--if Inez spoke the
truth--was keeping his daughter almost a prisoner, and
it was never good at any time to run counter to señor
de Vargas.\par

The house was very still.  The Netherlanders had all
gone: two serving men appeared to be asleep in the porch,
otherwise there came no sign of life from any part of the
building: the heavy oak doors which gave on the
anteroom of the council-chamber effectually deadened every
sound which might have come from there.\par

Don Ramon smiled to himself and shrugged his
shoulders.  After all he was a fool to be so easily scared:
a beautiful woman beckoned, and he had not been
forbidden to see her--so--after that one brief moment of
hesitation he turned to follow Inez up the stairs.\par

The woman led the way round the gallery, then up
another flight of stairs and along a narrow corridor, till
she came to a low door, beside which she stopped.\par

"Go in, I pray you, señor," she said, "the señorita
expects you."\par

The young man walked unannounced into the small room
beyond.\par

There came a little cry of happy surprise out of the
recess of a wide dormer window, and the next moment
don Ramon held Lenora de Vargas in his arms.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VIII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Lenora with the golden hair and the dark velvety eyes!
Thus do the chroniclers of the time speak of her (notably
the Sieur de Vaernewyck who knew her intimately), thus
too did Velasquez paint her, a few years after these notable
events--all in white, for she seldom wore coloured gowns--very
stately, with the small head slightly thrown back,
the fringe of dark lashes veiling the lustre of her luminous
eyes.\par

But just at this moment there was no stateliness about
donna Lenora: she clung to don Ramon, just like a
loving child that has been rather scared and knows where
to find protection; and he accepted her caress with an easy,
somewhat supercilious air of condescension--the child was
so pretty and so very much in love!  He patted her hair
with gentle, soothing gesture and thanked kind Fate for
this pleasing gift of a beautiful woman's love.\par

"I did not know that you were in Brussels," he said
after awhile, and when he had led her to a seat in the
window, and sat down beside her.  "All this while I thought
you still in Segovia."\par

His glance was searching hers and his vanity was pleasantly
stirred by the fact that she was pale and thin, and
that those wonderful, luminous eyes of hers looked as if
they had shed many tears of late.\par

"Ramon," she whispered, "you know?"\par

"The Duke of Alva," he replied dryly, "gave me
official information."\par

Then seeing that she remained silent and dejected he
added peremptorily: "Lenora! how long is it since you
have known of this proposed marriage?"\par

"Only three days," she replied tonelessly.  "My father
sent for me about a month ago.  The Duchess of Medina
Coeli was coming over to the Netherlands on a visit to
her lord, and I was told that I must accompany her.  We
started from Laredo in the {\itshape{Esperansa}} on the 10th of last
month and we landed at Flushing a week ago.  Oh! at
first I was so happy to come ... it is nine months
and more since you left Spain and my heart was aching
for a sight of you."\par

"Then ... when did you first hear?"\par

"Three days since, when we arrived in Brussels.  The
Duchess herself took me to my father's house, and then
he told me ... that he had bade me come because
the Lieutenant-Governor had arranged a marriage for me
... with a Netherlander."\par

Don Ramon muttered an angry oath.\par

"Did he--your father I mean--never hint at it before?"
he asked.\par

"Never.  A month ago he still spoke of you in his
letters to me.  Had you no suspicions, Ramon?"\par

"None," he replied.\par

"It was he of course who obtained for you that
command under don Frederic, which took you out of Spain."\par

"It was a fine position and I accepted it gladly
... and unsuspectingly."\par

"It must have been the beginning: he wanted you out
of my way already then, though he went on pretending
all this while that he favoured your attentions to me.  He
thought that I would soon forget you.  How little he
knows me!  And now he has forbidden me to think of you
again.  Since I am in Brussels he hardly lets me out of
his sight.  He only leaves the house in order to attend on
the Duke, and when he does, he brings me here with him.
Inez and I are sent up to this room and I am virtually
a prisoner."\par

"It all seems like an ugly dream, Lenora," he murmured
sullenly.\par

"Aye! an ugly dream," she sighed.  "Ofttimes, since
my father told me this awful thing, I have thought that
it could not be true.  God could not allow anything so
monstrous and so wicked.  I thought that I must be
dreaming and must presently wake up and find myself in the
dear old convent at Segovia with your farewell letter to
me under my pillow."\par

She was gazing straight out before her--not at him, for
she felt that if she looked on him, all her fortitude would
give way and she would cry like a child.  This she would
not do, for her woman's instinct had already told her that
all the courage in this terrible emergency must come from her.\par

He sat there, moody and taciturn, all the while that she
longed for him to take her in his arms and to swear to her
that never would he give her up, never would he allow
reasons of State to come between him and his love.\par

"There are political reasons it seems," she continued,
and the utter wretchedness and hopelessness with which she
spoke were a pathetic contrast to his own mere sullen
resentment.  "My father has not condescended to say much.
He sent for me and I came.  As soon as I arrived in
Brussels he told me that I must no longer think of you:
that childish folly, he said, must now come to an end.  Then
he advised me that the Lieutenant-Governor had arranged
a marriage for me with the son of Messire van Rycke,
High-Bailiff of Ghent ... that we are to be affianced
to-morrow and married within the week.  I cried--I
implored--I knelt to my father and begged him not to break
my heart, my life....  I told him that to part me
from you was to condemn me to worse than death...."\par

"Well? and--?" he queried.\par

"You know my father, Ramon," she said with a slight
shudder, "almost as well as I do.  Do you believe that any
tears would move him?"\par

He made no reply.  Indeed, what could he say?  He did
know Juan de Vargas, knew that such a man would sacrifice
without pity or remorse everything that stood in the
way of his schemes or of his ambition.\par

"I was not even told that you would be in Brussels
to-day--Inez only heard of it through the Duke of Alva's
serving man--then she and I watched for you, because I
felt that I must at least be the first to tell you the
awful--awful news!  Oh!" she exclaimed with sudden vehemence,
"the misery of it all! ... Ramon, cannot you think
of something?--cannot you think?  Are we going to be
parted like this? as if our love had never been, as if our
love were not sweet and sacred and holy, the blessing of
God which no man should have the power to take away
from us!"\par

She was on the point of breaking down, and don Ramon
with one ear alert to every sound outside had much ado
to soothe and calm her.  This he tried to do, for selfish
as he was, he loved this beautiful woman with that
passionate if shallow ardour which is characteristic in men
of his temperament.\par

"Lenora," he said after awhile, "it is impossible for
me to say anything for the moment.  Fate and your
father's cruelty have dealt me a blow which has
half-stunned me.  As you say, I must think--I am not going to
give up hope quite as readily as your father seems to think.
By our Lady!  I am not just an old glove that can so
lightly be cast aside.  I must think ... I must
devise....  But in the meanwhile...."\par

He paused and something of that same look of fear
came into his eyes which had been there when in the
Council Chamber he had dreaded the Duke of Alva'a
censure.\par

"In the meanwhile, my sweet," he added hastily, "you
must pretend to obey.  You cannot openly defy your
father! ... nor yet the Duke of Alva.  You know them
both!  They are men who know neither pity nor mercy!
Your father would punish you if you disobeyed him
... he has the means of compelling you to obey.
But the Duke's wrath would fall with deathly violence upon
me.  You know as well as I do that he would sacrifice me
ruthlessly if he felt that I was likely to interfere with any
of his projects: and your marriage with the Netherlander
is part of one of his vast schemes."\par

The look of terror became more marked upon his face,
his dark skin had become almost livid in hue: and Lenora
clung to him, trembling, for she knew that everything he
said was true.  They were like two birds caught in the
net of a remorseless fowler: to struggle for freedom
were worse than useless.  De Vargas was a man who had
attained supreme power beside the most absolute tyrant
the world had ever known.  Every human being around
him--even his only child--was a mere pawn in his hands
for the great political game in which the Duke of Alva
was the chief player--a mere tool for the fashioning of
that monstrous chain which was destined to bind the Low
Countries to the chariot-wheels of Spain.  A useless tool,
a superfluous pawn he would throw away without a pang
of remorse: this don Ramon knew and so did Lenora--but
in Ramon that knowledge reigned supreme and went
hand in hand with terror, whilst in the young girl there
was all the desire to defy that knowledge and to make
a supreme fight for love and happiness.\par

"I must not stay any longer now, my sweet," he said
after awhile, "if your father has so absolutely forbidden
you to see me, then I have tarried here too long already."\par

He rose and gently disengaged himself from the tender
hands which clung so pathetically to him.\par

"I can't let you go, Ramon," she implored, "it seems
as if you were going right out of my life--and that my
life would go with you if you went."\par

"Sweetheart," he said a little impatiently, "it is dangerous
for me to stay a moment longer.  Try and be brave--I'll
not say farewell--We'll meet again...."\par

"How?"\par

"Let Inez be at the corner of the Broodhuis this evening.
I'll give her a letter for you.  In the meanwhile I shall
have seen your father.  Who knows his decision may not
be irrevocable--after all you are the one being in the
world he has to love and to care for; he cannot wilfully
break your heart and destroy your happiness."\par

She shook her head dejectedly.  But the next moment
she looked up trying to seem hopeful.  She believed that
he suffered just as acutely as she did, and, womanlike,
did not want to add to his sorrow by letting him guess
too much of her own.  She contrived to keep back her
tears; she had shed so many of late that their well-spring
had mayhap run dry: he folded her in his arms, for she
was exquisitely beautiful and he really loved her.
Marriage with her would have been both blissful and
advantageous, and his pride was sorely wounded at the casual
treatment meted out to him by de Vargas: at the same
time the thought of defiance never once entered his
head--for defiance could only end in death, and don Ramon
felt quite sure that even if he lost his beautiful fiancée,
life still held many compensations for him in the future.\par

Therefore he was able to part from Lenora with a light
heart, whilst hers was overweighted with sorrow.  He
kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips, and murmured protestations
of deathless love which only enhanced her grief and
enflamed all that selfless ardour of which her passionate
nature was capable.  Never had she loved don Ramon
de Linea as she loved him at this hour of parting--never
perhaps would she love as fondly again.\par

And he with a last, tender kiss, airily bade her to be
brave and trustful, and finally waved her a cheery farewell.\par

\label{the-subject-race}%
\hypertarget{the-subject-race}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER II}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE SUBJECT RACE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"I cannot do it, mother, I cannot!  The very shame of
it would kill me!"\par

Laurence van Rycke sat on a low chair in front of
the fire, his elbow propped on his knee, his chin buried in
his hand.  His mother gave a little shiver, and drew her
woollen shawl closer round her shoulders.\par

"You cannot go against your father's will," she said
tonelessly, like one who has even lost the power to suffer
acutely.  "God alone knows what would become of us all
if you did."\par

"He can only kill me," retorted Laurence, with fierce,
passionate resentment.\par

"And how should I survive if he did?"\par

"Would you not rather see me dead, mother dear, than
wedded to a woman whose every thought, every aspiration
must tend toward the further destruction of our country--she
the daughter of the most hideous tyrant that has ever
defamed this earth--more hideous even than that execrable
Alva himself..."\par

He paused abruptly in the midst of this passionate
outburst, for the old house--which had been so solemn and
silent awhile ago, suddenly echoed from end to end with
loud and hilarious sounds, laughter and shouts, heavy
footsteps, jingle of spurs and snatches of song, immediately
followed by one or two piteous cries uttered in a woman's
piercing voice.  Laurence van Rycke jumped to his feet.\par

"What was that?" he cried, and made a dash for the
door.  His mother's imploring cry called him back.\par

"No, no, Laurence! don't go!" she begged.  "It is only
the soldiers!  They tease Jeanne, and she gets very cross!
... We have six men and a sergeant quartered here
now, besides the commandant..."\par

"Eight Spanish soldiers in the house of the High-Bailiff
of Ghent!" exclaimed Laurence, and a prolonged laugh
of intense bitterness came from his overburdened heart.
"Oh God!" he added, as he stretched out his arms with a
gesture of miserable longing and impotence, "to endure
all this outrage and all this infamy!--to know as we do,
what has happened in Mons and Mechlin and to be powerless
to do anything--anything against such hideous, appalling,
detestable tyranny--to feel every wrong and every
injustice against the country one loves, against one's own
kith and kin, eating like the plague into one's very bones and
to remain powerless, inert, an insentient log in the face of
it all.  And all the while to be fawning--always fawning
and cringing, kissing the master's hand that wields the
flail....  Ugh!  And now this new tyranny, this
abominable marriage....  Ye Heavens above me! but
mine own cowardice in accepting it would fill me with
unspeakable loathing!"\par

"Laurence, for pity's sake!" implored the mother.\par

At her call he ran to her and knelt at her feet: then
burying his head in his hands he sobbed like a child.\par

"I cannot do it, mother!" he reiterated piteously, "I
cannot do it.  I would far rather die!"\par

With gentle, mechanical touch she stroked his unruly
fair hair, and heavy tears rolled down her wan cheeks
upon her thin, white hands.\par

"Just think of it, mother dear," resumed Laurence a
little more calmly after a while, "would it not be
introducing a spy into our very home? ... and just now
... at the time when we all have so much at stake
... the Prince..."\par

"Hush, Laurence!" implored the mother; and this time
she placed an authoritative hand upon his arm and gave
it a warning pressure; but her wan cheeks had become a
shade paler than before, and the look of terror became
more marked in her sunken eyes.\par

"Even these walls have ears these days," she added
feebly.\par

"There is no danger here, mother darling ... nobody
can hear," he said reassuringly.  But nevertheless he,
too, cast a quick look of terror into the remote corners of
the room and dropped his voice to a whisper when he
spoke again.\par

"Juan de Vargas' daughter," he said with passionate
earnestness, "what hath she in common with us?  She
hates every Netherlander; she despises us all, as every
Spaniard does: she would wish to see our beautiful country
devastated, our cities destroyed, our liberties and ancient
privileges wrested from us, and every one of us made
into an abject vassal of her beloved Spain.  Every moment
of my life I should feel that she was watching me, spying
on me, making plans for the undoing of our cause, and
betraying our secrets to her abominable father.  Mother
dear, such a life would be hell upon earth.  I could not do
it.  I would far rather die."\par

"But what can you do, Laurence?" asked Clémence van
Rycke, with a sigh of infinite misery.\par

Laurence rose and dried his tears.  He felt that they
had been unmanly, and was half ashamed of them.
Fortunately it was only his mother who had seen them, and
... how well she understood!\par

"I must think it all over, mother dear," he said calmly.
"It is early yet.  Father will not want me to be at the
Town-house before eight o'clock.  Oh! how could he ever
have been so mean, so obsequious as to agree to this selling
of his son in such a shameful market."\par

"How could he help it?" retorted the mother with a
fretful little sigh.  "The Duke of Alva commanded in
the name of the King, and threatened us all with the
Inquisition if we disobeyed.  You know what that means,"
she added, whilst that pitiable look of horror and fear
once more crept into her eyes.\par

"Sometimes I think," said Laurence sombrely--he was
standing in front of the fire and staring into the crackling
logs with a deep frown right across his brow--"sometimes
I think that the worst tortures which those devils could
inflict on us would be more endurable than this life of
constant misery and humiliation."\par

The mother made no reply.  Her wan cheeks had
become the colour of ashes, her thin hands which were
resting in her lap were seized with a nervous tremour.  From
below came still the sound of loud laughter intermixed now
with a bibulous song.  A smothered cry of rage escaped
Laurence's lips: it seemed as if he could not stay still, as
if he must run and stop this insult in his mother's house,
silence those brawling soldiers, force their own obscene
songs down their throats, regardless of the terrible
reprisals which might ensue.  Only his mother's thin,
trembling hand upon his arm forced him to remain, and to
swallow his resentment as best he could.\par

"It is no use, Laurence," she murmured, "and I would
be the first to suffer."\par

This argument had the effect of forcing Laurence van
Rycke to control his raging temper.  Common sense came
momentarily to the rescue and told him that his mother
was right.  He started pacing up and down the narrow
room with a view to calming his nerves.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"Have you seen Mark this morning?" asked Clémence
van Rycke suddenly.\par

"No," he replied, "have you?"\par

"Only for a moment."\par

"What had he to say?"\par

"Oh! you know Mark's way," she replied evasively.
"It seems that he caught sight of donna Lenora de Vargas
when she passed through the Waalpoort yesterday.  He
made a flippant joke or two about your good luck and
the girl's beauty."\par

Laurence suppressed an angry oath.\par

"Don't blame Mark," interposed Clémence van Rycke
gently, "he is as God made him--shallow, careless..."\par

"Not careless where his own pleasures are concerned,"
said Laurence, with a laugh of bitter contempt.  "Last
night at the 'Three Weavers' a lot of Spanish officers
held carouse.  Mark was with them till far into the
night.  There was heavy drinking and high play, and
Mark..."\par

"I know, I know," broke in the mother fretfully, "do
not let us speak of Mark.  He is his father's son
... and you are mine," she added, as with a wistful little
gesture she stretched out her arms to the son whom she
loved.  Once more he was at her feet kissing her hands.\par

"Do not fret, mother dear," he said, "I'll think things
out quietly, and then do what I think is right."\par

"You'll do nothing rash, Laurence," she pleaded, "nothing
without consulting me?"\par

"I must consult my conscience first, dear," he said firmly,
"and then I must speak with the Prince....
Yes! yes!  I know," he added somewhat impatiently, as once
again he felt that warning pressure on his arm.  "Next
to God my every thought is for him; nor did he think
of himself when he refused to acknowledge the autocracy
of Alva.  Our time is at hand, mother dear, I feel it in
my bones.  The last response has been splendid: we have
promises of close on two thousand ducats already, and
two hundred men are ready to take up arms in the city
at any moment.  Yes! yes!  I know! and I am careful--I
am as wary as the fox!  But how can I at such a moment
think of matrimony?  How can I think of bending the
knee to such abominable tyranny?  I bend the knee only to
the Prince of Orange, and by him I swear that I will not
wed the daughter of Juan de Vargas!  I will not bring to
this hearth and to my home one of that gang of execrable
tyrants who have ravaged our country and crushed the
spirit of our people.  I have work to do for Orange and
for my country.  I will not be hindered by bonds which
are abhorrent to me."\par

He gave his mother a final kiss and then hurried out
of the room.  She would have detained him if she could,
for she was terrified of what he might do; but she called
after him in vain, and when presently she went to his room
to look for him, he was not there.  But on his desk there
was a letter addressed to his father; Clémence van Rycke
took it up: it was not sealed, only rolled, and tied with
ribbon: this she undid and read the letter.  There were
only a few words, and when the unfortunate woman had
grasped their full meaning she uttered a moan of pain
and sank half-fainting on her knees.  Here Jeanne found
her half an hour later, sobbing and praying.  The faithful
creature comforted her mistress as best she could, then
she half carried, half led her back to her room.  The letter
written to his father by Laurence van Rycke contained the
following brief communication:\par

"Find fomeone elfe, My Father, to help you lick our
Spanifh tyrants' boots.  I cannot do it.  I refufe to wed
the Daughter of that Bloodhound de Vargas, but as I cannot
live under Your roof and difobey You, I will not return
until You bid Me come."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
This had occurred early this morning; it was now late
in the afternoon, and Laurence had not returned.  The
levie at the Town Hall was timed for eight o'clock, and
the High-Bailiff had just come home in order to don his
robes for the solemn occasion.\par

Clémence van Rycke had made an excuse not to see him
yet: like all weak, indecisive natures she was hoping
against hope that something would occur even now to
break Laurence's obstinacy and induce him to bow to
that will against which it was so useless to rebel.\par

But the minutes sped on, and Laurence did not return,
and from a room close by came the sound of Messire van
Rycke's heavy footstep and his gruff voice giving orders
to the serving man who was helping him with his clothes.
Another hour, or perhaps two at most, and she would
have to tell her husband what had happened--and the
awful catastrophe would have to be faced.  As she sat
in the high-backed chair, Clémence van Rycke felt as
if an icy chill had crept into her bones.\par

"Put another log on the fire, Jeanne," she said, "this
autumn weather hath chilled me to the marrow."\par

Jeanne, capable, buxom and busy, did as she was bid.
She did more.  She ran nimbly out of the room and in a
trice had returned with Madame's chaufferette--well filled
with glowing charcoal--and had put it to her mistress'
feet: then she lit the candles in the tall candelabra which
stood on a heavy sideboard at the further end of the room,
and drew the heavy curtains across the window.  The
room certainly looked more cosy now: Madame only gave
one slight, final shiver, and drew her shawl closer round
her shoulders.\par

"Is Messire Mark dressed yet, Jeanne?" she asked wistfully.\par

"Messire came in about ten minutes ago," replied the
woman.\par

"Let him know that I wish to speak with him as soon
as he can come to me.'\par

"Yes, Madame."\par

"You have seen to the soldiers' supper?"\par

"They have had one supper, Madame.  They are on
duty at the Town Hall till eleven o'clock; then they are
coming home for a second supper."\par

"Then will don Ramon de Linea sup with us, think you?"\par

"He didn't say."\par

"In any case lay his place ready in case he wants to sup.
He'll be on duty quite late too, and it will anger him if
his supper is not to his taste."\par

"Whatever I do will never be to the commandant's taste:
he didn't like his room and he didn't like the dinner I had
cooked for him.  When he heard in whose house he was
he swore and blasphemed, as I never heard any one
blaspheme before.  I worked my fingers to the bone last
night and this morning to mend his linen and starch his
ruff, but even then he was not satisfied."\par

There was a tone of bitter wrath in Jeanne's voice as
she spoke.  Madame drew a fretful little sigh, but she
made no comment.  What was the use?  The Spanish
soldiers and officers quartered in the houses of Flemish
burghers had an unpleasant way of enforcing their wishes
with regard to food and drink which it was not wise to
combat these days.  So Clémence van Rycke dismissed
Jeanne, and remained brooding alone, staring into the fire,
repeating in her mind all that Laurence had said, looking
into the future with that same shiver of horror which was
habitual to her, and into all the awful possibilities which
must inevitably follow Laurence's hot-headed act of rebellion.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
And as she sat there huddled up in the high-backed
chair it would be difficult to realise that Clémence van
Rycke was still on the right side of fifty.\par

She had married when she had only just emerged out
of childhood, and had been in her day one of the brightest,
prettiest, gayest of all the maidens in the city of Ghent.
But now her eyes had lost their sparkle, and her mouth its
smile.  Her shoulders were bent as if under a perpetual
load of care and anxiety, and in her once so comely face
there was a settled look of anxiety and of fear.  Even now,
when a firm footstep resounded along the tiled corridor,
she lost nothing of that attitude of dejection which seemed
to have become habitual to her.\par

In answer to a timid knock at the door, she called a
fretful "Enter!" but she did not turn her head, as
Mark--her younger son--came close up to her chair.  He
stooped to kiss the smooth white forehead which was not
even lifted for his caress.\par

"Any news?" were the first words which Clémence van
Rycke uttered, and this time she looked up more eagerly
and a swift glimmer of hope shot through her tear-dimmed
eyes.\par

"Nothing definite," replied Mark van Rycke.  "He had
food and drink at the hostelry of St. John just before
midday, and at the tavern of 'The Silver Bell' later in the
afternoon.  Apparently he has not left the city as no
one saw him pass through any of the gates--but if
Laurence does not mean to be found, mother dear," he
added with a light shrug of the shoulders, "I might as
well look for a needle in a haystack as to seek him in the
streets of Ghent."\par

The mother sighed dejectedly, and Mark threw himself
into a chair and stretched his long legs out to the blaze:
he felt his mother's eyes scanning his face and gradually
a faint smile, half ironical, half impatient, played round
the corners of his mouth.\par

To a superficial observer there was a great likeness
between the two brothers, although Mark was the taller and
more robust of the two.  Most close observers would,
however, assert that Laurence was the better-looking; Mark
had not the same unruly fair hair, nor look of boyish
enthusiasm; his face was more dour and furrowed, despite
the merry twinkle which now and then lit up his grey
eyes, and there were lines around his brow and mouth which
in an older man would have suggested the cares and
anxieties of an arduous life, but which to the mother's
searching gaze at this moment only seemed to indicate
traces of dissipation, of nights spent in taverns, and days
frittered away in the pursuit of pleasure.\par

Clémence van Rycke sighed as she read these signs and
a bitter word of reproach hovered on her lips; but this
she checked and merely sighed--sighing and weeping were
so habitual to her, poor soul!\par

"Have you seen your father?" she asked after a while.\par

"Not yet," he replied.\par

"You will have to tell him, Mark.  I couldn't.  I haven't
the courage.  He has always loved you better than
Laurence or me--the blow would come best from you."\par

"Have you told him nothing, then?"\par

"Nothing."\par

"Good God!" he exclaimed, "and he has to meet señor
de Vargas within the next two hours!"\par

"Oh!  I hadn't the courage to tell him, Mark!" she
moaned piteously, "I was always hoping that Laurence
would think better of it all.  I so dread even to think what
he will say ... what he will do...."\par

"Laurence should have thought of that," rejoined Mark
dryly, "before he embarked on this mad escapade."\par

"Escapade!" she exclaimed with sudden vehemence.
"You can talk of escapade, when..."\par

"Easy, easy, mother dear," broke in Mark
good-humouredly, "I know I deserve all your reproaches for
taking this adventure so lightly.  But you must confess,
dear, that there is a comic side to the tragedy--there always
is.  Laurence, the happy bridegroom-elect, takes to his heels
without even a glimpse at the bride offered to him, whilst
her beauty, according to rumour, sets every masculine
heart ablaze."\par

The mother gave a little sigh of weariness and resignation.\par

"You never will understand your brother, Mark," she
said with deep earnestness, "not as long as you live.  You
never will understand your mother either.  You are your
father's son--Laurence is more wholly mine.  You can
look on with indifference--God help you! even with levity--on
the awful tyranny which has well-nigh annihilated
our beautiful land of Flanders.  On you the weight of
Spanish oppression sits over lightly....  Sometimes
I think I ought to thank God that He has given you a
shallow nature, and that I am not doomed to see both my
sons suffer as Laurence--my eldest--does.  To him, Mark,
his country and her downtrodden liberties are almost a
religion: every act of tyranny perpetrated by that odious
Alva is a wrong which he swears to avenge.  What he
suffers in the innermost fibre of his being every time that
your father lends a hand in the abominable work of
persecution nobody but I--his mother--will ever know.  Your
father's abject submission to Alva has eaten into his very
soul.  From a gay, light-hearted lad he has become a stern
and silent man.  What schemes for the overthrow of
tyrants go on within his mind, I dare not even think.  That
awful bloodhound de Vargas--murderer, desecrator,
thief--he loathes with deadly abomination.  When the order
came forth from your father that he should forthwith
prepare for his early marriage to the daughter of that
execrable man, he even thought of death as preferable
to a union against which his innermost soul rose in
revolt."\par

She had spoken thus lengthily, very slowly but with
calm and dignified firmness.  Mark was silent.  There
was a grandeur about the mother's defence of her beloved
son which checked the word of levity upon his lips.  Now
Clémence van Rycke sank back in her chair exhausted
by her sustained effort.  She closed her eyes for a while,
and Mark could not help but note how much his mother
had aged in the past two years, how wearied she looked
and how pathetic and above all how timid, like one on
whom fear is a constant attendant.  When he spoke again,
it was more seriously and with great gentleness.\par

"I had no thought, mother dear," he said, "of belittling
Laurence's earnestness, nor yet his devotion.  I'll even
admit, an you wish, that the present situation is tragic.
It is now past six o'clock.  Father must be at the Town
Hall within the next two hours....  He must be
told, and at once....  The question is, what can we
tell him to ... to..."\par

"To soften the blow and to appease his fury," broke in
Clémence van Rycke, and once more the look of terror
crept into her eyes--a look which made her stooping figure
look still more wizened and forlorn.  "Mark," she added
under her breath, "your father is frightened to death of
the Duke of Alva.  I believe that he would sacrifice
Laurence and even me to save himself from the vengeance
of those people."\par

"Hush, mother dear! now you are talking wildly.  Father
is perhaps a little weak.  Most of us, I fear me, now are
weak.  We have been cowed and brow-beaten and threatened
till we have lost all sense of our own manhood and
our own dignity."\par

"You perhaps," protested the mother almost roughly,
"but not Laurence.  You and your father are ready to
lick the dust before all these Spaniards--but I tell you that
what you choose to call loyalty they call servility; they
despise you for your fawning--men like Orange
and Laurence they hate, but they give them grudging respect..."\par

"And hang them to the nearest gibbet when they get
a chance," broke in Mark with a dry laugh.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Before Clémence van Rycke could say another word,
the heavy footstep of the High-Bailiff was heard in the
hall below.  The poor woman felt as if her heart stood
still with apprehension.\par

"Your father has finished dressing: go down to him,
Mark," she implored.  "I cannot bear to meet him with
the news."\par

And Mark without another word went down to meet
his father.\par

Charles van Rycke--a fine man of dignified presence
and somewhat pompous of manner--was standing in the
hall, arrayed ready for the reception, in the magnificent
robes of his office.  His first word on seeing Mark was
to ask for Laurence, the bridegroom-elect and hero of the
coming feast.\par

"He is a fine-looking lad," said the father complacently,
"he cannot fail to find favour in donna Lenora's sight."\par

The news had to be told: Mark drew his father into
the dining-hall and served him with wine.\par

"This marriage will mean a splendid future for us all,
Mark," continued the High-Bailiff, as he pledged his son
in a tankard of wine: "here's to the happy young people
and to the coming prosperity of our house.  No more
humiliations, Mark; no more fears of that awful
Inquisition.  We shall belong to the ruling class now, tyranny
can touch us no longer."\par

And the news had to be told.  Clémence van Rycke had
said nothing to her husband about Laurence's letter--so
it all had to be told, quietly and without preambles.\par

"Laurence has gone out of the house, father, vowing
that he would never marry donna Lenora de Vargas."\par

It took some time before the High-Bailiff realised that
Mark was not jesting; the fact had to be dwelt upon,
repeated over and over again, explained and insisted on
before the father was made to understand that his son
had played him false and had placed the family fortunes and
the lives of its members in deadly jeopardy thereby.\par

"He has gone!" reiterated Mark for the tenth time, "gone
with the intention not to return.  At the reception to-night
the bride will be waiting, and the bridegroom will not be
there.  The Duke of Alva will ask where is the bride-groom
whom he hath chosen for the great honour, and
echo will only answer 'Where?'"\par

Charles van Rycke was silent.  He pushed away from
him the tankard and bottle of wine.  His face was the
colour of lead.\par

"This means ruin for us all, Mark," he murmured,
"black, hideous ruin; Alva will never forgive; de Vargas
will hate us with the hatred born of humiliation....
A public affront to his daughter! ... O Holy Virgin
protect us!" he continued half-incoherently, "it will mean
the scaffold for me, the stake for your mother..."\par

He rose and said curtly, "I must speak with your mother."\par

He went to the door but his step was unsteady.  Mark
forestalled him and placed himself against the door with
his hand on the latch.\par

"It means black ruin for us all, Mark," reiterated the
High-Bailiff with sombre despair, "I must go and speak of
it with your mother."\par

"My mother is sick and anxious," said Mark quietly,
"she cannot help what Laurence has done--you and I,
father, can talk things over quietly without her."\par

"There is nothing that you can say, Mark ... there
is nothing we can do ... save, perhaps, pack up a
few belongings and clear out of the country as quickly as
we can ... that is, if there is time!"\par

"Your imagination does not carry you very far,
meseems," quoth Mark dryly.  "Laurence's default is not
irreparable."\par

"What do you mean?"\par

"Am I not here to put it right?"\par

"What?--you?"\par

"By your leave."\par

"You, Mark!"\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The transition from black despair to this sudden ray
of hope was too much for the old man: he tottered and
nearly measured his length on the floor.  Mark had barely
the time to save him from the fall.  Now he passed his
trembling hand across his eyes and forehead: his knees
were shaking under him.\par

"You, Mark," he murmured again.\par

He managed to pour himself out a fresh mug of wine
and drank it greedily: then he sat down, for his knees
still refused him service.\par

"It would be salvation indeed," he said, somewhat more
steadily.\par

Mark shrugged his shoulders with an air of complete
indifference.\par

"Well! frankly, father dear," he said, "I think that
there is not much salvation for us in introducing a Spaniard
into our home.  Mother--and Laurence when he comes
back--will have to be very careful in their talk.  But
you seem to think the present danger imminent...."\par

"Imminent, ye gods!" exclaimed the High-Bailiff, unable
to repress a shudder of terror at the thought.  "I tell you,
Mark, that de Vargas would never forgive what he would
call a public insult--nor would Alva forgive what he would
call open disobedience.  Those two men--who are all-powerful
and as cruel and cunning as fiends--would track us
and hunt us down till they had brought you and me to
the scaffold and your mother to the stake."\par

"I know that, father," interposed Mark with some impatience,
"else I would not dream of standing in Laurence's
shoes: the bride is very beautiful, but I have no liking for
matrimony.  The question is, will de Vargas guess the
truth; he hath eyes like a lynx."\par

"No! no! he will not guess.  He only saw Laurence
twice--a fortnight ago when I took him up to Brussels
and presented him to señor de Vargas and to the Duke:
and then again the next evening: both times the lights
were dim.  No! no!  I have no fear of that! de
Vargas will not guess!  You and your brother are at times
so much alike, and donna Lenora hath not seen Laurence yet."\par

"And you did not speak of Laurence by name?  I
shouldn't care to change mine."\par

"No, I don't think so.  I presented my son to the Duke
and to señor de Vargas.  It was at His Highness' lodgings:
the room was small and dark; and señor de Vargas paid
but little heed to us."\par

"We Netherlanders are of so little account in the sight
of these grandees of Spain," quoth Mark with a light laugh,
"and in any case, father, we must take some risk.  So will
you go and see my mother and calm her fears, whilst I go
and don my best doublet and hose.  Poor little mother! she
hath put one foot into her grave through terror and
anxiety on Laurence's account."\par

"As for Laurence..." exclaimed the High-Bailiff
wrathfully.\par

"Don't worry about Laurence, father," broke in Mark
quietly.  "His marriage with a Spaniard would have been
disastrous.  He would have fallen violently in love with
his beautiful wife, and she would have dragged sufficient
information out of him to denounce us all to the
Inquisition.  Perhaps," he added with good-humoured
indifference, "it is all for the best."\par

The High-Bailiff rose and placed a hand upon his son's
shoulder.\par

"You are a true son to me, Mark," he said earnestly,
"never shall I forget it.  I am a wealthy man--more
wealthy than many suppose.  In virtue of your marriage
with that Spanish wench you will be more free from
taxation than we Netherlanders are: I'll make over the bulk
of my fortune to you.  You shall not regret what you have
done for me and for your mother."\par

"It is time I went up to dress," was Mark's only comment
on his father's kindly speech, and he quietly removed
the paternal hand from off his shoulder.\par

"Hurry on," said the High-Bailiff cheerfully, "I'll wait
until you are ready.  I must just run up to your mother
and tell her the good news.  Nay! but I do believe if that
hot-headed young rascal were to turn up now, I would
forgive him his senseless escapade.  As you say, my dear
son, it is all for the best!"\par

\label{the-ruling-caste}%
\hypertarget{the-ruling-caste}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER III}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE RULING CASTE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Donna Lenora de Vargas stood beside her father whilst
he--as representing the Lieutenant-Governor--was
receiving the homage of the burghers and patricians of Ghent.
This was a great honour for so young a girl, but every
one--even the women--declared that donna Lenora was
worthy of the honour, and many a man--both young and
old--after he had made obeisance before señor de Vargas
paused awhile before moving away, in order to gaze on
the perfect picture which she presented.\par

She was dressed all in white and with extreme simplicity,
but the formal mode of the time, the stiff corslet and
stomacher, the rigid folds of the brocade and high starched
collar set off to perfection the stateliness of her finely
proportioned figure, whilst the masses of her soft fair hair
crowned her as with a casque of gold.\par

When the brilliant throng of Flemish notabilities and
their wives had all filed past the Duke of Alva's
representative and had all had the honour--men and women
alike--proud patricians of this ancient city, of kissing his
hand, the High-Bailiff respectfully asked for leave to
formally present his son to the high officers of state.\par

All necks were immediately craned to see this presentation,
for already the rumour had spread abroad of the coming
interesting engagement, and there were many whispers
of astonishment when Mark's tall figure--dressed in sombre
purple silk with fine, starched ruff of priceless Mechlin
lace--came forward out of the crowd.  Every one had
expected to see Laurence van Rycke as the happy
bridegroom-elect, and it seemed passing strange that it should
be Mark--happy-go-lucky, easy-going Mark, the wastrel
of the family, the ne'er-do-well--who had been selected
for the honour of this alliance with the daughter of
all-powerful de Vargas.\par

Well! perhaps Laurence never would have stooped
before a Spaniard as Mark had done quite naturally; perhaps
Laurence was too avowedly a partisan of the Prince of
Orange to have found favour in beautiful donna Lenora's
sight.  She certainly looked on Mark van Rycke with cool
indifference; those who stood close by vowed that she
flashed a glance of contempt upon him, as he bowed low
before señor de Vargas and the other officers of state.\par

"Your eldest son, Messire?" asked one of these seigniors
graciously.\par

"My sons are twins," replied the High-Bailiff, "and this
is my son Mark."\par

"Señor del Rio," said de Vargas turning to his colleague,
"I have the honour to present to you Messire Mark van
Rycke, son of a loyal subject of our King, the High-Bailiff
of Ghent."\par

After which he turned to speak again with the High-Bailiff,
and don Alberic del Rio drew Mark into a brief
conversation.  Excitement in the gaily-dressed throng was
then at its height: the vague feeling that something unusual
and even mysterious was occurring caused every one's
nerves to be on tenterhooks.  All this while donna Lenora
had been quite silent, which was vastly becoming in a young
girl, and now her father came up to her and he was closely
followed by Mark van Rycke.\par

The momentous presentation was about to take place: a
man and a woman--of different race, of different upbringing,
of the same religion but of widely different train of
thought--were on the point of taking a solemn engagement
to live their future life together.\par

Those who stood near declared that at that moment
donna Lenora looked up at her father with those large,
dark eyes of hers that had been veiled by the soft,
sweeping lashes up to now, and that they looked wonderfully
beautiful, and were shining with unshed tears and with
unspoken passion.  They also say that she was on the point
of speaking, that her lips were parted, and that the word
"Father!" came from them as an appealing murmur.\par

But the next moment she had encountered Vargas' stern
glance which swiftly and suddenly shot out on her from
beneath his drooping lids--that cruel, evil glance of his
which dying men and women were wont to encounter when
their bodies were racked by torture and which gave them
a last shudder of horror ere they closed their eyes in death.
Donna Lenora too shivered as she turned her head away.
Her cheeks were whiter than her gown, neither had her
lips any colour in them, and the kindly Flemish women who
stood by felt that their motherly heart ached for this
beautiful young girl who seemed so forlorn in the midst of all
this pomp.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The curious formalities demanded by ancient Flemish
custom had now to be complied with, before Messire van
Rycke and donna Lenora de Vargas could be publicly
announced as affianced to one another.\par

Mark having his father on his right and Messire Jean
van Migrode, chief-sheriff of the Keure, on his left,
advanced toward his future bride.  Young Count Mansfeld
and Philip de Lannoy seigneur de Beauvoir walked
immediately behind him, and with them were a number of
gentlemen and ladies--relatives and friends of the High-Bailiff
of Ghent.\par

In like manner a cortège had been formed round the
bride-elect: she was supported on either side by her father
and by don Alberic del Rio, his most intimate friend, and
around her were many Spanish seigniors of high rank,
amongst whom the Archbishop of Sorrento, who was on a
visit to Brussels, and don Gonzalo de Bracamonte,
commanding the Governor's bodyguard, were the most noteworthy.\par

A tense silence hung over the large and brilliant
assembly, only the frou-frou of brocaded gowns, the flutter of
fans, and up above in the vaulted roof the waving of
banners in the breeze broke that impressive hush which
invariably precedes the accomplishment of something momentous
and irrevocable.\par

And now the High Bailiff began to speak in accordance
with the time-honoured tradition of his people--wilfully
oblivious of the sneers, the sarcastic smiles, the supercilious
glances which were so conspicuous in the swarthy faces of
the Spanish grandees opposite to him.\par

"It is my purpose, señor," he began solemnly, and
speaking directly to don Juan de Vargas, "to ask that you do
give your daughter in wedlock to my son."\par

And don Juan de Vargas gave answer with equal solemnity:\par

"Before acceding to your request, Messire," he said, "I
demand to know whether your son is an honourable man
and possessed of goods sufficient to ensure that my
daughter continue to live as she hath done hitherto, in a manner
befitting her rank."\par

"My son Mark, señor," thereupon rejoined the High-Bailiff,
"is possessed of ten thousand ducats in gold, of
twelve horses and of one half-share in the fleet of trading
vessels belonging to me, which carry the produce of
Flemish farms and of Flemish silk-looms to the ports of France,
of Italy and of England.  Moreover, six months after my
son's marriage I will buy him a house in the St. Bavon
quarter of this city, and some furniture to put into it so
that he may live independently therein and in a manner
befitting his rank."\par

"My daughter, Messire," resumed de Vargas still with
the same grave solemnity, "is possessed of five thousand
ducats and of the prestige attached to her name, which next
to that of the Lieutenant-Governor himself hath more
power than any other name in this land."\par

The chief sheriff now spoke:\par

"And on the day of the marriage of Messire van Rycke,"
he said, "with the bride whom he hath chosen, I will give
him sixteen goblets of silver and four silver tankards."\par

"And on the day of the marriage of donna Lenora de
Vargas with the bridegroom chosen for her by her father,"
said don Alberic del Rio, "I will give her a girdle of gold,
a necklace of pearls and three rings set with diamonds and
rubies."\par

"I will give the bridegroom two silver dishes and four
gold salt cellars," came in solemn fashion from young
Count Mansfeld.\par

"To the bride I will give two gold bracelets and a rosary
specially blessed by His Holiness," announced the
Archbishop of Sorrento.\par

"To the bridegroom I will give two gold dishes and four
silver spoons," said the seigneur de Beauvoir.\par

"To the bride I will give a statue of Our Lady wrought
in ivory, and two silken carpets from Persia," said don
Gonzalo de Bracamonte.\par

Whereupon the High-Bailiff spoke once more:\par

"My son Mark hath two hundred and twenty friends and
kindred each of whom will present him with a suitable
wedding gift."\par

"My daughter will have a gift from our Sovereign Lord
the King, from the Governor of the Provinces and from
the Lieutenant-Governor, and from fifteen Spanish
grandees, three of whom are Knights of the Golden Fleece."\par

"Wherefore, O noble seignior," continued the High-Bailiff,
"I do ask you to give your daughter to my son for
wife."\par

"Which request I do grant you, Messire," said de
Vargas, "and herewith make acceptance on my daughter's
behalf, of your son Mark to be her husband and guardian."\par

Don Gonzalo de Bracamonte now handed him a drawn
sword, a hat, a ring and a mantle: de Vargas holding the
sword upright, placed the hat on the tip of the blade and
hung the ring upon a projecting ornament of the hilt.  This
together with the mantle and a piece of silver he then
handed over to Mark, saying:\par

"With these emblems I hereby hand over to you the
custody of my daughter, and as I have been her faithful
custodian in the past, so do I desire you to become her
guardian and protector henceforth, taking charge of her
worldly possessions and duly administering them
honourably and loyally."\par

In the meanwhile the chief sheriff had in similar manner
given Mark seven gloves: these the young man now handed
to señor de Vargas in exchange for the emblems of his
own marital authority, and saying the while:\par

"I accept the trust and guardianship of your daughter
Lenora which you have imposed upon me, and herewith
I plight you my troth that I will henceforth administer her
worldly possessions both honourably and loyally."\par

With this the quaint ceremonial came to an end.  The
Spanish seigniors very obviously drew deep sighs of relief.
The Archbishop and don Gonzalo as well as de Vargas
himself had studied their parts carefully, for the
Lieutenant-Governor had expressly desired that the betrothal
should be done with all the formalities and ceremonies
which the custom of the Netherlands demanded.  All three
seigniors had chafed at this irksome task--they found
torrents of ridicule to pour upon the loutish Netherlanders and
their vulgar and unseemly habits; but the Duke was firm,
and obedience was obligatory.  Lenora had, of course, not
been consulted on the subject; she was just the sad little
bundle of goods which was being bargained for, for the
furtherance of political intrigues, together with her five
thousand ducats, her golden girdle and rosary specially
blessed by the Pope.  She stood by while the solemn
bargaining was going on, the centre of the group--a pathetic
young figure in her white gown, a curious flush--maybe
of shame--upon her cheeks.  But at last it was over and
de Vargas now turned to his daughter.\par

"Lenora," he said, "this is Mark, the son of the
High-Bailiff of Ghent; the alliance which you are about to
contract with him is a source of great satisfaction to me."\par

Mark in the meanwhile had stood by--quite impassive
and seemingly indifferent--while the ceremony of betrothal
was taking place.  There was nothing new to him in the
solemn speeches delivered by his father and his friends,
nor in those which the Spanish seigniors had learned so
glibly by heart; he had more than once been present at
the betrothal of one or other of his friends, and these
customs and ceremonials were as familiar, as sacred to him,
perhaps, as the divine service of his Church.  Now at
de Vargas' last words he advanced, with back bent, nearer
to his beautiful fiancée.  He had refrained from looking
on her while his worldly goods and hers were being thus
proclaimed in loud tones by their respective friends,
because he felt that she--being a total stranger--must find
his country's custom either ridiculous or irksome.\par

But now when he straightened out his tall figure, he
suddenly sought her eyes, and seemed to compel her glance
by the very intentness of his own.\par

"Give Messire van Rycke your hand, Lenora," commanded de Vargas.\par

And the girl--obediently and mechanically--stretched out
her small, white hand and Mark van Rycke touched her
finger tips with his lips.\par

Every one noticed how closely señor de Vargas had
watched his daughter all the while that the formal
ceremony of betrothal was taking place, and that, as soon as
donna Lenora had extended her hand to Messire van Rycke
a smile of intense satisfaction became apparent round the
corners of his mouth.\par

"And now, Messire," he said solemnly, and turning once
more to the bridegroom-elect, "it is my pleasant duty to
apprise you that our Sovereign Lord and King hath
himself desired that I should be his mouthpiece in wishing
you lasting happiness.\par

"I thank you, Messire," said Mark van Rycke quietly.\par

"As you know," continued de Vargas speaking with
paternal benevolence, "it is the Lieutenant-Governor's earnest
wish that we should hasten the wedding.  He himself hath
graciously fixed this day sennight for the religious
ceremony--the festival day of Our Lady of Victory--a great
and solemn occasion, Messire," he continued unctuously,
"which will sanctify your union with my daughter and
confer on it an additional blessing."\par

"As His Highness commands," rejoined Mark somewhat
impatiently.\par

He had made several efforts to meet his beautiful bride's
glance again, but she kept her eyes steadily averted from
his now.\par

Truly so cold and unemotional a bride was enough to
put any bridegroom out of patience.  No doubt had
Laurence van Rycke stood there instead of Mark there
might have been enacted a little scene of ill-temper which
would have disturbed don Juan de Vargas' unctuous
manner.  But Mark took it all as a matter of course: he
looked supremely indifferent and more than a little bored
whilst his prospective father-in-law delivered himself of all
these urbane speeches.  He had obviously been deeply struck
at first by donna Lenora's exquisite beauty, but now
the effect of this pleasing surprise had worn off, he
looked down on her with cool indifference, whilst a
little smile of irony became more and more accentuated
round his lips.  But the High-Bailiff appeared overjoyed;
his flat, Flemish face gradually broadened into a huge,
complacent smile, he leaned on the arm of his son with easy
familiarity and every one felt that--had señor de Vargas
demanded such a token of gratitude and loyalty--Mynheer
Charles van Rycke would have laid down on the floor and
licked the dust from Monseigneur's slashed shoes.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
At last the interminable ceremony of betrothal was over
and donna Lenora was given a little breathing time from
the formal etiquette which surrounded her father
whenever he represented the Lieutenant-Governor, and which
oppressed this poor young girl physically like the stiff corslet
which she wore.\par

She looked around her a little wistfully: her father was
busy conversing with the High-Bailiff, no doubt on matters
connected with the respective marriage-jointures: all around
in the magnificent hall, under the high roof emblazoned and
decorated with the arms of the city and the banners of
the city guilds, a noisy throng, gaily dressed, pressed,
jostled and chattered.  The ladies of Ghent--somewhat
unwieldy of figure and with none of the highly-trained æsthetic
taste of Spanish civilisation--had decked themselves out
in finery which was more remarkable for its gorgeousness
than for harmony of colour.\par

The lateness of the season had proved an excuse for
wearing the rich velvets and brocades imported from Italy,
cloth of gold heavily embroidered, stomachers wrought in
tinsel threads and pearls, hooped petticoats and monster
farthingales moved before donna Lenora's pensive eyes like
a kaleidoscope of many colours, brilliant and dazzling.  The
deep window embrasures each held a living picture grouped
against the rich background of heavy velvet curtains or
exquisite carved panelling; men and women in bright
crimson, or yellow or green, the gorgeous liveries of one or
other of the civic corporations, the uniforms of the
guild-militia, the robes of the sheriffs and the wardmasters, all
looked like a crowd of gaily plumaged birds, with here and
there the rich trenchant note of a black velvet tunic worn
by a member of one of the learned bodies, or the purple
satin doublet of a Spanish grandee.  The Flemish
bourgeoisie and patriciate kept very much to itself--the women
eyeing with some disfavour the stiff demeanour and
sombre clothes of the Spaniards who remained grouped
around the person of don Juan de Vargas.  There was also
the element of fear, never far distant when the Spanish
officers of State were present.  They personified to all these
people the tyranny of Spain--the yoke of slavery which
would never again be lifted from the land.  The Netherlanders
feared their masters, and many cringed and fawned
before them, but they never mixed with them; they held
themselves entirely aloof.\par

There were no Spanish ladies here.  The Duchess of
Alva was not in Flanders, the grandees and officers of
Alva's army had left their wives and daughters at home in
Arragon or Castile; the stay in these dour and
unsympathetic Low Countries was always something of a
punishment to these sons and daughters of the South, who hated
the grey skies, the north-easterly winds and perpetual rains.\par

Thus donna Lenora found herself strangely isolated.  The
Flemish ladies banded themselves in groups, they chatted
together, whispered and made merry, but the Spanish
girl who had stood in high honour beside the Lieutenant-Governor's
representative was not one of themselves.  She
was slim and tall and graceful, she was dressed in simple
white; above all, she belonged to the ruling caste, and
though many a kind-hearted Flemish vrouw pitied her in her
loneliness, not one of them thought of going to speak to her.\par

Donna Lenora sighed and her eyes filled with tears--with
tears not altogether of sorrow, but also of self-pity
mingled with bitter resentment.  Even the company of
her future husband might have been acceptable at this
moment, when she felt so very lonely.\par

But Mark van Rycke was no longer nigh.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Then suddenly her face lit up with joy, the colour
rushed to her cheeks, and her lips parted in a smile.\par

She had just espied in the brilliant throng, one no less
brilliant figure which was slowly pushing its way through
the crowd in her direction.\par

"Ramon," she whispered, as soon as the young man was
quite close to her, "I didn't know you were here."\par

"His Highness," he replied, "has given me command of
the garrison here; I arrived last night with my regiment."\par

"But where are your lodgings?"\par

"At the house of those thrice accursed van Ryckes," he
muttered with an oath.  "The billeting was arranged
without my knowledge, and of course I and my men leave
those quarters to-morrow.  Every morsel I eat in that
house seems to choke me."\par

"Poor Ramon!" she whispered with tender pity.  "I too
have been unutterably wretched since I saw you in Brussels."\par

"I couldn't communicate with you again, sweetheart--and
this to my great grief--but I was bundled out of
Brussels like a bale of goods, and here I am!  Imagine
my joy when I realised that I should see you to-night."\par

"Hush!" she murmured quickly, for with a quick impulse
he had seized her hand and was pressing it to his lips.
"My father can see us."\par

"What matter if he do," retorted don Ramon.  "He
has taken you from me, but he cannot kill my love ... our
love, Lenora," he added with passionate ardour--an
ardour in which he himself believed for the moment, since
he loved Lenora and she was so exquisite, in her stateliness,
her white gown and that casque of golden hair upon
her head.\par

"You must not say that, Ramon," she said with earnestness
that was far more real than his, "you must try and
help me ... and not make my sacrifice altogether
unbearable.  It has been terrible," she added, and a curious,
haunted look came into her eyes.\par

"It has been the most damnable thing that has ever been
done on this earth, Lenora.  When I arrived in this accursed
city last night and quartered myself and some of my men
in the house of the High-Bailiff, I would gladly have put
the whole accursed family to the sword.  There is no limit
to my hatred of them--and of all those who stand between
me and your love.  I have hated your father, Lenora, ever
since he parted us....  I have hated Alva!  God
help me!  I have hated even the King!"\par

Ramon spoke in a low, hoarse murmur, inaudible to
every one save to the shell-like ear for which it was
intended.  With irresistible force he had drawn Lenora's
arm through his own, and had led her--much against her
will--into one of the deep window embrasures, where heavy
curtains of Utrecht velvet masked them both from view.
He pressed her to sit on one of the low window seats, and
through the soft-toned stained glass the dim light of the
moon came peeping in and threw ghostlike glimmers upon
the tendrils of her hair, even whilst the ruddy lights of the
candles played upon her face and her white gown.  For
the first time to-night the young man realised all that he
had lost and how infinitely desirable was the woman whom
he had so airily given up without a fight.  He cursed
himself for his cowardice, even though he knew that he never
would have the courage to dare defiance for her sake.\par

"Lenora," he said, with passionate intensity, "ever since
your father and the Duke of Alva made me understand
that they were taking you away from me, I have been
wondering if it was humanly possible for any man who has
known you as I have done, who has loved you as I love
you still, to give you up to another."\par

"It has to be, Ramon," she said gently.  "Oh! you must
not think that I have not thought and fought--thought of
what was my duty--fought for my happiness.  Now," she
added with a little sigh of weariness, "I cannot fight any
more.  My father, the Duke of Alva, the King himself
in a personal letter to me, have told me where my duty
lies.  My confessor would withhold absolution from me
if I refused to obey.  My King and country and the Church
have need of me it seems: what is my happiness worth if
weighed in the balance of my country's service?"\par

"You are so unfitted for that sort of work," he
murmured sullenly, "they will make of you something a little
better than a spy in the house of the High-Bailiff of
Ghent."\par

"That is the only thing which troubles me," she said.  "I
feel as if I were doing something mean and underhand.
I shall marry a man whom I can never love, who belongs to
a race that has always been inimical to Spain.  My
husband will hate all those whom I love.  He will hate
everything that I have always honoured and cherished--my King,
my country, the glory and grandeur of Spain.  He will
rebel against her laws which I know to be beneficent even
though they seem harsh and even cruel at times.  A
Netherlander can never have anything in common with a
Spaniard...."\par

"Oh! they'd murder us if they could," the young man
rejoined with a careless shrug of the shoulders, "but only
in the dark streets or from behind a hedge."\par

"The King is very angry with them, I know; he
declared that he would not come to the Netherlands until
there is not a single rebel or heretic within its shores."\par

"The terms are synonymous," he retorted lightly, "and
I fear that His Majesty will never grace this abominable
country with his presence, if his resolution holds good.
They are a stiff-necked crowd, these Netherlanders--Catholics
and heretics, they are all rebels--but the heretics are
the worst."\par

Then, as she said nothing, but stared straight out before
her at this crowd of people amongst whom she was doomed
to live in the future, he continued with a tone of sullen
wrath:\par

"We have burnt a goodly number of these rebels, but
still they swarm."\par

"It is horrible!" exclaimed the young girl with a shudder.\par

"Horrible, my dear love?" he said with a cynical laugh,
"it is the only way to deal with these people.  Their
arrogance passes belief; their treachery knows no bounds.
The King's sacred person would not be safe here among
them; the Duke's life has often been threatened; the heretics
have pillaged and ransacked the churches!  No! you must
not waste your sympathy on the people here.  They are
rebellious and treacherous to the core.  As for me, I hate
them tenfold, for it is one of them who will take you
from me."\par

"He cannot take my heart from you, Ramon, for that
will be yours always."\par

"Lenora!" he whispered once more with that fierce
earnestness which he seemed unable to control, "you know
what is in my mind?--what I have thought and planned
ever since I realised that you were being taken from me?"\par

"What is it, Ramon?"\par

"The Duke of Alva--the King himself--want you to
work for them--to be their tool.  Well! so be it!  You
have not the strength to resist--I have not the power to
rebel!  If we did we should both be crushed like miserable
worms by the powers which know how to force obedience.
Often have I thought in the past two miserable days that
I would kill you, Lenora, and myself afterwards, but..."\par

The words died on his lips, his olive skin became almost
livid in hue.  Hastily he drew a tiny image from inside his
doublet: with it in his hand he made the sign of the Cross,
then kissed it reverently.\par

"You would die unabsolved, my Lenora," he whispered,
and the girl's cheeks became very white, too, as he spoke,
"and I should be committing a crime for which there is no
pardon ... and I could not do that," he added more
firmly, "I would sooner face the fires of the Inquisition
than those of hell."\par

Superstitious fear held them both in its grip, and that
fanatical enthusiasm which in these times saw in the
horrible excesses of that execrable Inquisition--in its
torture-chambers and scaffolds and stakes--merely the means of
killing bodies that were worthless and saving immortal
souls from everlasting torture and fire.  Lenora was
trembling from head to foot, and tears of horror and of dread
gathered in her eyes.  Don Ramon made a violent effort
to regain his composure and at the same time to comfort her.\par

"You must not be afraid, Lenora," he said quietly, "those
demons of blind fury, of homicide and of suicide have been
laid low.  I fought with them and conquered them.  Their
cruel temptations no longer assail me, and the Holy Saints
themselves have shown me the way to be patient--to wait
in silence until you have fulfilled your destiny--until you
have accomplished the work which the King and the Church
will demand of you.  After that, I know that the man
who now will claim what I would give my life to possess--you,
Lenora--will be removed from your path.  How it
will be done, I do not know ... but he will die,
Lenora, of that I am sure.  He will die before a year has
gone by, and I will then come back to you and claim you
for my wife.  You will be free then, and will no longer
owe obedience to your father.  I will claim you, Lenora! and
even now, here and at this hour, I do solemnly plight
you my troth, in the very teeth of the man whose wife you
are about to be."\par

"And of a truth," here broke in a pleasant and
good-humoured voice with a short laugh, "it is lucky that I
happened to be present here and now and at this hour
to register this exceedingly amiable vow."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Don Ramon de Linea had jumped to his feet; his hand
was upon his sword-hilt; instinctively he had placed himself
in front of donna Lenora and facing the intruder who was
standing beside the velvet curtain, with one hand holding
back its heavy folds.\par

"Messire van Rycke?" he exclaimed, whilst he strove
to put into his attitude all the haughtiness and dignity of
which the present situation had undoubtedly robbed him.\par

"At your service, señor," replied Mark.\par

"You were spying on donna Lenora and on me, I see."\par

"Indeed not, señor.  I only happened upon the scene--quite
accidentally, I assure you--at the moment when you
were prophesying my early demise and arranging to be
present at my funeral."\par

"Are you trying to be insolent, sirrah?" quoth don Ramon
roughly.\par

"Not I, señor," rejoined Mark, good-humouredly, "I
should succeed so ill.  My intention was when I saw señor
de Vargas' angry glance persistently directed against my
future wife to save her from the consequences of his
wrath, and incidentally to bear her company for awhile:
a proceeding for which--I think you will admit,
señor--I have the fullest right."\par

"You have no rights over this gracious lady, fellow,"
retorted the Spaniard with characteristic arrogance.\par

"None, I own, save those which she deigns to confer
upon me.  And if she bid me begone, I will go."\par

"Begone then, you impudent varlet!" cried don Ramon,
whose temper was not proof against the other's calm
insolence, "ere I run my sword through your miserable
body...."\par

"Hush, Ramon," here interposed donna Lenora with cool
authority, "you forget your own dignity and mine in this
unseemly quarrel.  Messire van Rycke is in the right.  An
he desires to speak with me I am at his disposal."\par

"Not before he has arranged to meet me at the back
of his father's house at daybreak to-morrow.  Bring your
witnesses, sirrah!  I'll condescend to fight you fairly."\par

"You could not do that, señor," replied Mark van Rycke
with perfect equanimity, "I am such a poor swordsman
and you so cunning a fighter.  I am good with my fists,
but it would be beneath the dignity of a grandee of Spain
to measure fists with a Flemish burgher.  Still--if it is
your pleasure..."\par

Although this altercation had been carried on within the
depth of a vast window embrasure and with heavy curtains
to right and left to deaden the sound of angry voices, the
fact that two men were quarrelling in the presence of donna
Lenora de Vargas had become apparent to not a few.\par

De Vargas himself, who for the past quarter of an hour
had viewed with growing wrath his daughter's intimate
conversation with don Ramon de Linea, saw what was
happening, and realised that within the next few moments
an exceedingly unpleasant scandal would occur which would
place don Ramon de Linea--a Spanish officer of high rank,
commanding the garrison in Ghent--in a false and humiliating
position.\par

In these days, however, and with the perfect organisation
of which de Vargas himself was a most conspicuous
member, such matters were very easily put right.  A scandal
under the present circumstances would be prejudicial to
Spanish prestige, therefore no scandal must occur: a fight
between a Spanish officer and the future husband of donna
Lenora de Vargas might have unpleasant consequences for
the latter, therefore even a provocation must be avoided.\par

And it was done quite simply: don Juan de Vargas
whispered to a man who stood not far from him and who
was dressed very quietly in a kind of livery of sombre
purple and black--the livery worn by servants of the
Inquisition.  The man, without a word, left de Vargas' side and
edged his way along the panelled walls of the great hall
till he reached the window embrasure where the little scene
was taking place.  He had shoes with soles of felt and
made no noise as he glided unobtrusively along the polished
floor.  Neither Mark van Rycke nor don Ramon de Linea
saw him approach, but just as the latter, now wholly beside
himself with rage, was fingering his glove with a view
to flinging it in the other's face, the man in the purple and
black livery touched him lightly on the shoulder and whispered
something in his ear.  Then he walked away as silently,
as unobtrusively as he had come.\par

But don Ramon de Linea's rage fell away from him like
a mantle; the glove fell from his nerveless hand to the
floor.  He bit his lip till a tiny drop of blood appeared
upon it; then he hastily turned on his heel, and after a
deep bow to donna Lenora but without another word to
Mark van Rycke he walked away, and soon disappeared
among the crowd.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Donna Lenora was leaning back against the cushioned
window-sill, her hands lay in her lap, slightly quivering and
twisting a tiny lace handkerchief between the fingers: in
her eyes, which obviously followed for some time the
movements of don Ramon's retreating figure, there was a
pathetic look as that of a frightened child.  She seemed
quite unaware of Mark's presence, and he remained
leaning back against the angle of the embrasure, watching
the girl for awhile, then, as she remained quite silent
and apparently desirous of ignoring him altogether, he
turned to look with indifferent gaze on the ever-changing
and moving picture before him.\par

One or two of the high officers of State had retired, and
the departure of these pompous Spanish officials was the
signal for greater freedom and merriment among the
guests of the High-Bailiff and of the Sheriffs of the city of
Ghent.  The orchestra in the gallery up above had struck
up the measure of a lively galliarde the centre of the hall
had been cleared, and the young people were dancing whilst
the graver folk made circle around them, in order to watch
the dance.\par

As was usual, the moment that dancing began and hilarity
held sway, most of the guests slipped on a velvet mask,
which partly hid the face and was supposed--owing to
the certain air of mystery which it conveyed--to confer
greater freedom of speech upon the wearer and greater
ease of manner.  There were but few of the rich Spanish
doublets to be seen now: the more garish colours beloved
of the worthy burghers of Flanders held undisputed sway.
But here and there a dark figure or two--clad in purple
and black of a severe cut--were seen gliding in and out
among the crowd, and wherever they appeared they seemed
to leave a trail of silence behind them.\par

Mark was just about to make a serious effort at
conversing with his fiancée, and racking his brain as to what
subject of gossip would interest her most, when a man
in sombre attire, and wearing a mask, came close up to his
elbow.  Mark looked him quietly up and down.\par

"Laurence!" he said without the slightest show of
surprise, and turning well away from donna Lenora so that
she should not hear.\par

"Hush!" said the other.  "I don't want father to knew
that I am here ... but I couldn't keep away."\par

"How did you get through?"\par

"Oh!  I disclosed myself to the men-at-arms.  No one
seemed astonished."\par

"Why should they be?  Your escapade is not known."\par

"Has everything gone off well?" queried Laurence.\par

"Admirably," replied the other dryly.  "I was just about
to make myself agreeable to my fiancée when you
interrupted me."\par

"I'll not hinder you."\par

"Have you been home at all?"\par

"Yes.  My heart ached for our dear mother, and though
my resolution was just as firm, I wanted to comfort her.
I slipped into the house, just after you had left.  I saw our
mother, and she told me what you had done.  I am very
grateful."\par

"And did you speak to father?"\par

"Only for a moment.  He came up to say 'good-night'
to mother when I was leaving her room.  She had told
me the news, so I no longer tried to avoid him.  Of
course he is full of wrath against me for the fright I gave
him, but, on the whole, meseemed as if his anger was
mostly pretence and he right glad that things turned out
as they have done.  I am truly grateful to you, Mark,"
reiterated Laurence earnestly.\par

"Have I not said that all is for the best?" rejoined Mark
dryly.  "Now stand aside, man, and let me speak to my
bride."\par

"She is very beautiful, Mark!"\par

"Nay! it is too late to think of that, man!" quoth Mark
with his habitual good-humour; "we cannot play shuttlecock
with the lovely Lenora, and she is no longer for you."\par

"I'll not interfere, never fear.  It was only curiosity that
got the better of me and the longing to get a
glimpse of her."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
This rapid colloquy between the two brothers had been
carried on in whispers, and both had drawn well away
from the window embrasure, leaving the velvet curtain
between them and donna Lenora so as to deaden the sound
of their voices and screen them from her view.\par

But now Mark turned back to his fiancée, ready for that
{\itshape{tête-à-tête}} with her which he felt would be expected of him;
he found her still sitting solitary and silent on the low
window seat, with the cold glint of moonlight on her hair and
the red glow of the candles in the ballroom throwing weird
patches of vivid light and blue shadows upon her white silk
gown.\par

"Do I intrude upon your meditations, señorita?" he
asked, "do you wish me to go?"\par

"I am entirely at your service, Messire," she replied
coldly, "as you so justly remarked to don Ramon de Linea,
you have every right to my company an you so desire."\par

"I expressed myself clumsily, I own," he retorted a
little impatiently, "nothing was further from my thoughts
than to force my company upon you.  But," he added
whimsically, "meseems that--since we are destined to spend
so much of our future together--we might make an early
start at mutual understanding."\par

"And you thought that conversation in a ballroom would
be a good start for the desirable purpose?" she asked.\par

"Why not?"\par

"As you say: why not?" she replied lightly, "there is so
little that we can say to one another that it can just as
well be said in a ballroom.  We know so little of one
another at present--and so long as my looks have not
displeased you..."\par

"Your beauty, señorita, has no doubt been vaunted by
more able lips than mine: I acknowledge it gratefully and
without stint as an additional gift of God."\par

"Additional?" she asked with a slight raising of her
brows.\par

"Aye! additional!" he replied, "because my first glance
of you told me plainly that you are endowed with all the
most perfect attributes of womanhood.  Good women,"
he added quaintly, "are so often plain and beautiful women
so often unpleasant, that to find in one's future wife
goodness allied to beauty is proof that one of singularly
blessed."\par

"Which compliment, Messire, would be more acceptable
if I felt that it was sincere.  Your praise of my looks is
flattering; as to my goodness, you have no proof of it."\par

"Nay! there you wrong yourself, señorita.  Are you
not marrying me entirely against your will, and because you
desire to be obedient to your father and to the Duke of
Alva?  Are you not marrying me out of loyalty to your
King, to your country, and to your church?  A woman who
is as loyal and submissive as that, will be loyal to her
husband too."\par

"This will I strive to be, Messire," rejoined Lenora, who
either did not or would not perceive the slight tone of
good-humoured mockery which lurked in Mark van Rycke's
amiable speech.  "I will strive to be loyal to you, since
my father and the King himself, it seems, have desired
that I should be your wife."\par

"But, by the Mass," he retorted gaily, "I shall expect
something more than loyalty and submission from so
beautiful a wife, you know."\par

"Next to the King and to my faith," she replied coldly,
"you will always be first in my thoughts."\par

"And in your heart, I trust, señorita," he said.\par

"We are not masters of our heart, Messire."\par

"Well, so long as that precious guerdon is not bestowed
on another man," said Mark with a sigh, "I suppose that
I shall have to be satisfied."\par

"Aye, satisfied," broke in the girl with sudden vehemence.
"Satisfied, did you say, Messire?  You are satisfied to take
a wife whom till to-day you had not even seen--who was
bargained for on your behalf by your father because it
suited some political scheme of which you have not even
cognizance.  Satisfied!" she reiterated bitterly; "more
satisfied apparently with this bargaining than if you were
buying a horse, for there, at least, you would have wished to
see the animal ere you closed with the deal, and know
something of its temper....  But a wife! ... What
matters what she thinks and feels? if she be cold or
loving, gentle or shrewish, sensitive to a kind word or
callous to cruelty?  A wife! ... Well! so long as
no other man hath ever kissed her lips--for that would
hurt masculine vanity and wound the pride of possession!
I am only a woman, made to obey my father first, and my
husband afterwards....  But you, a man! ... Who
forced you to obey? ... No one!  And you did
not care....  This marriage was spoken of a month
ago, and Segovia is not at the end of the world--did you
even take the trouble to go a-courting me there?  Did you
even care to see me, though I have been close on a week
in this country? ... You spoke of my heart just now
... how do you hope to win it? ... Well! let
me tell you this, Messire, that though I must abide by the
bargain which my father and yours have entered into for
my body, my heart and my soul belong to my cousin,
Ramon de Linea!"\par

She had thus poured forth the torrent of bitterness and
resentment which had oppressed her heart all this while:
she spoke with intense vehemence, but with it all retained
just a sufficiency of presence of mind not to raise her
voice--it came like a hoarse murmur choked at times with sobs,
but never loud enough to be heard above the mingled sound
of music and gaiety which echoed from wall to wall of the
magnificent room.  So, too, was she careful of gesture;
she kept her hands pressed close against her heart, save
when from time to time she brushed away impatiently an
obtrusive tear, or pushed back the tendrils of her fair hair
from her moist forehead.\par

Mark had listened quite quietly to her impassioned tirade:
there was no suspicion now in his grave face of that
good-humoured irony and indifference which sat there so
habitually.  Of course he could say nothing to justify
himself: he could not explain to this beautiful, eminently
desirable and sensitive woman, whose self-respect had already
been gravely wounded, that he was not to blame for not
going to woo her before; that she had originally been
intended for his brother, and that all the reproaches which
she was pouring upon his innocent head were really well
deserved by Laurence but not by him.  He felt that he
was cutting a sorry figure at this moment, and the
sensation that was uppermost in him was a strong desire to
give his elder brother a kick.\par

He did his best with the help of the curtain and his own
tall figure, to screen donna Lenora from the gaze of the
crowd.  He knew that señor de Vargas was still
somewhere in the room, and on no account did he want a
father's interference at this moment.  Whether he was
really very sorry for the girl he could not say; she
certainly had given him a moral slap on the face when she
avowed her love for don Ramon, and he did not feel
altogether inclined at this precise moment to soothe and
comfort her, or even to speak perfunctory words of love, which
he was far from feeling, and which, no doubt, she would
reject with scorn.\par

Thus now, when she appeared more calm, tired, no doubt,
by the great emotional effort, he only spoke quite quietly,
but with as much gentleness as he could:\par

"For both our sakes, donna Lenora," he said, "I could
wish that you had not named Ramon de Linea.  It grieves
me sorely that the bonds which your father's will are
imposing upon you, should prove to be so irksome; but I
should be doing you an ill-turn if I were to offer you at
this moment that freedom for which you so obviously
crave.  Not only your father's wrath, but that of the Duke
of Alva would fall on you with far greater weight than it
would on me, and your own country hath instituted methods
for dealing with disobedience which I would not like to see
used against you.  That being the case, señorita," he
continued, with a return to his usual good-tempered carelessness,
"would it not be wiser, think you, to make the best of
this bad bargain, and to try and live, if not in amity, at least
not in open enmity one toward the other?"\par

"There is no enmity in my heart against you, Messire,"
she rejoined calmly, "and I crave your pardon that I did
so far forget myself as to speak of don Ramon to you.
I'll not transgress in that way in future, that I promise
you.  You have no love for me--you never can have any,
meseems: you are a Netherlander, I a Spaniard: our
every thoughts lie as asunder as the poles.  You obey your
father, and I mine; our hands will be clasped, but our
hearts can never meet.  Had you not been so callous, it
might have been different: I might have looked upon you
as a friend, and not a mere tool for the accomplishment
of my country's destiny....  And now may I beg of
you not to prolong this interview....  Would we had
not tried to understand one another, for meseems we have
fallen into graver misunderstandings than before."\par

"When may I see you again?" asked Mark van Rycke,
with coolness now quite equal to hers.\par

"Every day until our wedding, Messire, in the presence
of my aunt, donna Inez de Salgado, as the custom of my
country allows."\par

"I shall look forward to the wild excitement of these
daily meetings," he said, quite unable to suppress the
laughter which danced in his grey eyes.\par

She took no notice of the gentle raillery, but dismissed
him with a gracious nod.\par

"Shall I tell señor de Vargas," he asked, "that you are
alone?"\par

"No, no," she replied hastily.  "I prefer to be alone for
a little while.  I pray you to leave me."\par

He bowed before her with all the stiffness and formality
which Spanish etiquette demanded, then he turned away
from her, and soon she lost sight of his broad shoulders
in the midst of the gayest groups in the crowd.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VIII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The interview with her future husband had not left
donna Lenora any happier or more contented with her lot.
The callousness which he had shown in accepting a fiancée
like a bale of valueless goods was equally apparent in his
attitude after this first introduction to her.  The poor girl's
heart was heavy.  She had had so little experience of the
world, and none at all of men.  Already at an early age
she had become motherless; all the care and the tenderness
which she had ever known was from the father whose
pride in her beauty was far greater than his love for his
child.  A rigid convent education had restrained the
development of her ideals and of her aspirations; at nineteen
years of age the dominating thought in her was service to
her King and country, loyalty and obedience to her father
and to the Church.\par

In the crowded ballroom she saw young girls moving
freely and gaily, talking and laughing without apparently
a care or sorrow; yet they belonged to a subject and rebel
race; the laws of a powerful alien government dominated
their lives; fear of the Inquisition restrained the very
freedom of their thoughts.  They were all of them rebels in the
eyes of their King: the comprehensive death-warrant
issued by the Duke of Alva against every Netherlander--man,
woman, and child, irrespective of rank, irrespective
of creed, irrespective of political convictions--hung over
every life here present like the real sword of Damocles:
even this day all these people were dancing in the very
presence of death.  The thought of the torture-chamber, the
gibbet, or the stake could never be wholly absent from
their minds.  And yet they seemed happy, whilst she, donna
Lenora de Vargas, who should have been envied of them
all, was sitting solitary and sad; her lace handkerchief was
soaked through with her tears.\par

A sudden movement of the curtain on her left roused
her from her gloomy meditations.  The next moment, a
young man--with fair unruly hair, eyes glowing through
the holes of the velvet mask which he wore, and sensitive
mouth quivering with emotion--was kneeling beside her:
he had captured one of her hands, and was kissing it with
passionate fervour.  Not a little frightened, she could hardly
speak, but she did not feel indignant for she had been
very lonely, and this mute adoration of her on the part
of this unknown man acted like soothing balm on her
wounded pride.\par

"I pray you, sir," she murmured timorously, "I pray
you to leave me...."\par

He looked up into her face, and, through the holes of
the mask, she could see that his eyes were--like hers--full
of tears.\par

"Not," he whispered with soulful earnestness, "till I
have told you that your sorrow and your beauty have made
an indelible impression on my heart, and that I desire to
be your humble servitor."\par

"But who are you?" she asked.\par

"One who anon will stand very near to you--as a
brother...."\par

"A brother?  Then you are...?"\par

"Laurence van Rycke," he replied, "henceforth your
faithful servant until death."\par

Then as she looked very perplexed and puzzled, he
continued more quietly: "I stood there--behind the
curtain--quite close--whilst my brother spoke with you.  I heard
every word that you said, and my heart became filled with
admiration and pity for you.  I came here to-night only
because I wished to see you.  I looked upon you--without
knowing you--as an enemy, perhaps a spy; now that I have
seen you I feel as if my whole life must atone for the
immense wrong which I had done you in my thoughts.
You cannot guess--you will never know how infinite that
wrong has been.  But there is one thing I would wish you
to know: and that is that I am a man to whom happiness
in her most fulsome beauty stretched out her hands, and
who in his blindness turned his back on her; if you can
find it in your heart to pity and to trust me you will always
find beside you a champion to defend you, a friend to
protect you, a man prepared to atone with his life for the
desperate wrong which he hath unwittingly done to you."\par

He paused, and she--still a little bewildered--rejoined
gently: "Sir, I thank you for those kind words; the kindest
I have heard since I landed in the Low Countries.  I hope
that I shall not need a champion, for surely my
husband--your brother, Messire--will know how to protect me
when necessary.  But who is there who hath no need of
a friend? and it is a great joy to me in the midst of many
disappointments, that in my husband's brother I shall have
a true friend.  Still, methinks, that you speak somewhat
wildly.  I am not conscious of any wrong that you or
your family have done to me, and if your mother is as
kind as you are, why, Messire, mine own happiness in
her house is assured."\par

"Heaven reward you for those gentle words, Señorita,"
said Laurence van Rycke fervently, as he once more took
her hand and kissed it; she withdrew it quietly, and he
had perforce to let it go.  It might have been his for
always--her tiny hand and her exquisite person: but for
his hot-headed action he might have stood now boldly beside
her--the happy bridegroom beside this lovely bride.  The
feeling of gratitude which he had felt for Mark when the
latter chose to unravel the skein of their family's destiny,
which he--Laurence--had hopelessly embroiled, was now
changed to unreasoning bitterness.  What Mark had
accepted with a careless shrug of the shoulders he--Laurence--would
now give his life to possess.  Fate had indeed made
of her threads a tangle, and in this tangle he knew that his
own happiness had become inextricably involved.\par

He could not even remain beside donna Lenora now:
he was here unbeknown to his father, a looker-on at the
feast, whereat he might have presided.  Even at this
moment, señor de Vargas, having espied his daughter in
conversation with an unknown man, was making his way
toward the window embrasure.\par

"Señorita," whispered Laurence hurriedly, "that ring
upon your middle finger ... if at any time you
require help or protection will you send it to me?  Wherever
I may be I would come at once ... whatever you told
me to do I hereby swear that I would accomplish
... will you promise that if you need me, you will send me
that ring?"\par

And she, who was lonely, and had no one to love her
devotedly, gave the promise which he asked.\par

\label{justice}%
\hypertarget{justice}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER IV}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ JUSTICE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Don Ramon de Linea was one of the last to leave the
Town House.  He was on duty until all the Spanish officers
of State had left the building, and it was long past
midnight before he wended his way through the narrow streets
of the city till he reached the house of the High-Bailiff in
the Nieuwstraate not far from the new bridge.\par

The outward appearance of the house suggested that
most of its occupants were abed, although there was a
light in one of the windows on the ground floor, and
through the uncurtained casement don Ramon caught sight
of the High-Bailiff and his two sons sitting together over
a final cup of wine.\par

All the pent-up wrath against Mark van Rycke, which
Ramon had been forced to keep in check under the eye
of señor de Vargas, gave itself vent now in a comprehensive
curse, and forgetting every code of decency toward his
host and hostess he went up to the front door and gave
the heavy oak panels a series of violent kicks with his
boot.\par

"Hey there!" he shouted roughly, "open, you confounded
louts!  What manners are these to close your doors against
the soldiers of the King?"\par

He had not finished swearing when the serving man's
shuffling footsteps were heard crossing the tiled hall.  The
next moment there was a great rattle of bolts being drawn
and chains being unhung, whereupon don Ramon--still
impatient and wrathful--gave a final kick to the door, and
since Pierre had already lifted the latch, it flew open and
nearly knocked the poor man down with its weight.\par

"Curse you all for a set of lazy louts," shouted don
Ramon at the top of his voice.  "Here, fellow," he added
flinging himself into a chair, "take off my boots and
cloak."\par

He held out his leg, and Pierre, dutiful and obedient,
took off the long boots of untanned leather which
protected the slashed shoes and silk trunk-hose beneath, against
the mud of the streets.\par

"Where is your master?" queried the Spaniard roughly.\par

"In the dining hall, so please you, señor," replied the
man.\par

"And my men?"\par

"They went to the tavern over the way about an hour
ago, after they had their supper--and they have not yet
returned.  They are making merry there, señor," added
old Pierre somewhat wistfully.\par

And--as if in direct confirmation of the man's words--there
came from the tavern on the opposite side of the
street a deafening noise of wild hilarity.  The peace of
the night was broken and made hideous by hoarse shouts
and laughter, a deafening crash as of broken glass, all
intermixed with a bibulous song, sung out of tune in a
chorus of male voices, and the clapping of empty mugs
against wooden tables.\par

Don Ramon cursed again, but this time under his breath.
The order had gone forth recently from the Lieutenant-Governor
himself that the Spanish troops quartered in
Flemish cities were to behave themselves in a sober and
becoming manner.  The tavern of the "Three Weavers"
being situated just opposite the house of the High-Bailiff,
it was more than likely that the latter would take it upon
himself to complain of the ribaldry and uproar which was
disturbing his rest, and as the High-Bailiff was in high
favour just now a severe reprimand for don Ramon might
ensue, which prospect did not appeal to him in the least.\par

For a moment he hesitated whether he would not go
back across the road and order the men to be silent; but
as luck or fate would have it, at that very moment the
High-Bailiff opened the door of the dining-room and
stepped out into the hall.  Seeing the young Spaniard
standing there, sullen and irresolute, he bade him courteously to
come and join him and his two sons in a tankard of wine.\par

Don Ramon accepted the invitation.  The spirit of quarrelsome
fury still brooded within him, and it was that spirit
which made him wish to meet Mark van Rycke again and
either provoke him into that quarrel which señor de Vargas'
timely intervention had prevented before, or, at any rate,
to annoy and humiliate him with those airs of masterfulness
and superiority which the Spaniards knew so well
how to wield.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Mark and Laurence greeted their father's guest with
utmost politeness.  The former offered him a tankard of
wine which don Ramon pushed away so roughly that the
wine was spilled over the floor and over Mark van Rycke's
clothes, whereupon the Spaniard swore as was his wont and
murmured something about "a clumsy lout!"\par

Laurence sitting at the opposite side of the table clenched
his fists till the knuckles shone like ivory and the skin was
so taut that it threatened to crack; the blood rushed up
to his cheeks and his eyes glowed with the fire of bitter
resentment and of indignation not easily kept under
control.  But Mark ignored the insult, his face expressed
nothing but good-humoured indifference, and a careless
indulgence for the vagaries of a guest, like one would feel for
those of an irresponsible child.  As for the High-Bailiff, he
still beamed with amiability and the determination to
please his Spanish masters in every way that lay in his power.\par

"We would ask you, señor," said Laurence after a slight
pause during which he had made almost superhuman efforts
to regain his self-control, "kindly to admonish the soldiery
in the tavern yonder.  My mother is an invalid, the noise
that the men make is robbing her of sleep."\par

"The men will not stay at the tavern much longer," said
don Ramon haughtily, "they are entitled to a little
amusement after their arduous watch at the Town Hall.  An
Madame van Rycke will exercise a little patience, she will
get to sleep within the hour and can lie abed a little longer
to-morrow."\par

"It is not so much the lateness of the hour, señor," here
interposed the High-Bailiff urbanely, noting with horror
that his son was about to lose his temper, "neither I nor my
sons would wish to interfere with the innocent pleasures
of these brave men, but..."\par

"Then what is the pother about, sirrah?" queried the
Spaniard with well-studied insolence.\par

"Only that..."  murmured the unfortunate High-Bailiff
diffidently, "only that..."\par

"There are only two women in charge of the tavern
at this hour," broke in Mark quietly, "two young girls,
whose father was arrested this morning for attending a
camp-meeting outside the city.  The girls are timid and
unprotected, therefore we entreat that you, señor, do put
a stop to the soldiers' brawling and allow the tavern to be
closed at this late hour of the night."\par

Don Ramon threw back his head and burst into loud
and affected laughter.\par

"By the Mass, Messire!" he said, "I find you vastly
amusing to be thus pleading for a pair of heretics.  Did
you perchance not know that to attend camp meetings is
punishable by death?  If people want to hear a sermon
they should go to church where the true doctrine is preached.
Nothing but rebellion and high-treason are preached at
those meetings."\par

"We were pleading for two defenceless girls," rejoined
Laurence, whose voice shook with suppressed passion.  Even
he dared not say anything more on the dangerous subject
of religious controversy which Don Ramon had obviously
brought forward with the wish to provoke a discussion--lest
an unguarded word brought disaster upon his house.\par

"Pshaw!" retorted don Ramon roughly, "surely you
would not begrudge those fine soldiers a little sport?  Two
pretty girls--did you not say they were pretty?--are not
to be found in every street of this confounded city: and
by the Mass!  I feel the desire to go and have a look at
the wenches myself."\par

He rose, yawned and stretched.  Laurence was white
with passion: there was a glow of deadly hate in his
eyes--of fury that was almost maniacal: with a mechanical
gesture he tore at the ruff at his throat.  Don Ramon
looked on him with contempt in his eyes and a malicious
smile round his full lips.  He shrugged his shoulders and
laughed softly--ironically to himself.  The next moment
Laurence, unable to control himself, had sprung to his feet:
he would have been at the other's throat, but that Mark
who had been quietly watching him was just in time to
seize him round the shoulders and thus to prevent murder
from being done.\par

Don Ramon had not failed to notice Laurence's unreasoning
rage, nor the gesture which for one instant had
threatened his own life, but he showed not the slightest sign
of fear.  The sarcastic laugh did not wholly die down on
his lips, nor did the look of contempt fade out of his eyes.
He looked on--quite unmoved--whilst Mark succeeded,
if not in pacifying his brother, at least in forcing him back
to his seat and regaining some semblance of control over
himself.  The High-Bailiff, white as a sheet, was holding
out his hands in a pathetic and futile appeal to his son and
to the Spaniard.  Then as Laurence overcome with the
shame of his own impotence threw himself half across the
table and buried his face in his hands, don Ramon said
coldly:\par

"Your senseless rage has done you no good, my friend.
After half a century, you Netherlanders have, it seems, yet
to learn that it is not wise to threaten a Spanish
gentleman either by word or gesture.  Perhaps I would have
protected the two females in the tavern yonder from the
brutality of my soldiery--perhaps I wouldn't--I don't know!
But now, since you chose to raise an insolent hand against
me I certainly will not raise a finger to save them from any
outrage--I'll even countenance my men's behaviour by my
presence in the tavern.  Understand?  That is what you
have gained by your impudence--both you and your brother--for
with him too I have a score to settle for impudence
that literally passes belief.  If your father were not so
well-accredited as a good Catholic and a loyal subject of the
King, I would ... But enough of this.  Let the
lesson be a fruitful one: and you Messire High-Bailiff--an
you are wise--will inculcate into your sons a clearer
notion of respect, duty and obedience toward their superiors."\par

He nodded curtly to the High-Bailiff, took no further
notice of Mark and Laurence, but turned on his heel and
went out of the room slamming the door behind him.\par

After he had gone, the three men remained silent for
a while: the High-Bailiff feeling deeply resentful against
his son, would not trust himself to speak.  Mark was
leaning against the window sill and staring moodily out into
the darkness.  Laurence still held his head buried in his
hands.\par

The Spaniard's loud voice was heard giving orders to
Pierre, then there came the sound of bolts being pushed
back, of the heavy oaken door groaning on its hinges, then
the reclosing of the door and Pierre's shuffling footsteps
crossing the hall.\par

Laurence rose and passed the back of his hand once or
twice across his eyes: "And to think," he murmured dully,
"that brutes such as that are allowed to live.  Has God
turned the light of His countenance quite away from us?"  He
remained standing for a while gazing out blankly before
him, and with trembling fingers he traced intricate patterns
upon the table-top.  Then with a heavy sigh he bade father
and brother "good-night" and quietly went out of the room.\par

"Mark!" said the High-Bailiff quickly, "keep an eye on
that hot-headed young ruffian.  In his present state of mind
there's no knowing what he might do."\par

Whereupon Mark, in his usual good-tempered, indolent
way also bade his father good-night, and followed his
brother out of the room.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The scene which met don Ramon's eyes when he entered
the tavern of the "Three Weavers"--which was situate,
be it remembered, almost opposite the house of the
High-Bailiff of Ghent--was, alas! not an unusual one these
days.\par

For five years now--ever since the arrival of the Duke
of Alva in the Low Countries as Lieutenant-Governor and
Captain-General of the Forces--the Netherlander had
protested with all the strength and the insistence at their
command against the quartering of Spanish troops upon the
inhabitants of their free cities.  The practice was a flagrant
violation of all the promises made to them by the King
himself, and an outrage against their charters and liberties
which the King had sworn to respect.  But it also was a
form of petty tyranny which commended itself specially to
Alva, and to the Spanish ministers and councillors of State
who liked above all to humiliate these Dutch and Flemish
free men and cow them into complete submission and silent
acquiescence by every means which their cruel and
tortuous minds could invent.\par

Don Ramon knew quite well that he could offer no
greater insult to the High-Bailiff of Ghent and to his
sons--or, for the matter of that, to the whole city--than to
allow his soldiery to behave in a scandalous and ribald
manner in one of the well-accredited and well-conducted taverns
of the town.  And to him this knowledge gave but additional
zest to what otherwise would have been a tame
adventure--two women to bully and eight men to do it was not
nearly as exciting as he could wish.  But that fool Laurence
van Rycke had to be punished--and incidentally don Ramon
hoped that Mark would feel that the punishment was meted
out to him more than to his brother.\par

On the whole don Ramon de Linea felt, as he entered
the tap-room of the "Three Weavers," that the presence
of the two van Ryckes was all that he needed to make his
enjoyment complete.\par

That the Spanish provost and the six men under his
command were already drunk there was no doubt: some of
them were sitting at a long trestle table, sprawling across
it, lolling up against one another, some singing scraps of
bibulous songs, others throwing coarse, obscene jests across
the table.  Two men seemed to be on guard at the door,
whilst one and all were clamouring for more wine.\par

"Curse you, you..." the provost was shouting at
the top of his voice when don Ramon entered the tap-room,
"why don't you bring another bottle of wine?"\par

Two women were standing at the further end of the
long low room, close to the hearth: they stood hand in
hand as if in an endeavour to inculcate moral strength to
one another.  The eldest of the two women might have
been twenty-five years of age, the other some few years
younger: their white faces and round, dilated eyes showed
the deathly fear which held them both in its grip.  Obviously
the girls would have fled out of the tap-room long before
this, and equally obviously the two men had been posted
at the door in order to cut off their retreat.\par

At sight of their captain, the men staggered to their
feet; the provost passed the word of command, fearful
lest the ribald attitude of his men brought severe
censure--and worse--upon himself.  He stood up, as steadily, as
uprightly as he could; but don Ramon took little notice of
him; he called peremptorily to the two girls--who more
frightened than ever now, still clung desperately to one
another.\par

"Here, wench!" he said roughly, "I want wine, the best
you have, and a private room in which to sit."\par

"At your service, señor!" murmured the elder of the
two girls almost inaudibly.\par

"What's your name?" he asked.\par

"Katrine, so please your Magnificence."\par

"And yours?"\par

"Grete, at your service, Magnificence," whispered the
girls one after the other, clinging one to the other, like
two miserable atoms of humanity tossed about by the hard
hand of Fate.\par

"At my service then, and quickly too," retorted don
Ramon curtly, "go down into the cellar, Katrine, and get
me a fresh bottle of Rhine wine--the best your heretical
father hath left behind.  And you, Grete, show me to
another room, and when presently I order you to kiss me,
see that you do not do it with such a sour mouth, or by Our
Lady I'll remember that your father must hang on the
morrow, and that you are nothing better than a pair of
heretics too.  Now then," he added harshly, "must I repeat
the order?"\par

He had undone the buckle of his sword-belt, and was
carrying his sheathed sword in his hand: he found it a
splendid weapon for striking further terror into the hearts
of the two girls, whose shrieks of pain and fear caused
great hilarity amongst the soldiers.  Don Ramon felt that
if only Mark van Rycke could have been there, all the
wounds which that young malapert had dared to inflict upon
the pride of a Spanish grandee would forthwith be healed.
Indeed, don Ramon enjoyed every incident of this
exhilarating spectacle; for instance, when buxom Katrine had
at last toddled down the steps into the cellar, the soldiers
closed the trap-door upon her; whereupon the provost, who
had become very hilarious, shouted lustily:\par

"What ho! what are you louts doing there?  His
Magnificence will be wanting the wine which he has ordered.
If you lock the cellarer into her cellar, she'll come out
presently as drunk as a Spanish lord."\par

"All right, provost," retorted one of the men, "we'll let
her out presently.  His Magnificence won't have to wait
for long.  But we can levy a toll on her--do you
understand?--whenever the wench is ready to come out of
prison."\par

"Oh!  I understand!" quoth the provost with a laugh.\par

And don Ramon laughed too.  He was enjoying himself
even more than he had hoped.  He saw the other
girl--Grete--turn almost grey with terror, and he felt that he
was punishing Mark van Rycke for every insolent word
which he had uttered at the Town Hall and Laurence for
every threatening gesture.  He gave Grete a sharp
prodding with the hilt of his sword:\par

"Now then, you Flemish slut," he said harshly, "show
me to your best parlour, and don't stand there gaping."\par

Perforce she had to show him the way out of the public
{\itshape{tapperij}} to the private room reserved for noble guests.\par

"Send one of your men to fetch the wench away in
about half an hour, provost," called don Ramon loudly
over his shoulder, "I shall have got tired of her by then."\par

Loud laughter greeted this sally and a general clapping
of mugs against the table.  Grete more dead than alive
nearly fell over the threshold.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The private room was on the opposite side of the narrow
tiled hall and was dimly lighted by a small iron lamp that
hung from a beam of the ceiling above.  The door was
half open and Grete pushed it open still further and then
stood aside to allow the señor captain to pass.\par

"Will your Magnificence be pleased to walk in," she
whispered.\par

Great tears were in her eyes; don Ramon paused under
the lintel of the door, and with a rough gesture pinched her
cheek and ear.\par

"Not ugly for a Flemish heifer," he said with a laugh.
"Come along, girl!  Let's see if your heretical father hath
taught you how to pay due respect to your superiors."\par

"My humblest respect I do offer your Magnificence,"
said Grete, who was bravely trying to suppress her tears.\par

"Come! that's better," he retorted, as he pushed the girl
into the room and swaggered in behind her, closing the
door after him.  "Now, Grete," he added, as he threw
himself into a chair and stretched his legs out before
him, "come and sit on my knee, and if I like the way you
kiss me, why, my girl, there's no knowing what I might
not do to please you.  Come here, Grete!" he reiterated
more peremptorily, for the girl had retreated to a dark
corner of the room and was cowering there just like a
frightened dog.\par

"Come here, Grete," he called loudly for the third time.
But Grete was much too frightened to move.\par

With a savage oath don Ramon jumped to his feet, and
kicked the chair on which he had been sitting so that it
flew with a loud clatter half way across the room.  Grete
fell on her knees.\par

"Good Lord deliver me!" she murmured.\par

Don Ramon seized her by her two hands that were
clasped together in prayer, he dragged her up from her
knees, and toward the table which stood in the centre of
the small, square room.  Then he let her fall backwards
against the table, and laughed because she continued to pray
to God to help her.\par

"As if God would take any notice of heretics and rebels
and Netherlanders generally," he said with a sneer.  "Stand
up, girl, and go back to my men.  I have had enough of
you already.  Ye gods! what a vile crowd these
Netherlanders are!  Go back into the tap-room, do you hear,
girl? and see that you and your ugly sister entertain my men as
you should.  For if you don't, and I hear of any psalm-singing
or simpering nonsense I'll hand you over to the Inquisition
as avowed heretics to-morrow."\par

But truly Grete was by now almost paralysed with fear;
she was no brave heroine of romance who could stand
up before a tyrant and browbeat him by the very force of
her character and personality, she was but a mere wreckage
of humanity whom any rough hand could send hopelessly
adrift upon the sea of life.  Her one refuge was her tears,
her only armour of defence her own utter helplessness.\par

But this helplessness which would appeal to the most
elementary sense of chivalry, had not the power to stir a
single kind instinct in don Ramon de Linea.  It must be
admitted that it would not have appealed to a single
Spaniard these days.  They were all bred in the one
school which taught them from infancy an utter contempt
for this subject race and a deadly hatred against the heretics
and rebels of the Low Countries.  They were taught to look
upon these people as little better than cattle, without any
truth, honesty or loyalty in them, as being false and
treacherous, murderous and dishonest.  Don Ramon, who at this
moment was behaving as scurrilously as any man, not
absolutely born in the gutter, could possibly do, was only
following the traditions of his race, of his country and its
tyrannical government.\par

Therefore when Grete wept he laughed, when she
murmured the little prayers which her father had taught her,
he felt nothing but irritation and unmeasured contempt.
He tried to silence the girl by loud shouts and peremptory
commands, when these were of no avail he threatened, to
call for assistance from his sergeant.  Still the girl made
no attempt either to move or to stem the flood of tears.
Then don Ramon called aloud: "Hallo there, sergeant!"
and receiving no answer, he went to the door, in order
to reiterate his call from there.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
His hand was on the latch, when the door was suddenly
opened from without; so violently that don Ramon was
nearly thrown off his balance, and would probably have
measured his length on the floor, but that he fell up against
the table and remained there, leaning against it with one
hand in order to steady himself, and turning a wrathful
glance on the intruder.\par

"By the Mass!" he said peremptorily, "who is this
malapert who..."\par

But the words died on his lips; the look of wrath in his
eyes gave way to one of sudden terror.  He stared straight
out before him at the sombre figure which had just crossed
the threshold.  It was the tall figure of a man dressed in
dark tightly-fitting clothes, wearing high boots to the top of
his thighs, a hood over his head and a mask of untanned
leather on his face.  He was unarmed.\par

Don Ramon, already a prey to that superstitious fear
of the unknown and of the mysterious which characterised
even the boldest of his country and of his race, felt all his
arrogance giving way in the presence of this extraordinary
apparition, which by the dim and flickering light of the
lamp appeared to him to be preternaturally tall and
strangely menacing in its grim attitude of silence.  Thus a
moment or two went by.  The stranger now turned and
carefully closed and locked the door behind him.  Key in
hand he went up to the girl--Grete--who, no less terrified
than her tormentor, was cowering in a corner of the room.\par

"Where is Katrine," he asked quickly; then, as the girl
almost paralysed by fear seemed quite unable to speak, he
added more peremptorily:\par

"Pull yourself together, wench; your life and Katrine's
depend on your courage now.  Where is she?"\par

"In ... in ... the cellar ... I think,"
stammered Grete almost inaudibly and making a brave
effort to conquer her terror.\par

"Can you reach her without crossing the tap-room?"\par

The girl nodded.\par

"Well, then, run to her at once.  Don't stop to collect any
of your belongings, except what money you have; then
go ... go at once....  Have you a friend or
relative in this city to whom you could go at this late hour?"\par

Again the girl nodded, and looked up more boldly this
time: "My father's sister..." she whispered.\par

"Where does she live?"\par

"At the sign of the 'Merry Beggars' in Dendermonde."\par

"Then go to her at once--you and Katrine.  You will
be safe there for awhile.  If any further danger threatens
you or your kinsfolk, you shall be advised ... in that
case you would have to leave the country."\par

"I shouldn't be afraid," murmured the girl.\par

"That's good!" he concluded.  "Come, Grete!"\par

He turned back to the door, unlocked it, and let the girl
slip out of the room.  Then he relocked the door.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
While this brief colloquy had been going on, don Ramon
was making great efforts to recover his scattered wits and
to steady his overstrung nerves.  The superstitious fear
which had gripped him by the throat, yielded at first to
another equally terrifying thought: the hood and mask
suggested an emissary of the Inquisition, one of those
silent, nameless beings who seemed to have the power of
omnipresence, who glided through closed doors and barred
windows, appeared suddenly in tavern, church or street
corner, and were invariably the precursors of arrest,
torture-chamber and death.  No man or woman--however
high-born, however highly placed, however influential or
however poor and humble, was immune from the watchful
eye of the Inquisition; a thoughtless word, a careless
jest--or the mere denunciation of an enemy--and the
accusation of treason, heresy or rebellion was trumped up and
gibbet or fire claimed yet another victim.  Don Ramon--a
Spanish grandee--could not of course be denounced as a
heretic, but he knew that the eyes of de Vargas were upon
him, that he might he thought importune or in the way now
that other projects had been formed for donna
Lenora--and he also knew that de Vargas would as ruthlessly sweep
him out of the way as he would a troublesome fly.\par

Thus fear of real, concrete danger had succeeded that
of the supernatural; but now that the stranger moved and
spoke kindly with Grete--the daughter of an heretic--it
was evident that he was no spy of the Inquisition: he was
either an avowed enemy who chose this theatrical manner
of accomplishing a petty vengeance, or in actual fact that
extraordinary creature who professed to be the special
protector of the Prince of Orange and whom popular
superstition among the soldiery had nicknamed Leatherface.\par

The latter was by far the most likely, and as the stranger
whoever he was, was unarmed, don Ramon felt that he
had no longer any cause for fear.  Though his sword--in
its scabbard--was lying on the table, his dagger was in his
belt.  With a quick movement he unsheathed it, and at the
precise moment when the masked man had his back to him
in order to relock the door, don Ramon--dagger in hand--made
a swift and sudden dash for him.  But the stranger
had felt rather than seen or heard the danger which
threatened him.  As quick as any feline creature he turned on his
assailant and gripped his upraised hand by the wrist with
such a vice-like grip that don Ramon uttered a cry of rage
and pain: his fingers opened out nervelessly and the dagger
fell with a clatter to the ground.\par

Then the two men closed with one another.  It was a
fight, each for the other's throat--a savage, primitive
fight--man against man--with no weapon save sinewy hands,
hatred and the primeval instinct to kill.  The masked man
was by far the more powerful and the more cool.  Within
a very few moments he had don Ramon down on his knees,
his own strong hands gripping the other's throat.  The
Spaniard felt that he was doomed: he--of that race which
was sending thousands of innocent and defenceless
creatures to a hideous death--he, who had so often and so
mercilessly lent a hand to outrage, to pillage and to murder,
who but a few moments ago was condemning two helpless
girls to insults and outrage worse than death, was in his
turn a defenceless atom in the hands of a justiciary.  The
breath was being squeezed out of his body, his limbs felt
inert and stiff, his mind became clouded over as by a
crimson mist.  He tried to call for help, but the cry died in his
throat.  And through the mist which gradually obscured
his vision he could still see the silhouette of that
closely-hooded head and a pair of eyes shining down on him
through the holes of the leather mask.\par

"Let me go, miscreant," he gasped as for one moment
the grip on his throat seemed to relax.  "By heaven you
shall suffer for this outrage."\par

"'Tis you will suffer," said the other coldly, "even as
you would have made two helpless and innocent women
suffer."\par

"They shall suffer yet!" cried don Ramon with a
blasphemous oath, "they and their kith and kin--aye! and this
accursed city which hath given {\itshape{you}} shelter!  Assassin!"\par

"And it is because you are such an abominable cur,"
came a voice relentlessly from behind the leather mask,
"because you would hunt two unfortunates down, them
and their kith and kin and the city that gave them shelter,
that you are too vile to live, and that I mean to kill you,
like I would any pestilential beast that befouled God's earth.
So make your peace with your Creator now, for you are
about to meet Him face to face laden with the heavy
burden of your infamies."\par

In don Ramon now only one instinct remained paramount--the
instinct of a final effort for self-defence.  When
he fell, his knee came in contact with the dagger which he
had dropped.  It cost him a terrible effort, but nevertheless
he succeeded in groping for it with his right hand and in
seizing it: another moment of violent struggle for
freedom, another convulsive movement and he had lifted the
dagger.  He struck with ferocious vigour at his powerful
opponent and inflicted a gashing wound upon his left
arm--the dagger penetrated to the bone, cutting flesh and
muscle through from wrist to elbow.\par

But even as he struck he knew that it was too late; he
had not even the strength to renew the effort.  The next
moment the vice-like grip tightened round his throat with
merciless power.  He could neither cry for help nor yet
for mercy, nor were his struggles heard beyond these four
narrow walls.\par

The soldiers whom he himself had bidden to be merry
and to carouse, were singing and shouting at the top of
their voice, and heard neither his struggles nor his cries.
The dagger had long since slipped out of his hand, and
at last he fell backwards striking his head against the leg
of the table as he fell.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
In the tap-room the soldiers had soon got tired of
waiting for Katrine.  At first some of them amused themselves
by reopening the trap-door, then sitting on the top step
of the ladder that led to the cellar and thence shouting
ribald oaths, coarse jests and blasphemies for the benefit
of the unfortunate girl down below.\par

But after a time this entertainment also palled, and a
council was held as to who should go down and fetch the
girl.  The cellar was vastly tempting in itself--with no
one to guard it save a couple of wenches--and the captain
more than half-inclined to be lenient toward a real bout of
drunkenness.  It was an opportunity not to be missed;
strange that the idea had not occurred to seven thirsty men
before.\par

Now the provost declared that he would go down first,
others could follow him in turn, but two must always
remain in the tap-room in case the captain called, their
comrades would supply them with wine from below.  The
provost descended--candle in hand--so did four of the
men, but Katrine was no longer in the cellar.  They hunted
for her for awhile, and discovered a window, the shaft of
which sloped upwards to a yard at the back of the house.
The window was open and there was a ladder resting
against the wall of the shaft.\par

The men swore a little, then went back to investigate
the casks of wine.  With what happened in the cellar after
that this chronicle hath no concern, but those soldiers who
remained up in the tap-room had a curious experience which
their fuddled brains did not at first take in altogether.  What
happened was this: the door which gave on the passage
was opened, and a man appeared under the lintel.  He was
dressed in sombre, tight-fitting doublet and hose, with high
boots reaching well above his knees; he had a hood over
his head and a mask on his face.  The soldiers stared at
him with wide-open, somewhat dimmed eyes.\par

The masked man only spoke a few words:\par

"Tell your provost," he said, "that señor captain don
Ramon de Linea lies dead in the room yonder."\par

Then he disappeared, as quietly as he had come.\par

\label{vengeance}%
\hypertarget{vengeance}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER V}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ VENGEANCE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"Satan!  Satan!  Assassin!"\par

Donna Lenora had stood beside the dead body of her
lover and kinsman wide-eyed and pale with rigid, set mouth
and trembling knees while her father explained to her how
don Ramon de Linea had been murdered in the tavern
of the "Three Weavers" by an unknown man who wore
a leather mask.  She had listened to the whole garbled
version of the sordid affair, never thinking to doubt a single
one of her father's words: don Ramon de Linea, according
to the account given to his daughter by Juan de Vargas,
had--while in the execution of his duty--been attacked
in a dark passage by a mysterious assassin, who had fled
directly his nefarious work had been accomplished.\par

The murderer, however, was seen by the provost in
command and by two of the soldiers, and was accurately
described by them as wearing doublet and high-boots of a
dark-brown colour, a hood over his head and a mask of
untanned leather on his face.  The man had rapidly
disappeared in the darkness, evading all pursuit.\par

And donna Lenora--thus face to face for the first time
in her sheltered life with crime, with horror and with
grief--had, in the first moment of despairing misery, not
even a prayer to God in her heart, for it was filled with
bitter thoughts of resentment and of possible revenge.\par

She had loved her cousin don Ramon de Linea with all
the ardour of her youth, of her warm temperament and
of a heart thirsting for the self-sacrifice which women were
so ready to offer these days on the altar of their Love.
She had never thought him shallow or cruel: to her he
had always been just the playmate of childhood's days,
the handsome, masterful boy whom she had looked up to
as the embodiment of all that was strong and noble and
chivalrous, the first man who had ever whispered the
magic word "love" in her ear.\par

Now an unknown enemy had killed him: not in fair
fight, not in the open, on the field of honour, but--as her
father said--in a tavern, in the dark, surreptitiously,
treacherously; and donna Lenora in an agony of passionate
resentment had at last broken the silence which had almost
frightened her father and had suddenly called out with
fierce intensity: "Satan!  Satan!  Assassin!"  Her father
had given her an account of the horrible incident, which
was nothing but a tissue of falsehoods from beginning to
end, and Lenora had listened and believed.  How could she
doubt her own father?  She hardly knew him--and he
was all she had in the world on whom to pour out the
wealth of her affection and of her faith.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Truth to tell, de Vargas had received the news of don
Ramon's death with unbounded satisfaction.\par

Lenora had obeyed him and had been this night publicly
affianced to Mark van Rycke; but between her consent to
the marriage and her willingness to become Alva's tool as
a spy among her husband's people there was the
immeasurable abyss of a woman's temperament and a woman's
natural pity for the oppressed.\par

But the outrage to-night--the murder of the man whom
she still loved despite paternal prohibitions--was bound to
react on the girl's warm and passionate nature--and react
in the manner which her father desired.  He trusted to his
own powers of lying, to place the case before his daughter
in its most lurid light.  He had at once spoken of "spies"
and "assassins" and his words had been well chosen.  Within
a few moments after he had told Lenora the news, he felt
that he could play like a skilled musician upon every string
of her overwrought sensibilities.  Her heart had already
been very sore at being forced to part from her first lover;
now that the parting had suddenly become irrevocable in
this horrible way, all the pent up passion, fierce resentment
and wrath which she had felt against her future husband
and his people could by clever manipulation be easily merged
into an equally fierce desire for revenge.\par

It was a cruel game to play with a young girl who by
blood and race was made to feel every emotion with
super-acuteness: but de Vargas was not the man who would
ever allow pity or chivalry to interfere with his schemes:
he saw in his daughter's mental suffering, in the shattering
of her nerves and the horror which had well-nigh paralysed
her, nothing but a guarantee of success for that
comprehensive project which had the death of the Prince of
Orange for its ultimate aim.\par

"It is strange," murmured the girl after awhile, "that
when Ramon talked with me in the Town House last night,
he said that these Netherlanders had a habit of striking
at an enemy in the dark."\par

"A presentiment, no doubt," rejoined de Vargas with
well-feigned gentleness.  "Now, my child, you begin to
understand--do you not?--why it is that we Spaniards
hate these treacherous Netherlanders.  They are vile and
corrupt to the heart, every single man, woman or child
of them.  They fear us and have not the pluck to fight
us in the open.  Orange and his contemptible little army
have sought shelter in Holland--they dare not face the
valour and enthusiasm of our troops.  But mark you, what
Orange hath done!  He hath sown the entire country with
a crop of spies!  They are here, there, everywhere--not
very cunning and certainly not brave--their orders are to
strike in the dark when and how they can.  They waylay
our Spanish officers in the ill-lighted, and intricate streets
of their abominable cities, they dog their footsteps until
they meet them in some lowly tavern or a tenebrous
archway: then out comes their dagger, swift and sure, and
they strike in the gloom--and a gallant Spanish officer's
blood stains the cobblestones of one of their towns.  It
was don Ramon to-day--it will be Julian Romero perhaps
to-morrow--or don Juan de Vargas--who knows? or
mayhap the duke of Alva one day.  Orange and his crowd
are out on a campaign of assassination--an army of
assassins has been let loose--and their captain-general wears
a mask of leather and our soldiery have dubbed him
'Leatherface'!"\par

"I have heard of this man 'Leatherface,'" said Lenora
slowly.  "It is he, you think, who murdered Ramon?"\par

"Have we not the soldiers' testimony?" he rejoined
blandly, "two men and the provost saw him quite clearly.
As for me, I am not surprised: more than once our spies
have reported that the man undoubtedly hailed from Ghent,
and once he was traced to the very gates of this city.  But,"
he added insinuatingly, "here he is surrounded by friends:
every burgher in Ghent, no doubt, opens wide his
hospitable door to the murderer of Spanish officers."\par

"Think you it is likely that the High-Bailiff of Ghent
or ... or ... my future husband would harbour
such an assassin?" she asked.\par

"Well!" he replied evasively, "all Netherlanders are
treacherous.  The High-Bailiff himself and his son Mark
are said to be loyal ... but there's another son
... and the mother ... one never knows.  It would be
strange," he continued unctuously, "if at some future time
the murderer of Ramon should find shelter in your house."\par

"I shall pray to the saints," she rejoined with passionate
intensity, "that he and I may meet face to face one day."\par

Indeed de Vargas had no cause to fear that henceforth
his daughter would fail in her vigilance.  The assassination
of her lover had stirred her soul to its inmost depths.
Indifference and light-hearted girlishness had suddenly
given place to all the violent passions of her ardent nature.
For the moment desire for vengeance--for justice she called
it--and hatred of the assassin and his mates had swept
every other thought, every soft aspiration away: all her
world--the world as seen through the rose-coloured
windows of a convent window--had tottered and opened
beneath her feet, and through the yawning chasm she now
saw evil and lust and cruelty dancing a triumphant saraband
over Ramon's dead body.\par

"There is a means," resumed de Vargas after a slight
pause, during which through half-closed lids he studied
the play of every varying emotion upon his daughter's
beautiful face, "there is a means, my child, whereby you
or any faithful servant of our King can henceforth
recognise at a glance the man who killed your cousin Ramon."\par

"A means?"\par

"Yes.  He carries upon his arm the brand of his own infamy."\par

"Will you tell me more clearly what you mean?" she asked.\par

"Ramon had not breathed his last when the provost
found him and ultimately brought him here to my lodgings.
He was able to speak and to give a fragmentary account
of what had taken place: how he was set upon in the dark
and stabbed to death ere he could utter a cry.  But at the
last moment he made a supreme effort and wrenching his
dagger from his belt he struck with it at his assailant.  It
seems that he inflicted a very severe wound upon the miscreant:
the dagger penetrated into the left forearm close to
the elbow and gashed the flesh and muscle as far as the
wrist and right through to the bone.  It is not likely that
at this moment there is more than one man in Ghent who
hath such a wound in the left forearm: the wound was deep
too, and will take some time to heal, and even when it is
healed it will leave a tell-tale scar which will last for years.\par

"I think," rejoined Lenora coldly, "that I should know
the man who killed Ramon, even if he bore no brand of
Cain upon his person."\par

Father and daughter looked at one another and for
the space of a few seconds their souls--so different in every
ideal, every feeling, every aspiration--met in one common
resolve.  He could hardly repress a sigh of satisfaction.
He knew that he held her, closely, firmly, indissolubly at
last.  He held her by all the romance which her girlish
imagination had woven round the personality of a worthless
man, and by all the deep sense of injury which she felt
as well as all the horror and the indignation at the dastardly
deed.  And his own warped and gloomy soul was at one
with her pure and childlike one--pure because even the
desire for revenge which she felt, she ascribed to God, and
called it justice.  The Moorish blood in her which mingles
even with the bluest Castilian claimed with savage, primeval
instinct that "eye for an eye" and "tooth for a tooth" which
alone can satisfy a hot-headed and passionate race.\par

Lenora's eyes as she met those of her father lost their
look of dull despair: something of the fanatical hatred
which he felt for the whole of the despised race
communicated itself to her, now that she too had so much
cause for hatred.\par

"We understand one another, Lenora," he said.  And
like a feline creature sure of its prey, he drew quite close
to her and took her hand, and began gently to stroke it.\par

"You will have to teach me what to do, father," she
rejoined.\par

"Your heart and wits will tell you that.  In a few days
you will have entered the van Rycke household.  Keep
your eyes and ears open, and win the confidence and love
of all those around you.  Let not a word, a sign, a gesture
escape you, and come and tell me at once all that you see
and hear.  Will you promise to do that, my Lenora?" he
added, forcing his harsh voice to tones of gentleness.\par

"I promise," she replied fervently.\par

"The Lieutenant-Governor believes that Orange himself
has been visiting Ghent lately!  Keep your eyes and ears
open, Lenora, you may be the means of bringing that
arch-traitor to his just punishment.  Promise me that you will
listen," he urged.\par

"I promise," she reiterated firmly.\par

"The Lieutenant-Governor comes to Ghent in a few
days' time.  Wherever he goes there is always fear for
his precious life.  If Orange has been in Ghent then he
hath hatched a plot against the Duke--on this I would stake
my life--promise me that you will be on the watch, Lenora!"\par

"I promise."\par

"Upon your soul, my child?"\par

"Upon my soul!"\par

"And next to Orange himself, I'd sooner see that masked
assassin Leatherface hang than any man in Europe;
remember that, little one!"\par

"I'll not forget."\par

"The outrage on don Ramon de Linea must not remain
unavenged, remember that."\par

"I'll not forget."\par

"Then let Orange and his rebels look to themselves!"
ejaculated de Vargas with a note of triumph.\par

He took from the breast pocket of his doublet a piece of
silk ribbon to which was attached a flat, yet curiously
fashioned and shaped piece of steel.\par

"Take this, my child," he said significantly, as he held
the trinket out to her.  "This little bit of metal hath
already done more service to our Lord the King, to our
country, and to our faith than a whole army of spies."\par

"What is it, dear?" she asked.\par

"It is a little talisman," he replied, "that will turn any
lock and open any secret drawer by whomsoever lock and
drawer have been manufactured.  It was made for me
by the finest metal-cutter of Toledo--one in fact whose
skill was so paramount that we had reluctantly to
... to put him out of harm's way.  He was getting dangerous.
This pass-key was his masterpiece.  I have tested it on
the most perfect specimens of the locksmith's art both in
Toledo and in Florence.  It hath never failed me yet.  Take
it, my child, and guard it carefully.  An I mistake not, you
will find use for it in your new home."\par

Before she could protest he had thrown the ribbon over
her head, and she--mechanically but with unaccountable
reluctance withal--slipped the trinket into the bosom of her
gown.\par

"Remember, my dear," concluded de Vargas, "that the
day after your marriage I must return to Brussels.  But
if you see or hear anything that may concern the welfare
of our Sovereign Lord the King, or of his government,
you must come to me at once--do not hesitate--invent a
pretext--come away in secret--do anything rather than
delay.  And remember also that anything you may tell me,
I will treat in absolute confidence.  Your name will never
appear in connection with any denunciation ... I mean,"
he interrupted himself hastily, "with any service which you
may render to the State.  Will you remember that also, my
child?"\par

"I will remember," she replied.\par

It seemed almost as if she were under the potent spell
of some wizard.  She spoke and acted just as her father
directed--and yet he looked so evil at this moment,
hypocrisy and lust were so apparent in his jaundiced face, that
even Lenora felt a sudden pang of doubt and of fear--doubt
as to the purity of her own motives and fear at the
terrible companionship which would henceforth exist
between herself and her father's friends, men who--like
him--were bent on the destruction of a nation and were
actuated by blind hatred to oppress an entire people.\par

De Vargas--vaguely guessing what went on in the girl's
mind--made an effort to regain his former bland manner:
he strove by gentleness and soft words to lull her suspicions.
After all, he was her father and she--a motherless
child--had no one now in the world to whom she could cling,
on whom she could pour out that wealth of love and
tenderness which filled her young heart to overflowing.  So
now--very soon--she was kneeling close beside him, her
head resting against his bosom--the dove nestling near the
hawk; and the tears which would not come all the while
that her soul was consumed with bitterness, flowed
beneficently at last and eased her overburdened heart.\par

"You will not fail me, little one?" asked de Vargas
even in the midst of tender, endearing words.\par

"Never!" she murmured, "if you turned against me,
father dear, whither could I go?  I have no one in the
world but you."\par

As her head was bent and her eyes downcast, she could
not see the cold and cruel glitter that shone in his face as
he heard this simple profession of whole-hearted devotion
and faith.\par

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it," she whispered again.\par

"Then will God Himself reward you," he rejoined unctuously,
"for you will be serving Him and His Church, His
anointed and the country of His chosen people."\par

After which he rose, kissed her and finally with a sigh
of intense satisfaction left her to meditate alone, to dream
and to pray.\par

\label{a-stranger-in-a-strange-land}%
\hypertarget{a-stranger-in-a-strange-land}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{BOOK TWO: DENDERMONDE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER VI}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
A week later was the marriage solemnised between
donna Lenora de Vargas and Mark van Rycke, son of the
High-Bailiff of Ghent.\par

The religious ceremony took place in the abbey church
of St. Bavon in the presence of several members of the
Grand Council and of all the high functionaries of the
city.  Nothing had been spared to make the occasion a
magnificent and imposing one.  The union between the two
young people was known to have the warm approval of
the King himself: His Holiness the Pope had sent a
special blessing to the bride and bridegroom, whilst the
Captain-General had granted the use of a number of picked
troops to render the display more gorgeous.  Seven
hundred and fifty arquebusiers, spearmen and halberdiers lined
the route of the bridal procession between the town-house
and the church: they were dressed in the heraldic colours
of the city of Ghent, one leg blue and the other yellow, and
wore enormous hats with huge feathers dyed in the two
colours.\par

The Regent too had graciously lent his court musicians
for the occasion and they headed the procession with full
orchestra playing the newest motets.  The church itself had
been magnificently decorated with tapestries, and a huge
concourse of people lined the streets in order to view all
this pomp and magnificence.\par

After the religious ceremony a grand banquet was held
in the great hall of the Town House at which eighty-four
privileged guests were bidden.  It was served at separate
tables each laid for a dozen guests, and consisted of
twenty-five courses--which were both varied and succulent.  There
were fowls stewed in milk and dressed with sweetmeats
and spices, there were pickled partridges and pastries,
sausages and omelettes of every kind, whilst huge flagons of
iced beer and Rhenish wines added to the conviviality of
the entertainment.\par

Señor de Vargas presided at the chief table, and he had
the bride on his right and the bridegroom on his left.  The
High-Bailiff also sat at this table as did Madame his wife
and Messire Laurence van Rycke, and every one remarked
that señor de Vargas was in high good-humour and that
he bestowed marked evidences of his favour both upon the
High-Bailiff and upon the bridegroom.\par

During the banquet the court musicians discoursed sweet
music; in fact everything was done not only with decorum
but with liberality: this was the first union between a noted
and highly placed Spanish family and an equally distinguished
patrician house of Flanders, and in a brief toast,
tankard in hand, señor de Vargas expressed the hope that
it might prove the precursor of a great many more.\par

Those present at the feast remarked moreover that the
bride was beautiful beyond powers of description, that the
bridegroom looked as usual, as if he had been spending
half his nights in the taverns, and that Messire Laurence
van Rycke looked pale and sick.\par

But nothing of any grave moment occurred during the
length of this exciting and strenuous day.  After the
banquet the tables were cleared and many more guests arrived
to take part in a grand reunion and ball which lasted well
into the night.  But neither the bride or bridegroom nor
any of the grand Spanish seigniors stayed for that: a small
procession was formed soon after the conclusion of the
banquet, consisting of the parents of bride and bridegroom
flanked by a guard of honour, which conducted the young
couple from the Town House to the residence of the
High-Bailiff, which was to remain their home until such time as
a more fitting permanent abode could be provided for them.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
And now the escort had taken leave of the young people:
don Juan de Vargas and the High-Bailiff had to return
to their guests at the Town House and Clémence van Rycke
had gone to rest.  The arquebusiers had gone and the
serving men and women--with the exception of Pierre and
Jeanne--had gone to watch the illuminations and to listen
to the strains of the orchestra which could be heard quite
plainly through the open windows of the Town House.\par

Clémence van Rycke had conducted the bride upstairs to
the nuptial-chamber.  With her own hands she had drawn
a high-backed chair close to the fire and made the young
girl sit down.  Mark then placed a footstool to her feet and
a down cushion to her back.\par

Lenora accepted all these little attentions without a word,
but with a grateful smile.  She was far too tired to speak,
and when Clémence finally kissed her on the forehead and
whispered a motherly: "God bless you, my child!" she
could hardly murmur a feeble "Good-night!" in reply.\par

Then Madame van Rycke went away, and the house
seemed suddenly to become very still.  Lenora was still in
her bridal gown, which was of stiff white brocade, with
very high starched collar and hard stomacher that cramped
her movements and made her sides ache.  Her hair had
been combed away from her forehead and only a few unruly
curls lay moist against her brow: her delicate skin rebelled
against the conventional white and pink unguents which the
careful fingers of a highly-trained waiting woman had laid
upon her cheeks and lips, and the dark lines of a black
pencil round her lashes could not add lustre to her luminous
dark eyes which, despite fatigue, shone with marvellous
brilliancy.\par

She sat with hands folded before her, staring into the fire,
and the flames in wanton frolic threw a golden glow upon
her face and her gown and deep blue shadows all around
her.  Mark van Rycke--unseen by her--stood at the other
end of the monumental hearth, one arm resting against the
ledge, his head against his hand, so that his face was
completely in shadow and she could not know that he was
watching her.\par

"You are tired, Madonna?" he asked after a little while,
and she replied, pathetically, like a child about to cry:\par

"Very tired, Messire."\par

"It has been a long and trying day for you," he
continued lightly.  "I confess to being very tired myself, and
as soon as Jeanne comes to wait on you, I would beg of you
that I might take my leave."\par

Then as she said nothing, but continued to stare into
the fire in a listless manner, he added a little impatiently:\par

"Jeanne will not be long; she attends upon my mother
every night, but will be at your service directly.  Can you
put up with my company, Madonna, till she come?"\par

"I am at your service, Messire," she rejoined stiffly, "if
there is aught you wish to say to me."\par

"How cold you are, sweetheart," he said good-humouredly.
"It would seem as if we were still in the presence of that
awe-inspiring duenna of yours: what was her name?--I
forget--but by the Mass!  I tell you, sweet, that she froze
the very marrow in my bones ... and you were so formal
in her presence too--brrrr!--it makes me shiver to think of
those half-hours spent during the past week in such a
freezing atmosphere!"\par

He laughed--a quaint little laugh--half merry and half
shy, and after an instant's hesitation, he drew a low chair
forward and sat down in front of the fire, close to her.
Even then she did not turn to look at him.\par

"Had it not been for your eyes, Madonna," he said softly,
"I would have sworn that you were fashioned of marble."\par

Now he was leaning a little forward, his elbow resting
on his knee, his hand shading his face from the light of
the fire.  He was studying her face closely, and thought
that he had never seen any woman quite so beautiful.
"Laurence was a fool!" he was saying to himself as he took
in every detail of the perfect face, the delicate contour of
the cheeks, the pearly whiteness of the skin, the exquisite
line of chin and throat, and above all those dark, glowing,
unfathomable eyes which betrayed all the latent fire and
passion which coldness of demeanour strove vainly to
conceal.  "Laurence was a fool!  He would have fallen madly
in love with this beautiful creature, and would have made
her happy and contented with her lot, whilst the bonds of
matrimony would have sat more lightly on him than on me."\par

He sighed, feeling a little sorry for himself, but
nevertheless he stretched out his hand and captured hers--an
exquisitely fashioned little hand it was, delicate to the touch
and pulsating with life, like a prisoned bird.  Mark was
a young man--and one who had already got out of life
most of the joys which it holds, but just for a moment he
felt a curious thrill of unaccustomed pleasure, in holding
this perfect thing--donna Lenora's hand.  His own hands
were strong, yet slender, finely shaped and warm to the
touch, but it must be supposed that as he held hers, he
must--quite unconsciously--have hurt her, for suddenly he saw
that she turned even whiter than she had been before, her
eyes closed and quite abruptly she withdrew her hand.\par

"Do I anger you, Madonna?" he asked.\par

"Nay, Messire," she replied coldly.\par

"May I not then hold your hand--for a very little while
in mine?"\par

"If you wish."\par

But she did not voluntarily put her hand out to him, and
he made no second attempt to capture it.\par

"We do not seem to be getting along very fast," he said
quaintly.\par

She smiled.  "Seeing how we came to be together, Messire,"
she said, "we were not like to have much in common."\par

"Yet, we shall have to pass our lives together, Madonna."\par

"Alas!" she sighed.\par

"I own that the prospect cannot be very alluring for you--it
doth not seem to suggest an interminable vista of happiness...."\par

"Oh!" she murmured as if involuntarily, "I was not
thinking of happiness."\par

"How strange," he retorted gently, "now, whenever I
look at you, Madonna, I invariably think of happiness."\par

"Happiness?  With me?"\par

"With you, sweetheart, if you will but allow me to work
for that object.  After all, my dear," he added with that
whimsical smile of his, "we are both young, you and I; life
lies all before us.  I own that we have made a sorry
beginning, that the first chapter of our book of life hath been
ill-writ and by clumsy hands.  But suppose we turn over
a few pages, do you not think that we might happen on a
more romantic passage?"\par

He drew nearer still to her, so near that as he bent toward
her his knee touched the ground and his arm instinctively
stretched out behind her, so that at the least movement on
her part it would close around her and hold her--as indeed
he longed that it should do.  She was so very beautiful, and
that air of settled melancholy, of childlike helplessness and
pathos in her made an irresistible appeal to him.\par

"Madonna," he whispered, "an you would let me, I
should like to make love to you now."\par

But she, with a quick, impatient jerk suddenly sat bolt
upright and freed herself almost roughly from that arm
which was nearly encircling her shoulders.\par

"Love!" she said with cold sarcasm.  "You?"\par

He bit his lip and in his turn drew back: the dour look
in his face became more marked and the merry twinkle died
out of his eyes: his knee no longer touched the ground, but
he remained quite self-possessed and said, still quite
good-humouredly:\par

"Yes, I--your husband as it happens, Madonna.  Would
love from me be so very distasteful to you then?"\par

"I have no love for you, Messire, as you well know,"
she said coldly.  "I told you what my feelings were toward
yon, the first time that we met--at the Town House, the
night of our betrothal."\par

"Yes," he owned, "you spoke very plainly then."\par

"And since then I have had no cause to change."\par

"I am as distasteful to you as I ever was?" he asked
with droll consternation.\par

"Oh!--not distasteful, Messire."\par

"Come! that's something."\par

"Enough, methinks."\par

"Not by a long way, but it is a beginning.  To-day I am
not altogether distasteful--to-morrow I might e'en be
tolerated ... in a week toleration might turn to liking
... and after that, liking to..."\par

"Never," she broke in firmly, "I should have to forget
that which is indelibly writ upon my memory."\par

"And what is that?"\par

"That you married me without love and without wooing--bought
me like a bundle of goods just because my father
is powerful and yours ambitious.  A week ago we were
betrothed, Messire.  Since then how hath your time been
passed?"\par

"In wild, ecstatic half-hours spent in the presence of
your duenna and sitting opposite to the chilliest bride in
Christendom," he said whimsically.\par

"And the rest of the time in the taverns of Ghent," she
retorted hotly, "and places of ill-repute."\par

"Who told you that?" he asked quietly.\par

"Oh! your reputation is well known: how could it fail
to reach mine ears."\par

"Evil tongues always make themselves heard, Madonna,"
he said, still speaking very quietly, although now he sat
quite apart from her, with his long legs stretched out before
him and his hands clasped between his knees.  "I would you
had not listened."\par

"I would I had not heard," she assented, "for then I
should not have added one more humiliation to all those
which I have had to endure."\par

"And I another regret," he said with a short sigh.  "But
even if evil tongues spoke true, Madonna," he continued
more lightly, "the shame of my conduct would sit on me
and not on you.  They call me a ne'er-do-well in the
city--and have it seems done so in your hearing!  Well! let me
plead guilty for the past and lay my contrition at your feet."\par

Once more the more gentle mood overcame him.  The
house was so still and there was something quite unaccountably
sweet in this sentimental dalliance with this exquisitely
beautiful woman who was his wife--sentimental indeed, for
though she appeared cold and even cruelly sarcastic, he felt
the strength of a fine nature in her.  Here was no mere
doll, mere puppet and slave of man content to take her lot
as her family or her husband chose to shape it--content
to endure or accept a husband's love without more return
than passive obedience and meaningless kisses.  At the
back of his mind he still thought Laurence a fool, and felt
how well suited two such warm natures would have been
to one another, but for the moment a strange desire seized
him, to win a kind look from this beautiful woman on his
own account, to see her smile on him, willingly and
confidingly, to win her friendship and her trust, even though no
warmer feeling should ever crop up between him and her.\par

"Madonna," he said, and once again he dropped his knee
to the ground and leaned toward her so that her warm
breath touched his hand, which he placed upon hers, "there
are many men in the world who ne'er do well because they
have been left to the companionship of those who do equally
badly.  Will you deign to believe that all the evil that is in
me lies very much on the surface?  They call me wild and
extravagant--even my mother calls me careless and
shallow--but if you smiled on me, Madonna, methinks that
something which lies buried deep down in my heart would
stir me to an effort to become worthy of you."\par

His voice--habitually somewhat rough and always
slightly ironical--was wonderfully gentle now.  Instinctively,
perhaps even against her will, Lenora turned her
head slowly round and looked at him.  He had never before
looked so straight and closely into her eyes; and, as she
bore his scrutinising glance, the warm blood slowly mounted
to her cheeks.  Her face was partly in shadow, only the
outline of her small head was outlined by the ruddy glow
of the fire, and the tiny ear shone, transparent and
crimson, like a shell, with the golden tendrils of her fair hair
gently stirring in the draught from the wide, open hearth.\par

As she was excited and perhaps a little frightened, her
breath came and went rapidly, and her lips were slightly
parted showing a faint glimmer of pearly teeth beyond.
Mark felt a sudden rush of blood to his head; to be alone
with this adorable woman so close to him, to feel her
panting like a young creature full of life and passion, slightly
leaning against his arm, to look into those wonderful, dark
eyes and know that she was his, was indeed more than man
could endure in cold blood.\par

The next moment he had caught her with irresistible
masterfulness in both his arms and drawn her down to
him as he knelt, whilst his eager lips sought hers with a
mad longing for a kiss.  But with an agonised cry of
horror, she pushed him away with all her feeble might.
For a moment she struggled in his arms like a wild creature
panting for liberty and murmuring mad, incoherent words:
"Let me go!  Let me go!  I hate you!"--the next, she was
already free, and he had struggled to his feet.  Now he
stood at some little distance from her, looking down on her
with a scared gaze and passing his hand mechanically
backwards and forwards across his brow.\par

"Your pardon, Madonna," he murmured, "I did not
understand that you could hate me so."\par

The fire was burning low, and the two candles in tall
sconces at the further end of the room threw but a fitful
light upon that hunched up young figure in the big,
high-backed chair, cowering there half frightened at her own
violence, tired out with emotion, her nerves quivering after
the final, tense moment which had left her exhausted and
almost unconscious.\par

Mark could only see her dimly; the stiff folds of her
wedding gown and the high starched collar were alone
visible in the gloom; she had hidden her face in the cushion
of the chair.  Presently a sob rose to her throat, and then
another, and soon she was crying just like a tired child.
Mark felt that he had been a brute and was seized with
an infinite pity for her.\par

"Madonna," he said gently, "I think I can hear Jeanne's
footstep in the corridor.  May I call to her to come and
attend on you?"\par

"I thank you, Messire," murmured Lenora, who was
making a great effort to swallow her tears.\par

"Then I pray you dry your eyes," he pleaded, "I would
be so ashamed if Jeanne saw that I had made you cry."\par

She looked up and even in the gloom he thought that
he could see a swift smile pass across her face.\par

"To-morrow an you desire," he continued more lightly,
"your old dragon Inez shall be here to wait on you, until
then I trust that you will not feel too lonely, away from
those you care for.  My mother is an angel.  You will
love her, I think, and my brother Laurence is learned and
well-read ... my father too is kind.  We will all strive,
Madonna, to make you somewhat more contented with
your lot."\par

"You mistake, Messire," she stammered, "I..."\par

But already he had bowed before her and bidden her a
formal good-night.  She had meant to give him her hand
and to ask his forgiveness, for indeed she had behaved like
an ill-tempered child--a bad beginning for the role which
she had sworn to play--but he had gone, and before she
could call him back he was speeding down the corridor and
anon she heard him loudly calling to Jeanne.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Lenora did not see her husband during the whole of the
next day, and on the one occasion when she ventured to ask
after him--with well-feigned indifference lest any one
guessed that all was not well between them--Clémence van
Rycke sighed, Messire the High-Bailiff gave a forced laugh
and Laurence van Rycke frowned with obvious anger.  And
in the evening--when she retired to her room and felt
strangely irritable and hurt at being left in such
solitude--she questioned Inez, who had been allowed to come and
wait on her and who had a marvellous faculty for gleaning
all the gossip that was going about the town.\par

"They do say, my angel," said the old woman with that
complacency which characterises your true gossip, "that
Messire Mark van Rycke hath spent his whole day in the
tavern opposite.  It is known as the 'Three Weavers,' and
many Spanish officers are quartered in there now."\par

"Heaven protect us!" ejaculated Lenora involuntarily,
"I trust they did not quarrel."\par

"Quarrel, my saint?" retorted Inez with a spiteful little
laugh, for she had no liking for these Netherlanders.
"Nay!  Messire van Rycke would not dare quarrel with a
Spanish officer.  No! no! it seems that the {\itshape{tapperij}} of the
'Three Weavers' was most convivial all the day.  It is
always frequented by Spanish officers, although the
inn-keeper is said to be an abominable heretic: there was much
gambling and heavy drinking there, so they say, and even
now..."\par

And as if to confirm the old woman's say, there came
from the house opposite and through the open windows
loud noise of gay laughter and hilarious song.  A deep
flush rose to Lenora's face.\par

"Close that window, Inez," she said peremptorily, "the
night hath turned chilly."\par

She went to sit by the fire, and curtly dismissed the
gossiping old woman.  She knew all that she had wanted
to know, and the flush of shame deepened on her cheek.
There had been times during the past week when a vague
hope had stirred in her heart that mayhap life did hold a
small measure of happiness for her.  There were times
when she did not altogether dislike Mark van Rycke, when
that winning merriment and good-humour which always
lurked in his eyes provoked a response in her own
... and others, when certain notes of gentleness in his voice
caused a strange thrill in her heart and brought tears into
her eyes, which were not altogether tears of sorrow.  She
had also felt deeply remorseful at her conduct last night
at the cruel words: "I hate you!" which she had flung so
roughly in his face: indeed she could scarcely sleep all
night, for she was persistently haunted by the dazed look in
those merry, grey eyes of his which had just for one brief
moment flashed tender reproach on her.\par

But now she felt nothing but shame--shame that she
should ever have thought tenderly of a man who could so
wrong her, who had so little thought of her that he could
spend his whole day in a tavern whilst his young girl-bride
was left to loneliness and boredom in a house where she
was a total stranger.  She thought him vindictive and cruel:
already she had thought so last night when he went away
hurriedly without waiting for the apology which was
hovering on her lips.  Now she was quite sure that she hated
him, and the next time she told him so, she certainly would
not regret it.\par

But somehow she felt more forlorn than she had been
before that dotard Inez had filled her ears with gossip.  The
house as usual was very still, but Lenora knew that the
family had not yet gone to rest.  Awhile ago she thought
that she had heard footsteps and a murmur of voices in
the hall below.  A desire for company seized the young girl,
and she racked her brain for an excuse to go down to her
mother-in-law, who she knew was kind and who perhaps
would cheer and comfort her a little and give her kind pity
in her loneliness.\par

\label{the-rebels}%
\hypertarget{the-rebels}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER VII}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE REBELS}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
At this same hour in the small withdrawing-room which
adjoined the dining-hall in Messire van Rycke's house,
five men were sitting round the gate-legged table in the
centre of the room.  At the top of the table sat Clémence
van Rycke, in a tall chair covered with crimson velvet;
opposite to her sat a man who was dressed in rough clothes
of dark-coloured buffle, and whose ruff was of plain, coarse
linen; he wore a leather belt to which was fastened a heavy
wallet, and high, tough boots that reached above his knee.
His black hat and mantle lay on a chair close by.  In fact,
his clothes--more than ordinarily sombre and plain--were
such as the serving man of a poor burgher might wear;
nevertheless this man had round his neck a crimson ribbon
to which was attached a gold pendant in the shape of a
dead wether--which is the badge worn by the Knights of
the Golden Fleece.\par

When this man spoke the others listened to him with
marked deference, and Laurence van Rycke stood all the
time beside his chair and served him with wine.  In appearance
he was spare of build and tall, he wore full beard and
moustache and hair brushed away from an unusually high
forehead.  His eyes were prominent and very keen and
astute as well as frank and kindly in expression, and his
eyebrows were fully and markedly arched.\par

Clémence van Rycke was the only woman present.  The
other three men were all dressed in dark clothes, and their
black mantles hung over the backs of their chairs.  The
room in which these half-dozen people were assembled was
narrow and oak-panelled; at the end of it there was a low
and very wide window recess, across which heavy curtains
of crimson velvet had been drawn; at the side a door gave
on the dining-hall; this door was open and the hall beyond
was in complete darkness.\par

The whole room was only dimly lighted by one thick
wax candle which burned in a tall sconce that stood on a
bracket in an angle of the room, and threw a fitful light on
the grave faces of the men sitting around the table.\par

"The High-Bailiff hath business at the Town House,"
Clémence van Rycke was saying in reply to the stranger
who sat opposite to her.  "He will not be home until
midnight.  My son Mark, too, is from home," she added more
curtly.  "Your Highness can discuss your plans with these
gentlemen in all security.  And if you wish me to retire..."\par

She half rose as if she meant to go, but a word from the
stranger kept her in her place.\par

"I entreat you to stay with us, mevrouw," he said; "we
would wish you to hear all that we have to say.  Of a
truth we have no more loyal adherents than mevrouw van
Rycke and her son, and what we should have done in this
city without their help I do not know."\par

He turned at the same time to Laurence and stretched
out his hand to him.  The young man at once bent the
knee and kissed the gracious hand.\par

"The little that we have done, Monseigneur," said Clémence
softly, "hath been done with great gladness seeing that
it was in your service."\par

"Not only mine, mevrouw," rejoined the stranger.  "I
am but the instrument of God's will, an humble follower
of His cause.  What you have done was done for Him and
for the cause of liberty, of justice and of right."\par

"May God's blessing rest upon your Highness' enterprise,"
murmured Clémence fervently.  "For God and
William of Orange is our cry.  Your cause is the cause of
God."\par

"Alas!" said the Prince, with a sigh of utter weariness
and dejection, "you know how little success I have had in
this city ... promises! promises! promises I have in
plenty, and a couple of thousand young men from the town
have rallied to my standard.  A poor result indeed after
all my efforts!  So much tyranny!" he exclaimed bitterly,
"such wanton oppression! the dastardly outrages at Mons
and at Mechlin! and only two thousand men among thirty,
willing to take up arms to defend their liberty, their ancient
privileges, their very homes!"\par

He leaned his elbows on the table and buried his head in
his hands.  Clémence van Rycke was silent as were the
men; their hearts echoed all the bitterness which had surged
up in William of Orange's heart.\par

"Yet your Highness refuses to take me with you," said
Laurence with gentle reproach.\par

"Only for the moment, Messire," rejoined the Prince,
"only for the moment.  Never fear but I will send for you
as soon as I have need of you.  Can I afford to reject so
devoted a champion?  But for the moment you can do so
much more for me by staying quietly at home than if you
followed me on my recruiting campaign.  I have not yet
exhausted the resources and enthusiasm of this city--of
that I feel confident, I shall try again--for another week.
There are still several likely houses that I have not visited,
and whose cordial invitation I have received..."\par

"Beware of treachery, your Highness!" broke in Clémence
van Rycke suddenly.\par

"Nay, Madonna," he said, whilst that same winning smile
lit up the sombre dejection of his face, "but have I not
told you that my dragon is on the watch?  Not a step am
I allowed to take in this city without his permission.  He
allowed me to come to this house to-night, because he knew
that I desired to express my gratitude to you personally.
But I can assure you," he added, laughing softly to
himself, "I had to fight for the permission."\par

"Is that not insolence?" exclaimed one of the others
hotly.  "Were we not to be trusted with the care of your
sacred person?"\par

"You all, seigniors, and Messire van Rycke and his
mother," rejoined the Prince; "but there are others in this
house.  Do not blame my devoted Leatherface," he
continued earnestly; "but for him I should not be here now.
No man could be more watchful, no man more brave or
more resourceful.  Countless times did he save me from
the assassin's dagger and the poisoner's cup.  If my life
is necessary for the cause of freedom and justice, then
have freedom and justice in Leatherface their truest and
most efficient champion."\par

"Amen to that," rejoined Clémence van Rycke with
fervour.  "I only wish I knew who he was, that I might
pray more personally for him."\par

"Ah! we none of us know who he is, Madonna," said
William of Orange more lightly.  "He is Leatherface, and
that is enough for us.  And this reminds me that he begged
me to be back at my lodgings by ten o'clock, so I have not
much time to spend in this pleasing gossip.  Shall we to
serious business now?"\par

"At your Highness' service," replied Laurence, and the
others also murmured a quick assent.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"Well then, seigniors, having decided on our coup we
have only the details to consider.  You have all assured
me that the Duke of Alva will come to Ghent within the
next few days, and that our two thousand recruits are ready
to carry out the orders which we have framed for them."\par

"The numbers will be doubled within the next few days,"
interposed one of the grave seigniors with conviction.
"Your Highness' presence in the town--though only known
to a very few loyalists--hath wrought miracles already."\par

"The wave of enthusiasm is spreading," asserted another.\par

"Well! if we had more men," quoth the Prince cheerily,
"our plan would, of a surety, be more certain of success.
I cannot say that I altogether approve of the plan--for as
you know, I am a soldier and have no great mind for plots
and conspiracies; but those on whose judgment I place
infinite confidence--men such as Messire Paul Buys,
pensionary of Leyden, Marnix of Tholouse, Marnix of
St. Aldegonde and others, all approve of it, and I have
therefore given it mine assent."\par

He sank his voice yet lower to a whisper, and he leaned
right across the table as did the other men so that their
ears were quite close to his mouth.\par

"The Duke of Alva comes to Ghent in about a week's
time," he continued.  "The idea is to seize his person and
hold him a prisoner here and an hostage whilst we demand
the withdrawal of all the Spanish troops from the
Netherlands and the abolition of the Spanish Inquisition."\par

"To seize the person of the Duke of Alva!" murmured
Clémence van Rycke, and so great was the terror which the
tyrant inspired in every Flemish heart, that even those who
already knew of this daring plot were appalled at the
magnitude of such an outrage.\par

"Why not?" quoth William of Orange earnestly.  "Less
than a hundred years ago the town of Brüges held the
Archduke Maximilian King of the Romans a prisoner
within her walls, until he swore to dismiss all foreign troops
from the Netherlands within four days, and gave hostages
for his fidelity.  What Brüges did then, cannot Ghent do
now?  With Alva a prisoner in our hands, we can dictate
our terms to the King.  It is a bold coup, seigniors, I own,
but it hath every chance of success."\par

A murmur of approval went round the table.  Clémence
alone was silent.  She was old and feeble, perhaps she had
seen more than one bold coup fail, and terrible reprisals
follow such failures; but Laurence was full of eagerness
and enthusiasm.\par

"It cannot fail," he asserted vehemently.  "Are there not
two thousand men in the city who are devoted to your
Highness heart and soul, and who are ready to give their
lives for your cause?  Two thousand, and within three
days there will be five! more than enough for such a bold
coup.  It will and must succeed!  One lucky hazard, and
we may win all that we have fought for, lived for, died
for, for over a century."\par

"It cannot fail!" came with fervent conviction from every
one of the others.\par

"Ghent can do what Brüges hath done!" they affirmed.\par

"With the tyrant a prisoner in our hands, we can dictate
terms as Brüges did an hundred years ago."\par

"Well said, seigniors," rejoined William of Orange,
"and your approval--you who know this city so much
better than I do--hath given me further encouragement.  And
now," he added with serious earnestness, "you will want to
know why I convened this meeting, which by Mevrouw van
Rycke's graciousness I have been able to do, and you will
wish to hear what role hath been assigned to each of you
in the great event which we are preparing."\par

"Let me but offer my life..." interposed Laurence
eagerly.\par

"Nay! not your life, I hope, Messire," quoth the Prince
with a smile, "your forethought and prudence and your
united co-operation are what we want.  Ye are risking your
lives, seigniors, in this enterprise, that I'll not deny--but
ye are men and know which you value most, your life or
the very existence of your nation which is threatened with
complete destruction."\par

"For Orange, for faith and for liberty!" said one of
the men simply, and the others merely murmured: "Tell
us what we must do."\par

"You must be wary and alert above all things, seigniors,
for I have chosen you for a very arduous task in connection
with this enterprise, and you must recognise that however
carefully we organise it, there will always be one weak link
in the chain which we are forging for the capture of that
abominable tyrant, the Duke of Alva."\par

"One weak link?"\par

"Yes.  We do not and cannot know for certain on which
date Alva proposes to come to Ghent.  The dates of his
visits to Flemish towns are always kept a secret until the
very moment of departure."\par

"He dreads assassination," interposed one man with a sneer.\par

"On the last occasion of the Duke's visit to Ghent," said
Clémence van Rycke, "my husband was only apprised of
it by courier two hours before his arrival.  The courier
had started from Brussels a bare half-hour before the
Lieutenant-Governor and his cortège left the city."\par

"Precisely, and even then the High-Bailiff was in advance
of every one else with the news," nodded the Prince, "and
that is where our difficulty lies.  How to collect together a
couple of thousand men at perhaps an hour's notice--men
who are scattered in different portions of this city and
probably engaged in their usual avocations."\par

"Where will their leaders be?"\par

"Each at the different points where our secret stores of
arms are kept.  There are four of these points and four
captains whom I have appointed to command five hundred
men each.  Having distributed the arms, the captains will
lead their respective companies to the Waalpoort, where a
crowd is sure to collect as soon as the rumour has spread to
the town that the Lieutenant-Governor is coming.  Our
men will mix with the crowd, and at a given signal--when
the Duke's cortège crosses the bridge--they will rush the
bodyguard, scatter confusion among the escort, and in the
mêlée seize the person of Alva.  During the inevitable
tumult that will ensue among the soldiers and the populace,
our valuable hostage shall be conveyed in absolute secrecy
to Het Spanjaard's Kasteel, where of course we can easily
keep him a close prisoner whilst we negotiate with the
King.  But this of course is for the future, seigniors," he
added, "and my concern now is to explain to you the method
which I and my councillors have devised for the calling
together of our stalwarts as soon as the Duke's coming visit
is announced.  Have I your close attention, seigniors?"\par

He had indeed.  The four men round the table bent forward
more eagerly still so as not to lose one word of their
noble chief's commands.  But before they could formulate
the words of loyalty and of enthusiasm which hovered on
their lips, a soft sound like the beating of a bird's wing
against the window-pane froze those whispered words upon
their lips.\par

Every head was immediately turned to the window,
every face became rigid and pale, every brow was contracted
with the effort to strain the faculty of hearing to
its tensest point.  It seemed as if six pairs of glowing eyes
would pierce the folds of the velvet curtain which hung
before the window.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The Prince was the first to recover himself.\par

"It is Leatherface," he whispered, "come to give me
warning."\par

He rose and would have gone to the window, but Clémence
van Rycke caught him by the arm and clung convulsively
to him.  "Not you, Monseigneur," she entreated,
"not you--it might be a traitor."\par

Then the tapping was repeated and Laurence went cautiously
up to the window, and after an instant's hesitation,
he suddenly drew the curtains aside with a resolute gesture.
Then he unfastened the tall casement and threw it open.\par

The night was of an inky blackness, and as the lattice
flew open a gust of wind and heavy driving rain nearly
extinguished the light of the candle, but in the framework
of the window a man's head and shoulders detached
themselves from out the gloom.  The head and shoulders were
closely enveloped in a hood and cape, and the face was
hidden by a mask, and all were dripping with wet.\par

"Leatherface!" murmured the Prince, and Clémence van
Rycke gave a sigh of relief.\par

"There is a light in the window above," whispered the
man with the mask, "and a shadow has crossed behind the
windows of the corridor.  Someone is astir overhead--and
the civic business at the Town House is drawing to an end."\par

"We have nearly finished," murmured the Prince in reply.
"And I'll come away at once.  Is the street clear?"\par

"Quite--and will be for another ten minutes till the
night-watchman comes round.  I saw him just now, he is
very drunk and might make trouble."\par

"I come, friend," rejoined the Prince, "and as soon as
may be."\par

The hooded head disappeared in the gloom; Laurence
closed the window and drew the curtains together again.\par

"I envy that man," he said, and Clémence murmured a
fervent: "God bless him!"\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Then the Prince turned once more to his friends.\par

"You see," he said with his grave smile, "how carefully
my dragon guards me.  There is evidently no time for
lengthy explanations, and I must be as brief as I can."\par

He now opened the wallet at his belt and took out from
it a small packet of papers.\par

"I am going to entrust these papers to Messire Laurence
van Rycke," he said, "they contain the names and places
of abode and of business of every one of those two
thousand men who have actually tendered me their oath of
allegiance, and have sworn to give me unconditional support.
I propose that Messire van Rycke keep these lists, because
it will undoubtedly be his father, the High-Bailiff, who
will learn sooner than any one else in the town the day
and hour of the Duke of Alva's visit to Ghent.  As soon
as this is known to him, Messire van Rycke will then go
to each of you, seigniors, and give you each a list of five
hundred names, at the head of which will be noted the
rallying point where these men will have to meet their captain
and receive their arms.  You in your turn will then each go
and beat up the five hundred men whose names will have
been given you, and order them to go to their respective
rallying points.  All this plan," added the Prince, "has been
very carefully thought out, and it seems to me simple and
easy of execution.  But if any of you, seigniors, can think
of a better one, I am, of course, always ready to take advice.
You know your own city, better than I do--you might
devise something still more practical than what I propose."\par

"Nay!" interposed one of the men, "meseems that
nothing could be more simple, and I for one do vote
unconditionally for the acceptance of His Highness' plan."\par

The others all gave their assent--hastily now, for again
that gentle tapping was heard against the window-pane,
only rather more firmly, more urgently this time.  But no
one went to the window to see what the tapping meant;
obviously the faithful watcher outside scented some still
hidden danger.  The Prince at once by rising gave the
signal that the conference was at an end.  As he did so he
handed the packet of papers to Laurence van Rycke who
received it on bended knee.\par

"It is a treasure, Messire," said William of Orange
earnestly, "which involves the lives of many and even,
perhaps, the whole existence of this city.  Where will you
keep it?"\par

It was Clémence van Rycke who replied:\par

"This room," she said, "is mine own private withdrawing-room;
that bureau there hath a wonderful lock which
defies the cleverest thief; it contains my most valuable
jewels.  The papers will be safer there than anywhere."\par

"Let me see you lock them up in there, mevrouw," rejoined
the Prince graciously, "I entrust them to you and to
Laurence with utmost confidence."\par

Clémence then handed a key to her son and he locked
the packet up in the tall bureau of carved and inlaid
mahogany and satin-wood which stood in an angle of the
narrow room close to the window and opposite to the door.\par

"I am meeting some friends and adherents to-morrow,"
said William of Orange finally, "at the house of Messire
the Procurator-General whom of a truth God will bless
for his loyalty--and I pray you, seigniors, as many of
you as can do so to meet me there at this same hour.
But should we not meet again, do you understand all
that you have to do?"\par

The men nodded in silence, whereupon the Prince took
formal leave of them and of his host and hostess.  He
said kind and grateful words to Clémence van Rycke, who,
with tears in her eyes, kissed the gracious hand which was
held out to her.  She then escorted her noble guest out
of the room and across the dining-hall, the others following
closely behind.  All were treading as noiselessly as they
could.  The door which gave from the dining-room on
the hall and staircase beyond was wide open: the room itself
was in absolute darkness, and only a tiny light flickered in
the hall, which made the shadows round corners and in
recesses appear all the more dense.\par

"Will your Highness grope your way to the front door,"
whispered Clémence van Rycke, "or shall my son bring
a lanthorn to guide you?"\par

"No, no," said William of Orange hurriedly, "that small
light yonder is quite sufficient.  I can see my way, and
we must try not to wake your hall-porter."\par

"Oh! nothing will rouse him save a very severe shaking,
and the bolts and bars have been left undone, as my
husband will be coming home late to-night."\par

"And, if I am not mistaken," quoth the Prince, "my
devoted friend Leatherface is waiting for me outside to
see me safely to my lodgings.  He is always mistrustful of
hidden traps or hired assassins for me.  Farewell,
seigniors!" he added lightly, "remember my instructions in case
we do not meet again."\par

"But to-morrow..." interposed Laurence van Rycke.\par

"Aye! to-morrow," said William of Orange, "at this
hour at the house of Messire Deynoot, the Procurator-General:
those of you, seigniors, who care to come will be
welcome."\par

"Not one of us would care to stay away," rejoined Laurence
with earnest conviction.\par

\label{the-watcher-in-the-night}%
\hypertarget{the-watcher-in-the-night}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER VIII}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE WATCHER IN THE NIGHT}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Lenora, thinking that Mevrouw van Rycke was still
astir, and pining for motherly comfort and companionship,
had crept softly down the stairs candle in hand, when all
of a sudden she paused in the vast hall.  Everything was
so still and so weird that any noise, even that of a mouse
skimming over a carpet, would have made itself felt in the
absolute silence which lay over the house, and Lenora's ear
had most certainly heard--or rather felt, a noise--the
sound of people moving and speaking somewhere, not very
far from where she stood ... listening ... every sense
on the alert.\par

With a sudden instinct, half of fear and half of caution,
she blew out the candle and then groped her way, with
hands outstretched, hardly daring to breathe.  The tiny,
flickering light which came from an iron lamp fixed to a
bracket at the foot of the stairs made the hall seem yet more
vast and strange; but one small, elvish ray caught the
polished brass handle of the dining-room door, and this
glimmer of metal seemed to attract Lenora toward it.  After
awhile her eyes became a little more accustomed to the
gloom, she tip-toed up to that door-handle which so
attracted her, and placing both her hands upon it, she
crouched there--beside the door--listening.\par

In effect there were people moving and talking not far
from where she crouched--no doubt that they were in the
small withdrawing-room beyond, and that the door of
communication between the two rooms was open.  Lenora--motionless,
palpitating, her heart beating so that it nearly
choked her, felt that all her faculties must now be merged
into those of hearing, and, if possible, seeing what was
going on in this house, and at this hour of the night when
the High-Bailiff was from home.\par

Whether any thought of conspiracy or of State secrets
had at this time entered her head it were impossible to
say, whether she thought of Ramon's murderer or of her
oath to her father just then, who can tell?  Certainly not
the girl herself--she only listened--listened with all her
might, and anon she heard the scraping of a chair against
the tiled floor, then the iron rings of a curtain sliding along
the rod, finally the whistling sound of a gust of wind
rushing through an open window.  This moment she chose as
her opportunity.  She turned the handle of the door very
gently, and quite noiselessly it responded to her touch.
Then she pushed the door wide open and waited--listening.\par

The door into the withdrawing-room was wide open just
as she had conjectured, the wind was blowing the feeble
light about which flickered in that room, and there were
men in there who moved stealthily and spoke in whispers.
Lenora crept forward--furtive as a mouse.  The darkness
in the dining-hall was impenetrable, and she in her
house-dress of dark woollen stuff made no noise as she glided
along, keeping well within the gloom, her hands stretched
out before her to feel the objects that might be in her way.\par

At last she came within range of the open door and had
a view of the little room beyond.  She saw the table in the
centre, the men sitting around it, and Clémence van Rycke
in a high-back chair at its further end.  Just now they all
had their faces turned toward the window, where in the
open casement the head and shoulders of a man were dimly
visible to Lenora for one instant and then disappeared.\par

After that she heard the men talking together and heard
what they said: she saw that one man appeared to be the
recipient of great marks of respect, and that the others
called him "Your Highness."  She was now listening as if
her very life depended on what she heard--crouching in
the angle of the dining-room as closely as her unwieldy
farthingale would allow.  She heard the man whom the
others called "Your Highness," and who could be none
other than the Prince of Orange, explain to the others a
plan for massing together two thousand men in connection
with a forthcoming visit of the Duke of Alva to Ghent, she
heard the word "Leatherface" and a great deal about a
packet of papers.  She heard the Prince speak about a
meeting to-morrow in the house of the Procurator-General, and
finally she saw Laurence van Rycke take a packet of papers
from the Prince's hand and lock it up in the bureau that
stood close to the window.\par

Indeed she could not for a moment be in doubt as to the
meaning of what she saw and heard.\par

Here was a living proof of that treachery, that underhand
conspiracy of which her father had so often spoken to
her of late!  Here were these Netherlanders, living under
the beneficent and just laws of their Sovereign Lord and
Master King Philip of Spain--the man who in every born
Spaniard's eyes was greater, nobler, more just and more
merciful than any other monarch alive, who next to His
Holiness himself was surely anointed by God Himself and
placed upon the mightiest throne on earth so that he might
administer God's will upon all his subjects--and here were
these traitors plotting and planning against the Government
of that high and noble monarch, plotting against his
representative, the Lieutenant-Governor whom he had himself
put in authority over them.\par

To a girl born and bred in the atmosphere of quasi-worship
which surrounded Philip's throne, the revolt of
these Netherlanders was the most heinous outrage any
people could commit.  She understood now the hatred and
loathing which her father had for them--she hated them
too, since one of these vile conspirators had foully
murdered her cousin Ramon in the dark.\par

"Leatherface!"--the man in the room below whom the
others called "Your Highness" spoke of Leatherface as
his friend!\par

A Prince consorting with a hired assassin! and Lenora
felt that her whole soul was filled with loathing for all
these people.  Was not the man who had killed Ramon--foully,
surreptitiously and in the dark--was he not even
now just outside this very house--the house which was
to be her home for life--waiting mayhap for some other
unsuspecting Spanish officer whom he could murder in
the same cowardly and treacherous way?--and were not
all these people in that room yonder, execrable assassins
too?--had she not heard them speaking of armed
conspirators?--and could she not see even now in her mind's
eye the unsuspecting Duke of Alva falling into their
abominable trap?\par

But horror-struck as she was, she never stirred.  Truth
to tell, a sudden fear held her now--the fear that she might
be detected ere she had done her best to save the Duke
from this infamous plot.  What she would do presently,
she did not know as yet--for the moment all that she
needed was safety from discovery and the privacy of her
own room where she could pray and think.\par

After Laurence had locked the papers in the bureau it
was obvious that the meeting was at an end.  She had
only just time to flit like a dark ghost through the dining-hall
and to reach the stairs, before she heard unmistakable
signs that the Prince and his friends were taking leave of
their host and hostess.  Gathering her wide gown together
in her hands, she crept up the stairs as fast as she could.
Fortunately she was well out of the range of the small light
at the foot of the stairs, before the five men and Clémence
van Rycke came out into the hall.  She heard their few
words of farewell and heard the Prince arranging for the
meeting the next evening at the house of Messire Deynoot.\par

After that she felt that further delay would inevitably
spell detection.  Even now someone must have opened the
front door, for a gust of wind and heavy rain driving into
the house told the listener quite clearly that the Prince and
his friends were leaving the house: anon Clémence and
Laurence would be going up to their own apartments.\par

As swiftly, as furtively as a mouse, Lenora made her
way up the stairs: and now there she sat once more in
the vast bedchamber, quivering with excitement and with
horror, listening for footsteps outside her door.  She heard
Clémence van Rycke's shuffling footsteps passing down the
corridor, and Laurence's more firm ones following closely
in their wake: a few whispered words were spoken by
mother and son, then doors were closed and all was still
once more.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The fire had burnt low, only the last dying embers of the
charred pine logs threw a wide glowing band across the
centre of the room.  Lenora sitting by the fire had scarcely
moved for a quarter of an hour or even more.  Anon she
heard the opening and shutting of the front door.\par

It was the High-Bailiff returning home--not knowing,
of a truth, that his house had just been used as a
meeting-place for conspirators.  The hall-porter slept between two
doors in the outer lobby.  Lenora heard him scrambling out
of bed, and the High-Bailiff's voice bidding him close
everything up for the night.  Then came the pushing home of
bars and bolts and the rattle of chains, and finally the sound
of the High-Bailiff's heavy footsteps across the hall and up
the stairs.\par

After that silence once more.\par

Lenora, however, still sat on for awhile staring into the
glow.  Vaguely she wondered if Mark would be staying
out all night, or whether he had been home all along,
knowing perhaps, and perhaps not caring about, what was going
on in his father's house; keeping aloof from it all: or like
Laurence, up to his neck in all this treachery and
abominable rebellion!\par

Another quarter-of-an-hour went by: the clock of
St. Bavon had chimed the half after eleven, and now the
quarter before midnight.  Lenora felt that at last she might
slip downstairs with safety.\par

Quickly now she took off her stuff gown and heavy
farthingale which had so impeded her movements awhile ago,
and groped in the press for a clinging robe which would
envelop her closely and glide noiselessly upon the tiled
floors.\par

There is absolutely no doubt that all through this time
Lenora acted almost unconsciously.  She never for one
moment paused to think: she was impelled by a force which
she herself could not have defined--a force which can best
be described as a blind instinct.  Obedience!  She had been
born and bred in obedience and a sense of sacred duty to
her King as Sovereign Lord, to her faith and to her father.\par

In the convent at Segovia she had learned the lesson of
obedience so absolutely that it never entered her mind to
question the decrees of those three all-potent arbiters of her
destiny.  And when--as now--the hour came when the
most sacred oath she had ever spoken had to be fulfilled,
she would have thought it a deadly sin to search her own
heart, to study her feelings, to argue with herself about it.
She would as soon have thought of arguing with God.\par

On Ramon's death-bed she had sworn to her father that
she would act and work for her country and for her King
in the way that her father would direct.\par

The time had come, and she did what she believed to be
her duty without question and without false shame.\par

She knew that the knowledge which she already possessed
was of paramount importance to the Government: the
Prince of Orange was in Ghent--who but he would be
called "your Highness"?--and moving about among his
friends surreptitiously and at dead of night?  Who but
he would speak of the mysterious Leatherface as being on
the watch for him?  The Prince of Orange was in Ghent
and was conspiring against the State.  There had been talk
of the Duke of Alva's visit to Ghent and of two thousand
men being secretly armed.  What other purpose save that
of murder and bloodshed could be served by such secret
plottings and the levying of troops in this illegal manner?
The Prince of Orange was in Ghent and would on the
morrow continue his underhand and treasonable machinations
in the house of Messire Deynoot, Procurator-General of
Ghent.\par

That was the extent of Lenora's knowledge, and what
could she do with such a secret in her possession--she, a
helpless girl, a stranger in the midst of all these enemies
of her people and of her race?  Could she, having gleaned
so much information, quietly go to bed and sleep and let
events shape their course?--and detach herself, as it were,
from the destinies of her own country which her father had
in a measure entrusted to her stewardship?  Could she
above all be false to her oath at the very moment when God
gave her an opportunity of fulfilling it and of working for
her country and her King in a manner which was given
to very few women to do?  Indeed she did not pause to
think.  Any thought save that of obedience would be
treason to the King and sinful before God.  The hour for
thought would come later, and with it mayhap regret.
Then so be it.  Whatever suffering she would have to
endure in the future, in her sentiment and in her feelings,
she was ready to accept unquestioningly, just as she was
prepared to fulfil her duty unquestioningly now.  She knew
a good deal, but surely not enough.  She had seen Laurence
van Rycke lock up a packet of papers in the bureau, and
she had in her possession tied with a ribbon around her
neck, the precious pass-key which her father had given her
on the very morning when he told her how Ramon had
come by his death--the curiously-fashioned piece of steel
made by the metal-worker of Toledo--who had been put
out of the way, because his skill had made him dangerous--and
which would turn any lock or open any secret drawer.\par

She had no light now and did not know how to use the
tinder, but in the wall of the corridor outside her door
there was a little niche wherein stood a statue of the
Virgin, and in front of the statute a tiny light was kept
burning day and night: this would do in lieu of a candle.
She would take it, she thought, and carry it into the
withdrawing-room with her: it would help to guide her to the
bureau where the papers were.\par

Yes! she was quite prepared for what she had to do,
and there was no reason to wait any longer.  And yet for
some unaccountable reason she suddenly felt strangely
inert: there were still a few dying embers in the grate, and
she could see quite distinctly the high-backed chair in
which she had sat last night, and the low one wherein
Mark had half sat, half kneeled close beside her: the
memory of that brief interview which she had had with
him came upon her with a rush.  It had been the only
interview between them since the blessing of the Church had
made them man and wife.  It had ended disastrously it is
true.  Her words: "I hate you!" had been cruel and
untrue, and overwhelming regret suddenly held her in its
grip once again--as it had done all the day.\par

Closing her eyes for a moment--for they felt hot and
heavy--she could almost believe that Mark was still
there--his merry grey eyes looking deeply earnest, trying to
read her innermost thoughts.  His personality--so strange,
so baffling even--seemed still to linger in this dimly-lighted
room, and she almost could hear his voice--rugged, yet at
times so sweet and tender--echoing softly along the
rafters.\par

And all of a sudden she realised the full horror of what
she was doing--of what she must do now or else become
false and perjured--a traitor to her race and to her King.
No longer was she a blind and unconscious tool of Fate--she
was she herself--a woman who lived and thought and
suffered: and before her at this moment there was nothing
but an interminable vista of sorrow and suffering and
regret.\par

Whether duty ruled her or sentiment, she--the innocent
handmaid of Fate--could reap nothing but remorse in
the future; her heart, her very youth, must inevitably be
crushed between those two potent factors which were
struggling even now for mastery over her soul.\par

Indeed was there ever a woman--a mere girl--confronted
with so appalling, so intricate a puzzle?  The lives
of men were in her hands--the Prince of Orange, the
High-Bailiff, Mark, Laurence, Clémence on the one side,
on the other the Duke of Alva, her own father, her
kindred, all those whom she had clung to and loved
throughout her life.\par

And knowing that she never could solve such an awful
problem by herself Lenora fell on her knees and prayed:
she prayed with all the fervour, but also with all the
simplicity of primitive faith--the faith that is willing and
eager to leave everything in God's hands, to trust to
guidance and help from above when life has become a
hopeless and inextricable tangle--the faith which hath for
its principle loyalty and obedience and which accepts
suffering in its cause, and glories in it like in a martyr's
crown.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
After a few minutes Lenora felt more calm.  Her deep
and fervent religious sentiment had risen triumphant over
every doubt.  While she prayed so earnestly, so unquestioningly,
it had been made clear to her that the issue of
the mighty problem which was putting her very soul on
the rack must remain in mightier hands than hers.  She
could not be the arbiter of men's lives and of the destinies
of the State; all that she could do was to obey her father
and fulfil her oath; beyond that, God must decide; He
had shown her the way how to obtain the knowledge
which she now possessed, and since her father was now
back in Brussels, she must find a means of placing that
knowledge in his hands.  Her father of a surety was kind
and just and God would Himself punish whom He willed.\par

With this calmer state of mind her resolution became
more firm.  She felt the pass-key safely in her bosom,
then stealthily she slipped out of her room: the tiny light
was flickering dimly at the foot of the Virgin's statue;
Lenora lifted it carefully and with it in her hand
prepared to go downstairs.\par

Scarce a sound broke the silence of the night: only the
patter of the rain against the leaded panes of the windows
and an occasional gust of wind that came roaring down
the huge chimneys and shook the frames of windows
and doors.  Before descending the stairs Lenora paused
once more to listen.  Down the corridor she could hear
Clémence van Rycke in her bedchamber still moving about,
and Laurence's footstep on the tiled floor of his room.\par

And then the girl--shading the tiny light with her
hand--began to descend.\par

She paused for a moment upon the landing and peeped
into the vast hall below.  It was fortunate that she had the
tiny light, as the small lamp at the foot of the stairs had
since been extinguished; but the little wick she held only
threw out a faint glimmer a yard or two in front of her,
and beyond this small circle there was nothing but
impenetrable darkness.\par

The house was very still, and Lenora was absolutely
without fear.  From the church towers of the city, both
near and far, there came the sound of bells striking the
midnight hour.  She waited till the last echo of the chimes
had died away, then she continued her way down.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Lenora now entered the dining-hall and carefully closed
the door behind her.  Light in hand she stood for a moment
in the very angle of the room from whence she had watched
the plotters an hour ago.  Nothing had been deranged.\par

Then she went into the withdrawing-room, and placed
the light upon the centre table.  She looked around her
mutely challenging the dumb objects--the chairs that stood
about in disorder, the curtains which were not closely
drawn, the bureau that was in the corner--to tell her all that
she had failed to hear.  In this spot a vile conspiracy had
been hatched against the Duke of Alva--two thousand men
were implicated in it--but in what way it threatened the
Duke's life she did not know--nor yet who were all these
men who had sat around this table and hatched treason
against the King and State.\par

The tiny wick only shed a very feeble glimmer of light
on the top of the table: it made the shadows on the ceiling
dance a weird rigadoon and grow to fantastic proportions.
But Lenora's eyes were growing well-accustomed to the
gloom.  Quickly now she drew the pass-key from between
the folds of her kerchief and went up to the bureau.  The
ribbon round her neck was in the way so she took it off;
with trembling, unerring fingers she groped for the lock
and having found it she inserted the pass-key into it.  After
a little adjustment, a little tugging and pulling, she found
that the lock yielded quite smoothly to the pressure.  The
flap came down and displayed the interior of the bureau,
consisting of a number of wide pigeon-holes, in each of
which there was a small iron box such as the rich matrons
of Flanders used for putting away their pearls and other
pieces of jewellery.  On the top of one of these boxes
there was a packet of papers, tied round with a piece of
orange-coloured ribbon.  Without a moment's hesitation
Lenora took it.  She unfolded one of the papers and laid
it out flat upon the table, smoothing it out with her hand.
She drew the light a little nearer and examined the writing
carefully: it was just a list of names--fifty in all--with
places of abode all set out in a double column, and at the
bottom was written in a bold hand:\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"All the above to Afsemble without any delay in the
Barn which is fituated in the North-Weft angle of the
Cemetery at the back of the Chapel of St. Jan ten Dullen."\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Having satisfied herself that the other papers in the
packet also contained lists of names and brief orders as
to place of assembly, she tied them all up together again
with the orange-coloured ribbon.  Then she closed the
bureau, turned the pass-key in the lock and slipped it,
together with the packet, into the bosom of her gown.\par

Then she turned to go.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Light in hand she went tip-toeing across the dining-room;
but close to the threshold she paused.  She had distinctly
heard a furtive footstep in the hall.  At once she
extinguished the light.  Then she waited.  Her thoughts
had flown to Laurence van Rycke.  Perhaps he felt anxious
about the papers, and was coming down in order to transfer
them to some other place of safety.  The supposition was
terrifying.  Lenora felt as if an icy hand had suddenly
gripped her heart and was squeezing her very life out of
it.  In this deathlike agony a few seconds went by--indeed
they seemed to the unfortunate girl like an eternity of
torment.  She had slipped close to the wall right against the
door, so that the moment it was opened from the outside,
and someone entered the room, she could contrive to slip
out.  All might yet be well, if whoever entered did not
happen to carry a light.\par

Then suddenly she heard the steps again, and this time
they approached the dining-room door.  Lenora's heart
almost ceased to beat: the next moment the door was
opened and someone stood upon the threshold--just for a
second or two ... without moving, whilst Lenora with
senses as alert as those of some feline creature in defence
of its life--waited and watched for her opportunity.\par

But that opportunity never came, for the newcomer--whoever
he was--suddenly stepped into the room and immediately
closed the door behind him and turned the key in
the lock.  Lenora was a prisoner, at the mercy of a man
whose secrets she had stolen, and whose life hung upon
all that she had seen and heard this night.\par

The intruder now groped his way across the room and
anon Lenora heard him first draw aside the curtains from
before the window, and then proceed to open two of the
casements.  The window gave on the Nieuwstraate, almost
opposite the tavern of the "Three Weavers," at the entrance
of which there hung an iron street-lamp.  The light of
this came slanting in through the open casements and
Lenora suddenly saw that it was Mark who was standing
there.\par

Even at this instant he turned and faced her.  He showed
no sign however of surprise, but exclaimed quite
pleasantly: "By the stars, Madonna! and who would have
thought of meeting you here?"\par

The tension on Lenora's nerves had been so acute that
her self-control almost gave way with the intensity of her
relief when she recognised Mark and heard the sound of
his voice.  Her hands began to shake so violently that the
tiny lamp nearly dropped out of them.\par

She had been so startled that she could not as yet either
speak or move, but just stood there close to the wall, like a
pale, slim ghost only faintly illumined by the slanting light
of the street-lamp, her soft, white gown clinging round her
trembling limbs.  Her face, bosom and arms were scarce
less white than her gown, and in the dim, mysterious light
her luminous, dark eyes shone with a glow of excitement
still vaguely tinged with dread.\par

He thought that never in life had he seen anything quite
so beautiful, so pure, so desirable, and yet so pathetic as
this young girl, whom but forty hours ago he had sworn
to love, to protect and to cherish.  Just now she looked
sadly helpless, despite the fact that gradually a little air of
haughtiness replaced her first look of fear.\par

"Madonna," he said gently, "are you indeed yourself,
or are you your own wraith?  If not, why are you
wandering about alone at this hour of the night?"\par

"I came to fetch my prayer-book," she said, trying to
speak lightly and with a steady voice.  "I thought that I
had left it here to-day and missed it when I went to rest."\par

"You found the book, I hope," he said, without the
slightest trace of irony.\par

"No," she replied coldly.  "Inez must have put it away.
Will you be so good as to unlock that door."\par

"I will with pleasure, Madonna.  I locked it when I came
in, because I didn't want old Pierre to come shuffling in
after me, as he so often does when I go late to bed.  But,"
he added, putting out his hand, "may I take this lamp from
you.  Your hand does not appear to be oversteady and if
the oil were to drip it would spoil your gown."\par

"The draught blew it out," she retorted, "and I would
be glad if you would relight it.  I am going back to my
room."\par

"Precisely," he rejoined dryly as he took the lamp from
her and put it on the table, "and with your leave I would
escort you thither."\par

"I thank you," she rejoined coldly, "I can find my way
alone."\par

"As you please," he said with perfect indifference.\par

Now that her eyes were more accustomed to the semi-darkness
she could see him more distinctly, and she stared
at him in amazement.  His appearance was certainly very
different to what it habitually was--for he usually dressed
himself with great care: but now he had on dark clothes,
made of thick woollen stuff, which clung closely to his tall
figure: he wore no ruff, and had on very high boots which
reached high above his knees.  Both his clothes and boots
were bespattered with mud, and strangely enough looked
also wet through.  Somehow the appearance appeared
unreal.  It was Mark--and yet it was not.  His face, too,
looked flushed, and the lines round his eyes were more
deeply marked than they had ever seemed to be before.\par

The recollection of all the abominable gossip retailed
about him by Inez and others took possession of her mind.
She had been told by all and sundry that Mark van Rycke
had spent most of his day at the "Three Weavers," and
now the flush on his face, the curious dilation of the pupils
of his eyes, seemed to bear mute testimony to all that she
had heard.\par

Here, then, she already saw the hand of God guiding
her future--and showing her the small glimmer of
comfort which He vouchsafed her in the midst of her
perplexities.  Life in this house and with this man--who cared
less than nothing for her--would anyhow be intolerable--then
obviously the way was clear for her to go back to her
father.  She wished no harm to these people--none to this
poor, drunken wretch, who probably had no thought of
rebellion or of heresy, none to Laurence, who loved her, or
to Clémence, who had been kind to her.  But she despised
them--aye! and loathed them, and was grateful to God
for allowing her to keep her promise to her father within
the first few hours of her married life.\par

How terrible would have been the long and weary watching! the
irresolution, the temptation, mayhap, to be false
to her oath through sheer indolence or superacute sentiment!\par

So now all that she had to do was to go straight back
to her father, tell him all that she knew and then go--go
back to the dear old convent at Segovia--having done more
than a woman's share in the service of her country--and
then to rest after that--to spend her life in peace and in
prayer--away from all political intrigues--forgetting that
she had ever been young and felt a vague yearning for
happiness.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Mark had made no sign or movement while Lenora stood
there before him, gathering her strength together for what
she felt might prove a struggle.  In some unaccountable
way she felt a little afraid of him--not physically of course,
but, despite the fact that she had so impulsively judged him
just now--afraid of that searching glance of his which
seemed to lay her innermost thoughts like an open book
before his eyes.  She put this strange timidity of hers down
to the knowledge that he had certain lawful rights over her
as her lord and husband and that she would have to obtain
his consent before she could think of going to Brussels on
the morrow.\par

"Messire," she said abruptly, "during this day which
you have seen fit to spend among your habitual boon
companions, making merry no doubt, I have been a great deal
alone.  Solitude begets sober reason--and I have come
to the conclusion that life under present conditions would be
a perpetual martyrdom to me."\par

She paused and he rejoined quietly: "I don't think I
quite understand, Madonna.  Under what conditions would
your life become a martyrdom?"\par

"Under those of a neglected wife, Messire," she said.
"I have no mind to sit at home--an object of suspicion to
your kinsfolk and of derision to your servants, while the
whole town is alive with the gossip that Messire Mark van
Rycke spent the first day of his marriage in the taverns of
Ghent and left his bride to pine in solitude."\par

"But methought, Madonna," he retorted, "that it was
solitude that you craved for.  Both last night and even a
moment ago you told me very plainly that you had no
desire for my company."\par

"Last night I was overwrought and would have made
amends to you for my thoughtlessness at once, only that
you left me incontinently without a further word.  As for
now, Messire, surely you cannot wonder that I have no
mind for your society after a day's carouse has clouded
your brain and made your glance unsteady."\par

She thought herself very brave in saying this, and more
than half expected an angry retort from him.  Instead of
which he suddenly threw back his head and burst into an
immoderate and merry laughter.  She gazed at him horrified
and not a little frightened--thinking indeed that his
brain was overclouded--but he, as soon as he had recovered
his composure, asked her with grave attempt at seriousness:
"You think that I am drunk, Madonna?  Ye gods!" he
exclaimed not without a touch of bitterness, "hath such
a farce ever been enacted before?"\par

"A farce to you perhaps," she said earnestly, "but a
tragedy to me.  I have been rendered wretched and
unhappy, Messire, and this despite your protestations of
chivalry.  I did not seek you, Messire.  This marriage was
forced upon me.  It is ungenerous and cowardly to make
me suffer because of it."\par

"Dastardly and abominable," he assented gravely.
"Indeed, Madonna, you do me far too much honour even
to deign to speak with me.  I am not worthy that you
should waste a thought on me--but since you have been so
kind thus far, will you extend your generosity to me by
allowing me to give you my most solemn word--to swear
to you if need be that I am not the drunken wretch whom
evil tongues have thus described to you.  There," he added
more lightly, "will you not deign to sit here a moment?
You are tired and overwrought; let me get you a cup of
wine, and see if some less strenuous talk will chase all
those black thoughts from your mind."\par

He took her hand and then with gentle yet forceful pressure
led her to the wide hearth and made her sit in the big
chair close beside it.\par

"Alas! there are not even embers in the grate," he said,
"I fear me, you must be cold."\par

From somewhere out of the darkness--she could not see
from where--he brought a footstool for her feet; then he
pulled a low chair forward for himself and sat down at
some little distance from her, in his favourite attitude, with
one elbow on his knee and his face shaded by his hand.
She remained silent for a moment or two, for she suddenly
felt an extraordinary sense of well-being; just the same as
she had felt last night, and once or twice before in his
presence.  And she felt deeply sorry for him too.  After all,
perhaps he had no more desired this marriage than she
had--and no doubt the furrows on his face came from
anxiety and care, and she marvelled what it was that
troubled him.\par

"There," he asked gaily, "are you better now, Madonna?"\par

"Better, I thank you," she replied.\par

"Then shall I interpret the thoughts which were coursing
behind that smooth brow of yours, when first I startled you
by my presence here?"\par

"If you will."\par

He waited a moment, then said dryly: "You desired
to convey to me your wish to return to your father....
Oh! only for a little while," he added hastily, seeing that
she had made a quick, protesting gesture, "but that was in
your mind, was it not?"\par

She could not deny it, and murmured: "Yes."\par

"Such a wish, Madonna," he rejoined, gravely, "is as
a command to me.  In the late morning the horses will
be at your disposal.  I will have the honour to accompany
you to Brussels."\par

"You, Messire!" she exclaimed, "you would..."\par

"I would do anything to further your wishes, Madonna;
this I would have you believe.  And a journey to Brussels
is such a small matter...."\par

"As you say," she murmured.  For such are the contradictions
of a woman's heart that all of a sudden she did
not wish to go away.  All thoughts of rebellion and
conspiracies were unaccountably thrust into the background
of her mind, and ... she did not wish to go away....\par

"There is no hurry," she continued timidly.  "I would
not like to put you to inconvenience."\par

"Oh!" he rejoined airily, "there is no inconvenience
which I would not gladly bear in order to gratify your
wish."\par

"I shall have to pack my effects...."\par

"Jeanne will help Inez, and a few things are easily
packed.  Your effects shall follow in an ox-wagon; they
will be two days on the way; so I pray you take what is
required for your immediate needs and is easily stowed in
your saddle-bow.  We shall have to make an early start,
if you desire to be in Brussels by nightfall."\par

"Oh! there is no hurry," she protested.\par

"Ah?  Then in that case I could escort you as far as
Alost, and send a courier thence to your father, to meet
you there the next day."\par

She bit her lip and could have cried with vexation.  At
the present moment she hated him for so obviously wishing
to be rid of her.  She had quite forgotten that she had
ever wanted to go.\par

"I shall be too tired to make an early start in the
morning," she said quite piteously.  "Why it is close on early
morning now."\par

She leaned a little forward in order to listen, for just
then the chimes of St. Bavon rang the half-hour after
midnight.  She still looked a small, pale, slim ghost with one
side of her exquisite face in shadow, the other but faintly
illumined by the light from without.  Her vexation, her
indecision, were so plainly expressed in her eyes, that he
must indeed have been vastly dull or vastly indifferent not
to have read her thoughts.  Nevertheless, he said with the
same calm airiness as before:\par

"A few hours' rest will revive you, Madonna.  And if
we only go as far as Alost to-morrow, we need not start
before midday."\par

At this her pride was aroused.  His indifference now
amounted to insolence.  With a vigorous effort she
swallowed her tears, for they were very near the surface, and
then she rose abruptly, with the air and manners of a
queen, looking down in her turn with haughty indifference
on that abominable Netherlander whom she had never
hated so thoroughly as she did at this moment.\par

"I thank you, Messire," she said coldly, "I pray you
then to see that all arrangements be complete for my
journey as early as may be.  I would wish to be in
Brussels by nightfall, and half a dozen leagues or so does not
frighten me."\par

She rose with all that stateliness which was a part of
herself and suited her tall, graceful figure so admirably;
as she did so she gave him a curt nod such as she would
have bestowed on a serving man.  He too rose to his feet
but he made no attempt to detain her.  On the contrary,
he at once busied himself with his tinder box, and relighted
the little lamp.  Then he went to the door, unlocked it and
held it open for her to pass through.\par

As she did so she took the lamp from him, and for one
moment their hands met.  His were burning hot and hers
quite cold--his fingers lingered upon the satiny softness
of hers.\par

But she sailed past him without bestowing another glance
upon him, with little head erect and eyes looking straight
out before her.  In one hand she held the lamp, with the
other she was holding up the heavy folds of her trailing
gown, her tiny feet in velvet shoes made no sound as she
glided across the hall.  Soon she was a mere silhouette
with the light just playing faintly with the loose curls round
her head and touching the lines of her shoulders and arms
and one or two folds of her gown.  She mounted the stairs
slowly as if she was infinitely weary; Mark watched the
graceful, ghostlike form gliding upwards until the gloom
had swallowed it up.\par

Then he turned back into the room.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The first thing that Mark did when he was alone was to
close the door; then he struck a light and lit a candle.
With it in his hand he went into the withdrawing-room
and--having peered closely into the four corners of the
room, as if he half-expected to see some night-prowler
there--he placed the candle on the table, drew a bunch
of keys from the inner pocket of his doublet, and going
up to the bureau proceeded to unlock it just as Lenora
had done.\par

He gave one quick glance at the interior of the bureau,
then he put up the flap and once more turned the key in
the lock.\par

Having done this he stood for awhile quite still, his
chin buried in his hand, his broad shoulders bent, a deep,
double furrow between his brows.  From time to time a
deep sigh escaped his lips, and his merry grey eyes almost
disappeared beneath the heavy frown.  Then he seemed
to shake himself free from his obsession, he straightened
out his tall figure and threw back his head with a
movement of pride and of defiance.\par

He took up the candle and started to go out of the room,
but on the threshold he paused again and looked behind
him.  The table, the chairs, the bureau seemed in a strange
weird way to be mocking him--they looked so placid and
so immovable--so stolid in the face of the terrible calamity
which had just fallen on this house.\par

And suddenly Mark with a violent gesture threw the
heavy candlestick to the ground.  The flame flickered as
it fell and the taper rolled about gently for a while from
side to side until it landed close to his feet.  He smothered
a curse and put his heel upon the taper, crushing the wax
into a shapeless mass; then with a curious groan, half
of pain half of bitter irony, he passed his hand once or
twice across his brow.\par

Slowly the glow of wrath faded from his eyes, a look
of wonderful tenderness, coupled with gentle good-humour
and kindliness softened the rugged lines of his face.  A
whimsical smile played round the corners of his lips.\par

"She must be wooed and she must be won," he murmured.
"Mark, you lumbering fool, can you do it?  You
have less than twenty-four hours in which..."\par

He sighed again and laughed softly to himself, shaking
his head dubiously the while.  Then he went out of the
room and closed the door softly behind him.\par

\label{a-divided-duty}%
\hypertarget{a-divided-duty}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER IX}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ A DIVIDED DUTY}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Strange and conflicting were the feelings which ran riot
through Lenora's soul when she once more found herself
alone in her own room.  Mortification held for a time
undisputed sway--a sense of injury--of having gone
half-way to meet she knew not what and having been repulsed.
She was quite sure that she hated her husband now, far
more bitterly than she had ever hated any one before--at
the same time she felt relieved that he at any rate had
no part in the treachery which was being hatched under his
father's roof.\par

One thing, however, gave her an infinite sense of relief.
She was going back to her father on the morrow.  She
would leave this house where she had known nothing but
sorrow and humiliation since first she entered it; above
all she would never see those people again on whom she
had been spying!\par

Yes!  Spying!\par

There was no other word for it; hideous as it was it
expressed what Lenora had done.  Oh! there was no
sophistry about the girl.  She was too proud, too pure to
try and palliate what she had done, by shirking to call it
by its name.  She had done a task which had been imposed
on her by her King, her country, and her father.  She had
sworn to do it--sworn it on the deathbed of the only man
who had ever loved her, the only man whose voice and
touch had thrilled her, the companion of her childhood, her
accepted lover and her kinsman.\par

She had done it because God Himself through her
father's and her King's own mouth had ordered her to do
it; and it was not for her--ignorant, unsophisticated, sinful
mayhap--to question God's decrees.  But when she thought
back on the events of the past hour, she felt a shudder of
horror slowly creeping along her spine.\par

And she thanked God that He would allow her to leave
this house for ever, and for ever to turn her back on those
whom she--so unwillingly--had betrayed.\par

But she would not allow her mind to dwell on such
morbid fancies.  There was a great deal to be done ere
the morning broke.  Her task--if it was to be fruitful--was
not completed yet.\par

She began by taking down a pair of metal candlesticks
which stood on a shelf above the hearth and lighting the
candles at a small lamp which she had brought up with
her.  These she placed upon the table; then she went to
the press where only a few hours ago Inez had ranged all
her clothes and effects, her new gowns and linen.  From
among these things, she took a flat wallet in which were
some sheets of paper, a quill and small inkhorn, also some
wax for sealing letters down.\par

She went to her task slowly and methodically, for she
was unaccustomed to writing letters.  In the convent they
had taught her how to do it, and twice a year she had
written to her father--once on New Year's Day, and once
on the feast of San Juan--but the task before her was a
far more laborious one than she had ever undertaken with
pen and paper.\par

But she sat down, courageously, to write.\par

She wrote an account of everything that she had seen,
heard and experienced in this house, from the moment
when first she left her room in the evening in order to seek
companionship, until the moment when, having secured the
packet of papers, she had relocked the bureau with her
pass-key and started to go back to her room.  What she did
not set down in writing was her subsequent meeting with
her husband, for that had no connection with the Prince of
Orange or with conspiracies, and was merely a humiliating
episode in the life of a neglected bride.\par

The grey dawn slowly creeping in through the leaded
glass of her window still found her at her task.  The
candles had burned down low in their sockets, their light--of
a dim yellow colour--fought feebly against the incoming
dawn.  But Lenora felt no fatigue.\par

She wrote in a small, cramped hand and covered four
sheets of paper with close writing.  When she had finished,
she read all that she had written down carefully through,
made several corrections in the text and folded the sheets
neatly together.  Then she took from the bosom of her
gown the packet of papers which she had found in the
bureau, put it together with her own writing and enclosed
everything in a clean sheet of paper carefully folded over.
Round this she tied a piece of white ribbon, such as she
used for doing up her hair, and sealed it all down with wax.\par

Finally, on the outside of this packet she wrote with a
clear hand:\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"To don Juan de Vargas at his refidence in Brufsels.
To be given unto Him with the Seal unbroken in the eyent
of My death."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Lenora tired out with emotion and bodily exertion slept
soundly for a few hours.  When Inez came in, in the late
morning to wait on her, she ordered the old woman to put
up a few necessary effects in a small leather valise, and to
pack up all her things and all her clothes.\par

"My father hath need of me for a few days," she said
in response to Inez' exclamation of astonishment.  "We
start this morning for Brussels."\par

"For which the Lord be praised," ejaculated Inez piously,
"for of all the dull, miserable, uncomfortable houses that
I ever was in in my life..."\par

"Hold your tongue, woman," broke in Lenora sharply,
"and see to your work.  You will never be done, if you
talk so much."\par

And Inez--more than ever astonished at this display
of temper on the part of a young mistress who had always
been kind and gentle--had perforce to continue her
mutterings and her grumblings under her breath.\par

Whilst the old woman laid out carefully upon the bed
all the pretty things which she had stowed away in the
presses only twenty-four hours ago, Lenora busied herself
with yet another task which she had set herself, but which
she had been too tired to accomplish in the night.\par

She wrote a short letter to Laurence.\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"My DEVOTED FRIEND," she wrote, "You promifed Me
a very little while ago that if ever I wanted You to do
fomething for Me, I was only to fend You this ring and
You would do whatever I afked.  Now, in the name of
Our Lady, I adjure You to leave Ghent at once taking
Your Mother with You.  A grave danger threatens You
both.  I know that You have relatives in Haarlem.  I
entreat You--nay!  I afk it of You as a fulfilment of Your
promife to go to them at once with Your Mother.  Your
Father is in no danger, and Mark will be efcorting Me to
Brufsels, and I fhall try and keep Him there until all danger
is paft...."\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Having written thus far, she paused a moment, pen in
hand, a frown of deep puzzlement and of indecision upon
her brow.  Then she continued in a firm hand:\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"It is Your Mother's and Your own complicity in the
plot which is being hatched in Ghent again ft the Duke of
Alva which has brought Your lives in danger."\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
She strewed the sand over her writing, then read the
letter carefully through.  After which she took a ring from
off her finger, enclosed it in the letter and sealed the latter
down.\par

"Inez!" she said.\par

"Yes, my saint."\par

"I shall be starting for Brussels within the hour."\par

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the old woman.  "I shall
not be ready with the packing.  Why this hurry, my angel?"\par

"Your not being ready, Inez, is of no consequence.  I
shall start with Messire van Rycke.  You will follow on in
the wagon."\par

"But, my saint..."\par

"Now do not talk so much, Inez," broke in Lenora
impatiently; "if you add to my anxieties by being quarrelsome
and disobedient I shall surely fall sick and die."\par

Evidently the young girl knew exactly how to work on
her faithful old servant's temperament.  Inez reduced to
abject contrition by the thought that she was rendering
her darling anxious and sick, swore by every saint in the
calendar that she would bite off her tongue, toil like a slave
and be as obedient as a cur, if only her darling angel would
keep well and cheerful and tell her what to do.\par

"You must not fret about me, Inez," resumed Lenora
as soon as the old woman's voluble apologies and
protestations had somewhat subsided.  "My husband will escort
me as far as Brussels, and in my father's house little Pepita
will wait on me till you come."\par

"And if that flighty wench doesn't look after you
properly..."  began Inez menacingly.\par

"You will make her suffer, I've no doubt," quoth Lenora
dryly.  "In the meanwhile, listen carefully, Inez, for there
is something that I want you to do for me, which no one
else but you can do."\par

"For which the Lord be thanked!" said Inez fervently.
"What is it, my dear?"\par

"This letter," she said.\par

"Yes?"\par

"I want Messire Laurence van Rycke to have it, after I
have gone."\par

"He shall have it, my saint."\par

"He may be from home."\par

"I shall find him."\par

"He must have it before midday."\par

"He shall have it."\par

"Promise!"\par

"I'll swear it."\par

The old woman took the letter with the ring which her
mistress held out to her, and then only did Lenora feel
that she had done all that lay in her power to reconcile
her duty to her King with her sentiment for those who had
been kind to her.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
How Lenora spent the rest of the long, wearisome,
interminable morning she never afterwards could have
told you.  The very atmosphere around her oppressed her
well-nigh unbearably.  There were the farewells to be said
to the family--to the High-Bailiff who was apologetic and
obsequious, to Clémence who cried, and to Laurence who
looked sadly enquiring and reproachful.\par

Fortunately Mark had paved the way for these farewells
in his usual airy and irresponsible manner.  It was
the Spanish custom--so he had assured his mother--that
brides, after spending twenty-four hours under their
husband's roof, returned to their parents or guardians for a
few weeks.  Clémence had smiled incredulously when she
had heard this--but had allowed herself anon to be
persuaded.  There were such queer marriage customs in
different parts of the world these days.  (Why! in many parts
of Germany the bridegroom was, according to tradition,
soundly thrashed by his friends directly after the religious
ceremony--it was in order that he should be prepared for
the many vicissitudes of connubial life.  And there were
other equally strange customs in foreign lands.)  Spain
was a curious country--Clémence was prepared to admit,
and ... ah, well! perhaps it was all for the best!  She
had been attracted by the beautiful girl whom indeed a
cruel fate seemed to have tossed into the very midst of a
family with whom she had absolutely nothing in common.
Clémence had been sorry for her in her gentle, motherly
way but she had mistrusted her ... and just now all
Clémence's thoughts were centred on her country's wrongs, on
the great fight for political and religious liberty which had
received so severe a blow, and which the noble Prince of
Orange was still determined to carry on with the help
of God.\par

And so--though Clémence cried a little, and though her
kind heart ached for the young girl who looked so pathetic
and so forlorn when she bade her good-bye--she nevertheless
felt a sense of relief when she remembered all that had
been talked of and planned in this house last night, and
thought of the packet of papers which were locked away
with her most precious jewels.  She kissed the girl
tenderly, and spoke of the happy day when she would come
back to her new home never to leave it again.  Lenora,
pale, like a young ghost, with dark rings under her eyes,
and lips that quivered with the sobs she was vainly trying
to suppress, made an effort to respond, and then hurried
out of the room.  But when she saw Laurence he was
alone in the hall and she contrived to whisper to him:
"You remember the ring?"\par

He nodded eagerly.\par

"I shall soon send it you," she said, "and ask you to do
something for my sake."\par

"Command me," he implored, "and it shall be done."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Then at last the farewells were all spoken and Lenora
and her husband started on their way.  It had rained in
torrents all the morning--therefore departure was delayed
until long past midday.  The wagons for the effects were
to be round almost immediately, but their progress would
be very slow owing to the bad state of the roads.\par

The road between Ghent and Brussels runs parallel
with the Schelde for the first two or three leagues.  The
river had overflowed its banks, and in places the road
was so deep under water that the horses sank in it almost
up to their bellies.  Everywhere it was fetlock-deep in
mud, and more like a ploughed field than a chaussée owing
to the continual passage recently of cavalry and artillery.\par

Mark and Lenora were travelling alone, which was distinctly
unseemly in a lady of her rank, but the distance was
not great, and Inez had to be left behind to finish up the
packing, whilst Mark refused to take a serving man with
him, declaring that the roads were perfectly safe now and
free from footpads, and that they would surely be in
Brussels before nightfall.  Lenora, who was an absolute
stranger in the country and did not know one Flemish
town from another--and who moreover had done the
journey from Brussels to Ghent ten days ago in a covered
coach drawn by four horses--was ready to accept any
suggestion or any itinerary with the blindness of ignorance.\par

She hardly noticed that they seemed to be making very
slow progress, nor that the sky which had cleared up
brilliantly in the early part of the afternoon was once more
heavily overcast.  Mark at first had made one or two
attempts at cheerful conversation, but since Lenora only
answered in monosyllables he too relapsed into silence after
awhile.\par

The flat, monotonous country--sodden with rain--looked
unspeakably dreary to the girl accustomed to the snow-clad
vistas of the Sierras and the blue skies of Castille.  As
they left Ghent further and further behind them, the
country bore traces of the terrible ravages of Alva's
relentless occupation.  Poverty and wretchedness were writ
largely upon every tiny village or hamlet which they passed:
everywhere the houses bore a miserable and forlorn aspect,
with broken chimneys and shattered roofs, trees cut down
to make way for the passage of cavalry or merely for the
supplying of firewood for Alva's army.  In the little town
of Wetteren through which they passed, the houses looked
deserted and dilapidated: the people looked ill-clad and
sullen, and as they crossed the market-place a crowd of
beggars--men, women and children in miserable
rags--flocked around their horses' heels begging for alms.\par

So much had Spanish occupation done for this proud
country which only a very few years ago had boasted that
not one of its children ever lacked clothing or food.  Tears
of pity gathered in Lenora's eyes: she, of course, did not
know that the misery which she witnessed was due to her
people, to her country and to her King ... and in no
small measure to her father.  She gave the poor folk
money and said kindly words of compassion to them.  Then
she turned to Mark.\par

"It is dreadful," she said naïvely, "to see so much misery
in the land, when our Sovereign Lord the King does so
much for its welfare.  It is these wretched internal
dissensions, I suppose, that are ruining the country.  Surely all
those abominable rebels must see that their obstinacy and
treachery redounds upon their own kith and kin."\par

"They ought to see that, oughtn't they?" was Mark's
dry and curt comment.  And Lenora, chilled by such
strange indifference, once more relapsed into her former
silence.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
When they neared the walls of Dendermonde, Mark
announced that his horse had cast a shoe.  He dismounted,
and leading his horse by the bridle he advanced to the city
gate.  Here, however, both he and Lenora were summarily
stopped by a young provost who demanded to see their
papers of identification, their travelling permits, and their
permit to enter this fortified city.\par

To Lenora's astonishment Mark, who was always so
good-humoured and placid, became violent and abusive
at this formality imposed upon him.  It was in no way
different to those which the municipality of Ghent would
have enjoined on any stranger who desired to enter the
city.  These had been rendered necessary by the many
stringent edicts formulated by the Lieutenant-Governor
against the harbouring of rebels in fortified towns, and all
law-abiding citizens were in consequence obliged to provide
themselves with the necessary passes and permits whenever
they desired to travel.\par

Lenora--whose ignorance of every law, every formality,
every duty imposed upon this once free and proud country
by its Spanish masters was unbounded--could not quite
understand why her husband, who was the son of a high
civic dignitary, had not taken care that all his papers were
in order, before he embarked upon this journey.  It surely
had been his duty to do that, in order to save himself and
his wife from the humiliation of being thus held up at a
city gate by an insolent provost, who had the power to
make his authority felt, and was not sparing of abuse of
loutish Netherlanders who were wilfully ignorant of the
law, or else impudent enough to flout it.  An unpleasant
quarrel between the two men would undoubtedly have
ensued and would inevitably have ended in disaster for
Mark, but for the intervention of Lenora who spoke to
the provost in Spanish.\par

"I am this noble gentleman's wife," she said haughtily
in response to an insolent look from the young soldier,
"and the daughter of señor Juan de Vargas, who will
make you responsible, sirrah, for any inconvenience you
may cause me."\par

At mention of the all-powerful and dreaded name, the
provost's manner immediately underwent a change.  At
the same time he was not prepared to accept the statement
quite so unconditionally as Lenora had supposed.\par

"This noble gentleman," he retorted half-sullenly, "hath
no papers whereby I can verify the truth of what he asserts.
He has none whereby he can prove to me that he is the
son of the High-Bailiff of Ghent, and that you are his
wife and the daughter of don Juan de Vargas."\par

"You have my word for both these assertions, you
accursed fool," exclaimed Mark hotly.\par

"And I'll make you rue your insolence, you dog of a
Netherlander," retorted the provost, "and teach you how
to treat a soldier of the King...."\par

"Mark, I entreat you, not in my presence," broke in
Lenora hastily, for she saw that her husband--apparently
beside himself with rage--was about to commit one of
those foolish and purposeless acts of violence which would
have resulted for them both in a veritable chaplet of
unpleasantness: imprisonment in a guard-room, bringing up
before a sheriff, interrogations, abuse and insults, until the
High-Bailiff or her father could be communicated with--a
matter probably of two or three days, dependent on the
good will of the very sheriff before whom they would
appear.\par

It was positively unthinkable.  Lenora could not
understand how Mark could be so foolish as to lose his temper,
when he was so obviously in the wrong, nor how he could
have been so thoughtless in the matter of the papers.\par

She managed by dint of tactful speech and the power
of her beautiful personality to pacify the wrath of the
provost, and to half-persuade him to believe her assertion
that she was indeed the daughter of don Juan de Vargas.
At any rate the young soldier was by now sufficiently
impressed by the sound of that dreaded name to decline
any further responsibility in this difficult matter.\par

He allowed the travellers to pass through the city gates:
"And to remain within the city for two hours," he added
significantly; "if you wish to stay the night, you must
obtain permission from the Schout."\par

Mark eased his temper by muttering a few more imprecations
under his breath, then he seemed content and somewhat
pacified, and finally led Lenora's horse and his own
quietly through the inner fortifications, and thence across
the Flax Market to the Grand' Place.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Mark established his young wife in the ingle-nook of
the {\itshape{tapperij}} in the highly-respectable tavern of the "Merry
Beggars," opposite the Cloth Hall.\par

He enjoined the host and hostess to take every care of
the noble lady, and then he went off himself in search of a
farrier.\par

Fortunately at this hour--it was just three o'clock in
the afternoon--the {\itshape{tapperij}} was practically deserted.  In
one corner by the window, two middle-aged burghers were
playing hazard, in another a soldier was fast asleep.  Mine
host was passing kind; he brought a roomy armchair up
to the hearth for the pretty lady, threw a fresh log upon
the fire, kicked it into a blaze and placed a footstool at
Lenora's feet.  His wife--a buxom though sad-eyed
Flemish vrouw--brought her some warm milk and a piece
of wheaten bread.  Lenora ate and drank with relish for
she was both hungry and tired, and when she had finished
eating, she leaned back in the big armchair and soon fell
comfortably asleep.  She had had practically no rest the
night before: her nerves were overstrung, and her eyes hot
with weeping.  There was also a heavy load on her heart--a
load chiefly weighted by the packet which was destined
for her father and which she still carried carefully hidden
in the bosom of her gown.\par

So strange are the contradictions of the human heart--of
a woman's heart above all--that ofttimes to-day as her
horse ambled slowly along beside Mark's she had caught
herself wishing--hoping--that something unforeseen
would occur which would make it impossible for her to go
to Brussels--something which would force her to go back
to Ghent with the contents of that packet still a close secret
within her heart.  In the morning she had watched the
skies anxiously, hardly aware that within her innermost
soul she was hoping that the continuous rains had made the
roads impassable--broken down a bridge--that some sign
in fact would come to her from God that she was absolved
from that awful oath, the fulfilment of which seemed indeed
an impossible task.\par

Then would come a terrible revulsion of feeling: she
would remember that the Prince of Orange was even now
in Ghent, with two thousand men who were to be armed
by him so that they might fight against their King and
threaten the life of the Lieutenant-Governor, the King's
own chosen representative.  And she would hate and
despise herself for her cowardly irresolution--her very
prayer to God appeared like blasphemy--and she wanted
to urge the horses forward, she fretted at every delay,
for delay might mean the murder of the Duke of Alva, and
the standard of rebellion hoisted up in triumph above the
Town House of Ghent.\par

Women will understand and pity her--those at least
who once in their life have been torn 'twixt duty and
sentiment.  Lenora was not one of the strong-minded of
her sex: she was very young--a mere girl reared in the
tranquillity of convent life, and then suddenly thrown into
the vortex of political intrigue, of cruel reprisals and bitter
revolt; and heart and mind within her fought a terrible
battle which threatened to ruin her entire life.\par

But in the meanwhile she was sorely in need of rest.
The {\itshape{tapperij}} was so quiet and the ingle-nook was rendered
quite private by a tall screen between it and the rest of the
room.  The soldier in the corner was snoring with insistent
monotony, a big blue-bottle droned against the window,
and a pleasing glow and cheerful crackling came from the
fire in the hearth.\par

Lenora slept peacefully.\par

\label{enemies}%
\hypertarget{enemies}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER X}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ ENEMIES}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
When she woke, Mark was sitting as he was so fond of
doing on a low stool close to the hearth, with one long
leg stretched out to the blaze, his elbow resting on his
knee, his face overshadowed by his hand.  Lenora--even
as she first opened her eyes--saw that he was looking at
her.  A quick blush rose to her cheeks.\par

"Is it time to go?" she asked quickly.\par

"Not yet," he replied.\par

She was a little startled and looked around her, puzzled
and anxious.  The room had looked so light and cheerful
when she had entered it--two large bow windows gave
on the Grand' Place--and the weather had remained clear
and bright.  But now it seemed so dark, almost as if
twilight was fading fast.\par

"What hour is it?" she questioned, and looked about
her anxiously for a clock.\par

"I do not know," he replied airily.\par

"But your horse?"\par

"Still at the farrier's: he was busy and could not shoe
her at once."\par

"But I am sure that it must be getting late," she said
with a sudden note of anxiety in her voice.\par

"Very late, I am afraid," he said lightly.\par

"Then should we not be starting for Brussels?"\par

"We cannot.  I have no horse."\par

"You can hire one, surely?"\par

"Not in this town."\par

"But I must be in Brussels by nightfall," she urged.\par

"I am afraid that this is impossible in any case.  The
powers that reign supreme in this town would not--if you
remember--allow us into it, and now they will not allow
us out."\par

"But that is impossible," she exclaimed, "monstrous!..."\par

"Monstrous, as you say, Madonna," he rejoined with
a smile.  "But do you feel equal to scaling the city
walls?"\par

"Oh!"\par

"I fear me that that would be the only thing to do, if
indeed you desire to be in Brussels this night ... and
even then, I doubt but that they would bring us back."\par

"Then, Messire," she asked, trying to appear as calm,
as detached, as he seemed to be, "do you mean to tell me
that we must spend the night--here?"\par

"It is a pretty city..." he suggested.\par

"That we cannot now start for Brussels?"\par

"Impossible.  The Schout of Dendermonde hath refused
to allow us out of this city until we have proved to his
satisfaction that we are neither spies of the Prince of
Orange, nor emissaries of the Queen of England."\par

"You should have seen to it, Messire," she said haughtily,
"that all our papers were in order.  This is an exceedingly
mortifying and unpleasant contretemps."\par

"I did not know the French word for it, Madonna,"
he rejoined with exasperating good-humour, "but I know
that it must be somewhat unpleasant ... for you."\par

She tried to meet his glance, without that tell-tale blush
spreading immediately over her cheeks: and she could have
cried with vexation when she saw that the merry twinkle
was more apparent in his grey eyes than it had been since
their wedding day.\par

"I believe," she said slowly, "that you, Messire, have
devised this scheme from beginning to end.  You
neglected your papers purposely--purposely you quarrelled
with the provost at the gate--purposely you have caused
me to be detained in this miserable city...."\par

"A pretty city, Madonna," he interposed imperturbably,
"the church was built three hundred years ago ... the
Cloth Hall..."\par

"And now you are impertinent," she declared hotly.\par

"Impertinent," he said quietly, even though the merry,
gently mocking glance still lingered in his eyes, "impertinent
because I decline to look on the present situation as a
tragedy?  How can I do that, Madonna, since it gives
me the opportunity of spending an evening alone with you?"\par

"You might have done that yesterday and saved me
much humiliation," she retorted.\par

"Yesterday I was a fool, Madonna," he said.  "To-day
I have become a wise man."\par

"What hath changed you?"\par

"Ten minutes of your company in the dining-hall last night."\par

She made no reply, glad enough that at this moment
twilight was already fading into dusk.  In the ingle-nook
where they sat, there was hardly any light now save the
glow of the fire.  Anon the buxom, sad-eyed hostess came
in carrying a lamp which she placed on one of the tables
in the {\itshape{tapperij}}.  She seemed to know--by that subtle
instinct which pertains to every woman's heart--that the
seignior and his noble lady did not wish to be disturbed.
This was not the busy hour at the hostel: in about an
hour's time, the soldiers off duty would be coming in, and
the shopkeepers from their shops after their day's work;
but just now there was no one, so the kindly old soul
having so placed the lamp that a beneficent shadow still
enveloped the ingle-nook, quietly tip-toed out of the room.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Several minutes went by before Lenora was able to
shake off the curious torpor which had fallen over her
senses: nor could she in any way account for the sweet
feeling of well-being which accompanied it.  She had made
no reply to Mark's last words, nor did she make any now.
She lay back in her chair with eyes half closed, feeling,
knowing that he was looking at her unceasingly, with that
intent, searching gaze of his which she had encountered
once or twice before.  She felt as if he were trying to
reach her very soul--he, the careless ne'er-do-well, the
dissolute frequenter of taverns--what did he care for a
woman's soul?\par

And yet it seemed impossible for Lenora at this moment
to disguise from that searching gaze all those terrible
conflicts which had literally been tearing her heart asunder
in the past few hours--nay, more! it seemed as if the
very letter which lay inside the folds of her kerchief
addressed to her father must be lying open before her
husband's eyes and that he was reading it even now.\par

The feeling became akin to a sweet obsession, and
gradually she allowed her senses to yield themselves to its
soothing influence.  After all had she not been sure that
sooner or later God would make His will manifest to her? had
she not prayed for guidance? had she not hoped all
the morning that something would prevent her journey to
Brussels?  Content to leave everything in God's hands she
had yet hoped that God would point the way to which her
own heart was tending.\par

And now, circumstances had suddenly occurred which
did impede the journey--the horse had cast a shoe, the
provost at the gate had proved officious, the hour had
slipped by and no horse was forthcoming.\par

Given the absolute simplicity of the girl's religious
thoughts, her upbringing, the superstition which underlay
all beliefs in the old tenets of the Church during this
period of stress and struggle through which she was
groping her way through darkness into light: given Lenora's
pure nature and the proud humility which accepted
unquestioningly all the commands of those whom she had been
taught to reverence, was it to be wondered at that while she
was quite ready to do her duty, she should nevertheless
hope and think that she had at last received a distinct,
supernatural sign that her journey to Brussels was not one
of those decrees of God before which everything on earth
must bow and every obstacle be removed?\par

But even then--in spite of her wishes and her hopes--she
fought on to the last and refused to yield to the sweet,
insistent call of peace and of sentiment.  What she took
to be a sign from God might easily be an insidious
machination of the devil.  There was a quaint look of gentle
amusement in Mark's eyes, which was certainly disquieting,
and it was just possible that it was he who had--wittingly
or unwittingly--assumed the role of a guiding
Providence in the matter.\par

Therefore she steeled her heart against those subtle
whisperings which seemed to lure her on every side to give up
the fight, to allow herself to drift on the soothing wave
which even now was carrying her to a haven, where all was
peace and quietude and where there was neither strife nor
intrigue.\par

"Messire," she said abruptly and as repellently as she
could, "I pray you enlighten mine ignorance.  How many
cowardly deeds of this sort stand to your discredit?"\par

He smiled quite unperturbed: "You think me an adept?"
he asked quietly.\par

"You are not ashamed?" she retorted.\par

"Not in the least.  What have I done?"\par

"Insulted me at every turn," she said very calmly.
"What is this detention---here, alone with you, in this
strange town, away even from the protection of my own
serving wench--what is it but an insult?  You have shown
me plainly enough, by every means in your power, that you
had no liking for me.  Even last night..."\par

She paused because tears of humiliation--which she
would have given worlds not to shed--would come to her
eyes, and her voice shook in spite of every effort which she
made at self-control.\par

"Madonna," he entreated, and suddenly he was quite
close to her, with one knee almost touching the ground,
"as you are beautiful, so will you not be merciful to a
miserable wretch, who hath been sorely perplexed by all
the disdain which you have so generously lavished upon
him?"\par

"Disdain, Messire ... surely I..."\par

"Surely," he broke in gently, "you have every right to
despise a worthless fellow whom an evil Chance hath given
you for husband, but have I not been punished enough for
daring to accept what the kind goddess did offer me?"\par

"I had no thought of punishing you, Messire," she said
earnestly.  "When I stood beside you at the altar, I was a
broken-hearted woman to whom Fate in the person of a
miserable assassin had dealt a cruel blow.  I loved my
cousin, Messire ... oh!  I know," she broke in quietly,
"I ought not to speak of this ... it is unseemly and
perhaps unkind ... but I did love him and he was
murdered ... foully, abominably, wickedly murdered
... not killed in fair fight--not openly--but in a dark
passage--waylaid by a brigand ... killed! he! the only man who
had ever spoken tenderly to me! ... and killed by one of
your own people ... a friend of the Prince of Orange
... a man whom popular talk hath nicknamed Leatherface....
Oh!  I know," she added hastily, seeing that
instinctively he had drawn away from her and was now
staring straight into the fire, with a hard expression on his
face which she could not fathom, "I know that you have
no hand in these conspiracies ... that from indifference
rather than loyalty, I believe you have never taken up the
cause of rebellion against our Sovereign Lord; but tell me,
Messire, could I--a young, inexperienced girl--could I
dissociate you and yours in my mind from that faction who
had sent my kinsman to his death? could I come to you
with a whole heart, and a soul freed from all thoughts of
hatred and revenge?  I meant to do my duty by you and
had you but helped me I might have succeeded--instead
of which your coldness repelled me.  I am of the south,
Messire, I am not one of your cold, unemotional Netherlanders
who can go through life without one thrill of the
heart brought on by a tender word or a caress.  I was in
your house but a few hours and already my soul was
starving--my heart craved for that which you were not
able to give."\par

"God forgive me, Madonna," he murmured, "for a
blind, insensate fool!"  But he did not look at her as he
said this, and there was a curious dreary tone in his voice
so unlike his usual light-hearted gaiety.  "How you must
hate us all!" he added with a sigh.\par

"I would not hate you, Messire," she said so softly that
he scarcely could hear; "your brother Laurence hath been
kind to me and I know that you take no part in those
miserable plots that have treachery and assassination for
their ultimate goal.  As for the Prince of Orange and his
friends!  Yes!  I do hate them as I do all pestilential
creatures that turn on the hand that feeds them!"\par

"Madonna," he exclaimed hotly--and suddenly he was
quite close to her once again, both her little hands held
tightly in his own: his eyes had lost all their merriment:
they were full of a glowing ardour which seemed to
penetrate into her very soul.  "Madonna," he continued, "may
God forgive you, for indeed you know not what you say.
Child! child! will you think a moment--are we not human
creatures like yourself? do we not live and breathe, and
eat and love just like you do in Spain?  Have we no hearts
to feel, no eyes to see the misery which our people suffer
through the presence of a stranger in our land?  Would
you see a Teuton place his iron heel on Spain and on her
people?  Would you see the Emperor enforce his laws, his
faith, his ideals upon your kith and kin?  Would you stand
by whilst foreign soldiery swaggered about your cities,
outraged your women and plundered your homes?  Would
you rest content if the faith which God hath given you was
made akin to treachery and to rebellion?  The hand that
feeds the Netherlands, Madonna!" he added whilst a bitter,
mirthless laugh escaped his lips, "nay! the hand against
which the valiant Prince of Orange hath raised his in
vengeance, is the hand that hath devastated our land, pillaged
our cities and sent our people naked and starving out into
the world!"\par

Gradually while he spoke she had drawn herself away
from him, and she would have disengaged her hands too,
only that he held them so tightly imprisoned.\par

"But Ramon was murdered, Messire," she said slowly,
"can you expect me to forget that?--and even now--I
would dare swear--there are men who would murder the
Duke of Alva if they could ... or my father."\par

He made no answer to that--perhaps had she not mentioned
her father he might have tried to tell her that killing
was not always murder, but, at times, the work of a
justiciary.  Ramon--like the noisome brute that he
was--deserved death as no mere ordinary criminal ever had
deserved it.  But how could he tell her that, when in her
heart she had evidently kept a picture of the man so totally
unlike the vile and execrable reality?  So now he only
sighed and remained silent.\par

The time had not yet come when this exquisite, tender-hearted
girl must see the riddles of life solved before her
one by one--when she would realise that there is a wider
horizon in this world than that which she perceived
above a convent wall.  She had been brought up with
ideals, thoughts and aspirations that had nothing to do
with the great and bitter truths which were proclaimed
in every corner of this downtrodden land.  Her ideas
of King and country, of duty, of loyalty, must all be
shattered by the crude realities of life ere upon their ruins
she built for herself a purer, holier edifice of faith and
hope and infinite charity.\par

A tender pity for her innocence and her ignorance filled
Mark's heart and soul,  A maddening desire seized him to
fold her in his arms and carry her away somewhere into a
dream-world far away where there were no intrigues and
no cruelties, no oppression and misery: and yet again he
would have loved to go with her there where sorrow and
poverty were keenest, for he knew that her soul--unbeknown
even to herself--was full of that gentle compassion
which knows how to alleviate pain just by a look from
tear-dimmed eyes, or a touch from a gentle hand.\par

All that and more his look conveyed to her although he
remained silent, and she--by a curious intuition--knew
just what was in his mind.  The impassioned appeal which
he had made to her just now, told her that he was not the
indifferent ne'er-do-well that every one supposed.  He felt
deeply and keenly--more deeply and keenly mayhap than
those men who plotted murders at dead of night.  He
was not a blind follower of the Lieutenant-Governor or of
her father: he saw the misery under which his people
groaned, and his careless, detached air obviously hid
intense bitterness and resentment.\par

But strangely enough, she did not blame him for this.
Suddenly she seemed to see the whole aspect of this strange
country under a new light: the cause of the Netherlanders
had--in one instant--appeared to her from a wholly
different point of view.  Because Mark was their defender and
their champion she felt that they could not be wholly vile.
This, mayhap, was not logic, but it was something more
potent, more real than logic--the soft insinuating voice of
Sentiment which whispered: "Would he champion that
cause if it were base?  Would that fiery ardour fill his soul
for a cause that was unworthy?"\par

And Lenora suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to
confide in this one man; to place before him all the perplexities
which were tearing her soul.  Somehow she felt that
he would help her out of that tangled labyrinth wherein
she had been groping all night and all day; but shyness held
her back.  She did not know how to broach the subject,
how to tell him all about her oath, her obedience to her
father, what she had done last night, what she thought it
her duty to do in the future.\par

It was all very difficult and Lenora sighed wearily:\par

"There is so much in what you said just now, Messire,"
she began timidly, "that I would like to understand more
clearly.  I am so ignorant ... my life has been so
restricted ... I know so little of the world...."\par

"Will you let me give you a few lessons?" he queried
softly.  "There are so many mazes in life through which
it is only possible to find the way by going hand in hand."\par

"Hand in hand?" she sighed.  "I am a stranger in this
strange land, Messire ... all that I know of it hath been
taught me by those who have no love for it...."\par

"You are a stranger in this whole world, dear heart,"
he said with a smile.  "This little bit of Netherlands is but
a tiny corner of it: its sorrows, its joys, its pain and
happiness are but the sorrows and happiness of the rest of the
world.  One day perhaps you will let me take your little
hand in mine, and then we would go and explore the whole
of this strange world together."\par

"I wonder what we would find?" she mused.\par

"We would find that despite intrigues and cruelty and
hatred there is much in it that is still beautiful and pure.
If we went hand in hand, you and I, we would not wander
with eyes downcast and seeking in the mud for the noxious
things which foul God's creation by their presence--we
would look upwards, sweet, and see the soft blue of our
northern skies, veiled as it so often is with silvery mists
that hold the entire gamut of exquisite colours in their fairy
bosoms; we would see the green leaves of the trees turn to
russet and gold in the autumn, we would see the linnets
nesting in the bay trees in the spring.  There are many
beautiful things in this dreary world of ours, dear heart,
but they can only be seen if two pairs of eyes look on them
at one and the same time and two pairs of lips whisper
together in thankfulness to God."\par

How strange it was to hear him talking like this--Mark
van Rycke, the haunter of taverns and careless profligate.
Lenora's eyes, dark, luminous, enquiring, were fixed upon
him--and gradually as he spoke his arm stole closer and
closer round her shoulders as it had done two nights ago
in Ghent when she had so wantonly turned on him in
hatred.  Now she felt as if she could go on listening to him
for hours and hours--thus alone in this semi-darkness with
the glow of dying embers upon his face, showing the strong
outline of cheek and jaw, and the fine sweep of the
forehead with the straight brows above those kind, grey eyes.
She could have listened because she loved the sound of his
voice, and the quaint, foreign intonation wherewith he
spoke the Spanish tongue.\par

No! of a truth she did not dislike him: certainly she had
no cause for hatred against him, for what had he to do
with traitors or with assassins, he who spoke so gently of
birds and skies and trees?\par

"If you will still let me hold this little hand, dear heart,"
he whispered now, speaking so low that in order to hear
she had to lower her head until his lips were quite close
to her ear, "we could learn one lesson together which God
only teaches to His elect."\par

"And what lesson is that?" she asked, feigning not to
understand, though she knew quite well what the answer
would be.\par

"That which the nightingale teaches its mate when in
May the hawthorn is in bloom and the west wind whispers
among its leaves.  The lesson of love."\par

"Love?" she said with a strange tremour in her voice,
"the world no longer contains love for me...."\par

"The world perhaps not, dear sweet," he said more gaily,
"but there is a heart beating close to yours now which holds
I swear an infinity of love for you."\par

And once more as he spoke, the same magic spell of a
while ago descended upon Lenora.  It seemed as if for the
moment life--the dreary, wretched life of the past few
days--had ceased, and a kind of dream-existence had begun.
And in this dream-existence she--Lenora--was all alone
with this stranger--this man whom but a few days ago she
had not even seen--who had had no part in her life in the
peaceful past when she knew nothing of the world beyond
the old convent walls at Segovia; yet now--in the
dream-existence--she was alone with him and she was content.
Ramon was not there--he had become the past--all the
future for her seemed suddenly to be bound up with Mark,
and she was content.  He had spoken of beauty, of skies,
of birds and of the gifts of God, and he still held her
hand, and his arm now was right round her, so that she
could feel him drawing her closer and closer to him, the
while the magic spell worked upon her senses and she felt
a delicious languor pervading her entire being.\par

"Give me your lips, sweetheart," he whispered in her
ear, "and I'll give you your first lesson even now."\par

And verily I do believe that Lenora would have yielded
here and now--content to leave the great solution of her
life's riddle in the omnipotent hands of love--forgetting
her oath to her father, the death of Ramon, the danger
which threatened the Duke of Alva, conspiracies,
treacheries, rebellion ... everything!  What did it all
matter? what did the world and its intrigues and its politics count
beside the insistent, the wonderful call of Love?--the call
of man to woman, of bird to bird, to mate and to nest and
to be happy, to forget the universe in one embrace, to
renounce the kingdoms of the world in the first blissful
kiss.\par

For a few seconds Lenora remained quite still, while
Happiness--the strange and mysterious elf--fluttered
softly about the room.  It hovered for awhile above that
ingle-nook where two young hearts were mutely calling one
to another, and it looked down on the beautiful girl with
the glowing eyes and parted lips who with every fibre of her
ardent being and the insistence of her youth was ready to
capture it....\par

And Chance, Fate or its own elusive nature drove it
relentlessly away.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
How peaceful was the sleepy little town at this moment
when dusk finally faded into night!\par

The tower bells of the Cloth Hall chimed the sixth hour:
outside on the Grand' Place all had been still save for the
occasional footstep of a passer-by or the measured tramp
of a company of halberdiers on duty.\par

And now suddenly that peace was broken, the quietude
of the town disturbed by piercing woman's shrieks,
followed by shouts and curses uttered loudly by a rough,
masculine voice.\par

Mark instinctively jumped to his feet; the cries had
become pitiable and were multiplied by others which seemed
to come from children's throats, and the shouts and curses
became more peremptory and more rough.\par

"What is it?" asked Lenora, not a little frightened.\par

"Oh! the usual thing," replied Mark hastily, "a woman
insulted in the streets, vain protests, rough usage, outrage
and probably murder.  We are used to such incidents in
Flanders," he added quietly.\par

Already he was half way across the {\itshape{tapperij}}.\par

"You are going?" she queried anxiously, "whither?"\par

"Out into the street," he said, "can you not hear that
a woman is in distress?"\par

"But what can you do?" she urged, "the soldiers are
there ... you cannot interfere ... you, a Netherlander...."\par

"Yes!  I, a Netherlander," he said.  "It is a Flemish
woman who is calling for help now."\par

He turned to go, and she--with the same instinct that
was moving him--rose too and followed him:--the same
instinct of protection: his--the man's for the woman who
was in distress: hers--the woman's for the man who would
pit his strength alone against superior numbers.  She
overtook him just as he reached the threshold of the {\itshape{tapperij}}.
Beyond it was only the porch, the door of which stood
wide open, and beyond that the Grand' Place; the shrieks
and the ever-increasing noise of a scuffle came from an
adjacent street close by.\par

"You must not go, Messire," she said insistently, as with
both hands she clung to his arms, "what can you do?  there
is a crowd there ... and the soldiers...."\par

He smiled and tried very gently to disengage his arm
from her clinging, insistent grasp.\par

"It will not be the first time, Madonna," he said with a
light laugh, "that I have had a scuffle with a posse of
soldiery ... they sometimes mean no harm," he added
reassuringly seeing the look of anxious terror in her eyes,
"many a time has a scuffle ended in jollity at a few words
of common sense."\par

"Yes, yes, in Ghent," she urged, "where you are known.
But here! ... where no one knows you ... spies of
the Inquisition might be about ... if they see you
interfering in favour of a heretic or a rebel ... or ... Oh! men
have been hanged and burned for lesser crimes than that."\par

"Ah!" he said looking down with a whimsical smile
into her flushed and eager face, "that is part of the
benevolent rule which our Sovereign Lord the King exercises
over the Low Countries!"\par

Then seeing that at his flippant words--through which
there rang a note of intense bitterness--her eyes had
suddenly filled with tears, he murmured tenderly:\par

"God bless you, Madonna, for your sweet thoughts of
me!  I pray you let me go!  I'll come back soon," he
added while a look of triumph flashed up in his eyes, "never
fear!"\par

He ran out quickly into the street.\par

She hesitated, but only for a second: the next she had
followed him, without thought that she had neither hood
nor mantle, nor that the unseemliness of her conduct would
surely have shocked all the great ladies of Spain.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The Grand' Place was deserted and dark, only here and
there in the windows of the Cloth Hall there was a
glimmer of light.  For a moment Lenora paused in the porch
peering out into the gloom, trying to trace whence came
the noise of the scuffle, for Mark had already disappeared:
then she ran out swiftly, turning to her right from the
porch till she reached the corner of a narrow street.  Here
an oil lamp fixed into a wall by an iron bracket threw a
dim circle of light, beyond which the shadows appeared
almost impenetrable.  It was somewhere in amongst those
shadows that a mêlée between shouting soldiers and
shrieking women was taking place.\par

Up to this moment Lenora had never stopped to reflect
as to what she meant or wanted to do.  Blind instinct had
driven her in the wake of Mark, feeling that he was in
danger--as indeed he was: a Netherlander these days was
in himself always an object of suspicion, and interference
with Spanish soldiery under any circumstances was indeed
likely to lead him into very grave trouble.  If the soldiers
were arresting or merely molesting a heretic or a rebel,
any one who interfered with them would at once fall under
the searching eye of the Inquisition--and there was never
a lack of spies on such occasions: the {\itshape{seven stiver people}}--who
for that paltry daily sum spent their lives in reporting
treason, listening for it in every tavern, and in every back
street of every city.\par

But now that she stood here at the street corner, hearing
the ever-increasing noise of the scuffle close by, hearing
the shouts, the cries, the pitiable appeals followed by
peremptory commands, she realised how miserably impotent
and helpless she was.  Yet she could hear Mark's
voice--speaking now in Spanish and now in Flemish, as he
tried--obviously--to understand the situation and to plead for
those who were in distress.  At first his voice had sounded
rough and peremptory: indeed Lenora could not help but
marvel at its commanding quality, then gradually it became
cheerful, and its tone turned to one of merry banter.  The
incident indeed was evidently one of those which, alas! were
so usual in the cities and villages of the Low Countries
these days: two young women coming home down the
dark, back streets from some farm or silk-weaving shop
where they had been at work, and a posse of half-drunken
soldiers to whom a Flemish peasant was an acknowledged
prey for ribald sport.\par

The women had resisted and tried to flee: they were
pursued and rough horse-play had ensued: then they had
screamed and the men had sworn, and presently other
women and children joined in the scuffle while those who
were wise stayed quietly indoors.\par

Horse-play had become a matter of blows followed by
threats of arrest and dark hints at heresy, rebellion and
the Inquisition: the mêlée was at its height when Mark
interfered.  Several blows were still exchanged after that,
and there was a good deal of swearing and mutual objurgation.
Lenora, listening, wondered with what skill Mark
gradually made those curses turn to facetious remarks--ill-natured
at first and uncouth--then more light-hearted, and
finally grudgingly pleasant.  Within five minutes the tumult
began to subside: Lenora could hear the women weeping
and the soldiers laughing quite good-humouredly.  How
it had all been done she did not know: presently from the
tramping of feet she gathered that the mêlée had broken
up: a woman's voice said loudly: "{\itshape{Gott vergelte!}}" and
Lenora thought that indeed God would repay the
light-hearted man of the world who had by sheer good-humour
and compelling personality turned a drama into pleasing
farce.\par

"Well, friend!" she heard a man's voice saying in
Spanish, "I don't know who you are, but a right good fellow;
an I'm not mistaken.  Perhaps it was wisest to leave those
women alone."\par

"I am sure of it, friend," quoth Mark gaily, "the
commandant oft makes a to-do about street-brawling, and you
might have been blamed and got two days' guard-room
arrest just for kissing a pair of Flemish wenches.  The
game was not worth the candle.  Even the devil would have
no profit in it."\par

"Well said, mate," retorted the other lustily, "come and
have a mug of ale on it with me and my men at the 'Duke's
Head' down yonder."\par

"Thank you, friend, but I put up at the 'Merry Beggars'
and must return thither now.  A little later perhaps."\par

"At your service, comrade."\par

There was a pause during which Lenora made up her
mind--since all tumult and all danger had passed--to go
back to that ingle-nook beside the fire and there to wait
till Mark returned ... to wait so that she might resume
with him that conversation of awhile ago which had interested
her so much.  But on the point of turning she halted.
Three words--spoken by one of the soldiers--had come to
her out of the gloom, and caused her heart to stop its
beating.\par

"You are hurt?" one man had said--in a kind, gruff
way--evidently in deep concern.\par

"No! no! it's nothing," Mark replied, "a small scratch
... in the scuffle just now...."\par

"But you are bleeding...."\par

"And if I am, friend, it won't be the first time in my life.
I tell you it's nothing," added Mark with obvious
impatience.  "Good-night!"\par

"Good-night!" came in chorus from the men.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The measured tramp of booted feet slowly dying away
in the distance down the narrow street, told Lenora that
at last the men had gone.\par

But Mark was hurt and she stood waiting at the street
corner for she heard his step coming slowly toward her.\par

He was hurt and had made light of it, but one of the
soldiers had remarked that he was bleeding and she waited
now for him, dreading yet vaguely hoping that he was
really wounded--oh! only slightly!--but still wounded so
that she might wait on him.\par

So strange is a woman's heart when first it wakes from
the dreams, the unrealities, the fairy-worlds of childhood!
With beating heart Lenora listened to that slowly-advancing
footstep--how slow it seemed! as if it had lost that
elasticity which but a few moments ago had carried Mark
bounding down this same street.  Now it dragged and
finally came to a halt, just as Mark's figure emerged into
the shaft of light thrown along the wall by the street lamp
close to which Lenora was standing.\par

She smothered a little cry and ran forward to meet him,
for she had seen his figure sway, and halt, then lean heavily
against the wall.\par

"You are hurt!" she exclaimed, even before she reached him.\par

At sound of her voice, he pulled himself together, and
in a moment had straightened out his shoulders and was
walking quite steadily toward her.\par

"Madonna!" he cried in astonishment, "what are you
doing here?"\par

"Oh!  I ... I..." she murmured, a little ashamed
now that she met his pleasant, grey eyes fixed so kindly
upon her, "I heard the noise ... I became anxious...."\par

"It was only a street-brawl," he said, "not fit for you to
witness."\par

Even now, though he spoke quite firmly, his voice
sounded weary and weak.\par

"You are hurt!" she reiterated.\par

"Hurt?  No!"  He laughed, but the laughter died on
his lips: he had to steady himself against the wall, for a
sudden dizziness had seized him.\par

"I pray you take my arm," she insisted.  "Can you
walk as far as the tavern?"\par

"Indeed I can," he retorted, "on my honour 'tis a mere
scratch."\par

"An you'll not take my arm," she said peremptorily,
"I'll call for help."\par

"Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed gaily.  "I should be
laughed at for a malingerer.  Shall we return to the
tavern, Madonna? and will you not take mine arm?"\par

He held his right arm out to her, but as he did so she
noticed that he kept the other behind his back.\par

She did take his arm, however.  It was obviously best--since
he was more severely hurt than he cared to admit--to
go at once back to the tavern, and dress the wound
there with water and clean linen.\par

They walked in silence side by side.  It was only a
matter of an hundred yards or so, and after a very few
moments they reached the porch of the "Merry Beggars," and
as the buxom hostess was standing there, vaguely wondering
what had happened to her guests, Lenora at once despatched
her off for a basin of clean warm water and her
very softest linen towels.\par

Then she went into the {\itshape{tapperij}}, and Mark followed her.\par

The room was as peaceful, as deserted as it had been
awhile ago.  The host himself had in the interval made
up the fire, and it was blazing brightly, lighting up the little
ingle-nook, with the high-backed chair wherein Lenora
had sat and the low one drawn so close to it.\par

Turning to Mark, she noticed that he still kept his left
arm resolutely behind his back.\par

"Our good hostess won't be long with the water," she
said, "in the meanwhile, I pray you let me tend to your
wound."\par

"It was nothing, Madonna, I entreat you," he said with
marked impatience, "a blow from a halberd caught me on
the arm.  I scarcely feel it now."\par

"Let me see," she commanded.\par

Then as he made no movement to obey, she--half crying
with anxiety, and half-laughing with excitement--ran
swiftly round him, and in an instant she had hold, of his
left hand, and with gentle pressure compelled him to yield
it to her.  He tried to struggle, but the pain in his arm
rendered it somewhat helpless.\par

"I insist!" she said gently, and clung to his hand
supporting the fore-arm as she did so.\par

"Your sleeve is covered with blood!" she exclaimed.\par

"It is nothing!" he persisted obstinately.\par

But for the moment she was the stronger of the two.
Short of doing her violence he could not prevent her from
holding his hand with one of hers, and with the other
undoing the buttons at his wrist; then with utmost gentleness
she detached the shirt which was sticking to a deep, gaping
wound, that stretched from the wrist right up to the elbow.\par

"Oh! but this is terrible!" she cried.  "No blow from a
halberd could have inflicted such a wound! ... Oh! why
does not that woman hurry?" she added, whilst tears of
vexation and impatience rose to her eyes.  There was
nothing to hand wherewith she could staunch the wound, even
momentarily--every second was precious!...\par

"I have a knowledge of such matters," she said gently.
"At the convent we tended on many wounded soldiers,
when they came to us hurt from the wars.  This is no fresh
wound, Messire," she added slowly, "but an old and very
severe one, dealt not so very long ago ... by a dagger
probably, which tore the flesh and muscle right deeply to
the bone ... it had not healed completely ... the blow
from the halberd caused it to reopen ... and..."\par

But the next words remained frozen on her lips: even
whilst she spoke she had gradually felt a deathlike
feeling--like an icy hand gripping her heart and tearing at its
strings.  An awful dizziness seized her.  She looked
up--still holding Mark's hand--and gazed straight into his face.
He too was as pale as the dead ashes in the grate--his
whole face had become wax-like in its rigidity, only his eyes
remained alive and glowing, fixed into her own now with a
look which held a world of emotion in its depths: passionate
tenderness and mute appeal, an avowal and a yearning
and with it all an infinity of despair.\par

And she, thus looking into that face which only lived
through the eyes, saw all around her the narrow white-washed
walls of the {\itshape{tapperij}} fading away into darkness.
In their stead she saw a narrow passage, dark and gloomy,
and in its remotest and darkest corner a figure cowered,
clad in dark clothes from head to foot and wearing a
mask of leather upon its face--the assassin waiting for his
prey.  And she saw Ramon--handsome, light-hearted,
debonnaire Ramon--her kinsman and her lover, standing
unsuspecting by.  She saw it all--the picture as her father
had painted it for her edification.  The assassin lying in
wait--Ramon unsuspecting.  She saw the murder committed
there in the dark, the stealthy, surreptitious blow.
She saw Ramon totter and fall--but before falling turn on
the dastardly murderer, and with hand already half
paralysed by oncoming death, deal him a deep and gashing
wound ... in the left fore-arm ... with his dagger
which tore flesh and muscle between elbow and wrist right
through to the bone.\par

And while she looked straight into his eyes and yet saw
nothing but the vision of that awful deed, her lips
murmured automatically the four accusing words:\par

"Then it was you!"\par

He had not for one second lost his hold upon himself,
since that awful moment when he realised that she guessed.
He had no idea that don Ramon, at the point of death, had
spoken of the wound which he had inflicted on the man
who had meted out summary justice to him for his crimes.
But now he knew that the secret which he would have
buried with him in a bottomless grave was known to her--to
the woman whom he had learned to love with his whole
soul.  She knew now, and henceforth they must be not
only strangers but bitter enemies.  Nothing--not even
perhaps his own death--would ever wipe away the sense of
utter abhorrence wherewith she regarded him now.  He
took his last look of her as one does of one infinitely dear,
who sinks into the arms of Death.\par

He drank in every line of her exquisite face, the child-like
contour of chin and throat, her alabaster-like skin, the
exquisite mouth which he was destined now never to touch
with his yearning lips.  In this supreme moment, his love
for her--only just in its infancy--rose to its full
effulgence; he knew now that he worshipped her, and knew that
never while the shadow of her dead kinsman stood between
them would he hold her in his arms.\par

"Then it was you!" she murmured again, and with those
fateful words pronounced his condemnation and her own
indomitable hate.\par

"Madonna," he entreated, speaking with the infinite
tenderness and pity which filled his heart, "will you deign to
listen, if I try to plead mine own cause?"\par

But no look of softness came into her eyes: they were
glowing and dry and unseeing: she did not see him--not
Mark, her husband as he stood there now before her--she
saw him cowering in a dark corner, clad in sombre clothes
and wearing a leather mask--she saw him with an assassin's
dagger in his hand and she saw Ramon lying dead at his
feet.\par

"Then it was you!" she said for the third time.\par

And he bent his head in mute avowal.\par

For a few seconds longer she stood there, rigid and
silent: slowly her fingers opened and his hand which she
had held dropped away to his side.  A shudder went right
through her, she tottered and nearly fell, only saving
herself by holding on to the corner of the table.  He made a
movement as if he would try and support her, as if he
would put his arms around her and pillow her against
his breast, but with an exclamation of supreme loathing,
she drew away from him, and with a pitiable cry half of
hatred and wholly of misery, she turned and fled from the room.\par

\label{utter-loneliness}%
\hypertarget{utter-loneliness}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XI}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ UTTER LONELINESS}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
What happened directly after that, Lenora did not
know.  Consciousness mercifully left her, and when she
woke once more she found herself sitting in a small room
which smelt of lavender and warm linen, beside a fire
which burned low in a wide-open hearth.\par

She opened her eyes and looked enquiringly around her.
The room was dark--only faintly lighted by the lamp
which hung from a beam in the ceiling.  A young girl
was busy in a corner of the room bending over an ironing
board.\par

"Does the noble lady feel better?" she asked kindly but
with all the deference which those of the subject race were
expected to show to their superiors.\par

She spoke in broken French--most women and men who
served in the inns and taverns in the cities of the Low
Countries were obliged to know some other language besides
their own, seeing that the {\itshape{tapperijen}} were frequented
by Spanish, French and German soldiery.\par

"I am quite well, I thank thee," replied Lenora gently,
"but wilt thou tell me where I am and how I came to be
sitting here when..."\par

She paused; for with a rush the recollection of the past
terrible moments came sweeping back upon her, and it
seemed as if consciousness would flee from her once again.\par

"The noble lady must have felt dizzy," said the girl
quietly.  "Aunt sent me in with the warm water for the
noble seigneur's wound, and I saw the noble lady just
running out of the {\itshape{tapperij}} to the porch and then fall--in a
swoon.  I was frightened, but the noble seigneur ordered
me quickly to tie a towel around his wounded arm and
then he carried the noble lady up here to a nice warm room,
where he told me that mayhap she should deign to pass the
night.  Oh! the noble seigneur is grievously wounded, he..."\par

"Silence, girl," cried Lenora suddenly, for indeed with
every word the child seemed to be touching an aching
place in her heart.  "No, no," she added more gently,
seeing that the girl, abashed and not a little frightened, had
gone back in silence to her ironing-board, "I did not mean
to be unkind ... but ... as thou seest, I am not well.
Come! tell me what happened after ... after the noble
seigneur carried me up here."\par

"Aunt waited on him, noble lady," said the girl, "for
the wound in his arm bled grievously ... but he was
impatient and soon ordered her to leave him alone ... then
I came up here, and did all I could to bring the noble lady
round....  I tried vinegar and burned feathers under the
noble lady's nose ... but I was not frightened ... I
knew the noble lady would revive ... and the leech lives
but two doors off....  We were all of us anxious about
the noble seigneur ... because of his wound ... and
he looked so pale and haggard ... so aunt and I soon
ran down to him again....  We found him sitting by the
table ... just sealing down a letter which he had been
writing.  'I am going, mevrouw,' he says to aunt quite
curtly.  'Take thine orders from the noble lady.  She will
tell thee her own wishes.'  He gave her some money and
a letter which he ordered her to give to the noble lady as
soon as she deigned to wake.  And then he took his hat
and mantle and went out by the porch ... just like that
... all alone ... into the darkness ... whither he
did not deign to say....  We are just poor people and
we did not dare to ask, but the wind has sprung up and it
hath begun to rain ... the night will be rough ... and
the noble seigneur is not fit to hold a horse with his arm in
such a grievous state."\par

"Where is the letter?" asked Lenora curtly.\par

From the pocket of her apron the girl produced a letter
folded into four and sealed down with wax which she
handed to the noble Spanish lady with a respectful curtsey.\par

"Aunt told me to give it to the noble lady," she said,
"as soon as she deigned to wake."\par

"Is thine aunt the hostess of this inn?" queried Lenora.
She was fingering the letter, feeling a curious hesitancy
and reluctance to read its contents, and asked a few idle
questions whilst she made an effort to control her nerves.\par

"Yes! at the noble lady's service," replied the girl.\par

"Art of this city, then?"\par

"No, so please you.  I come from Ghent."\par

"From Ghent?  What is thy name, then?"\par

"Grete, so please the noble lady," whispered the girl.\par

Then, as the noble lady said nothing more, but sat just
quite still with the unopened letter in her hand, Grete went
back to her ironing-board.  Lenora watched her mechanical
movements for awhile--a mist was before her eyes, and she
could not see very clearly, but somehow she liked the look
of Grete--Grete who was from Ghent--whom she would
have liked to question further, only that when she tried to
speak, the words seemed to get choked in her throat.\par

All of a sudden, she broke the seal upon the letter and
swept away the mist before her eyes with an impatient
movement of the hand.\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"Madonna," he had written, "I would not leave You
thus all alone in this ftrange place, to which an act of folly
on My part did bring You, but that I read My difmifsal in
Your eyes.  The fight of me is hateful to You--alas! this
I can underftand!  By the time You read this, I fhall be
far away.  But anon upon the road I fhall meet the
ox-wagon with Your effects and Your ferving-woman; it
cannot be far from here, as the driver had orders to put
up in this town for the night.  I will fpeed him on as faft
as He can, and then to-morrow You can continue Your
journey in peace, for the driver will arrange for an efcort
to accompany You as far as Brufsels.  He will have His
orders.  In the meanwhile I have ventured to flip a sealed
packet containing money into the pocket of Your gown:
(it was done while you lay unconfcious in My arms.)  I
pray You do not fcruple to take it.  The money is Yours:
a part of Your dowry, an account of which My Father
will render unto Yours as foon as may be.  In the
meanwhile You are free to come and go or ftay in this town,
juft as You were in Brufsels or in Ghent.  Your pafs and
permit as well as Mine were in perfect order; the difpute
with the Provoft at the gate, the difficulty about the
permits, was but a rufe on My part fo that I might fpend a
time in Your company, under the pretence that We were
not allowed to continue Our journey to Brufsels.  To afk
Your forgivenefs for this as well as for other graver
matters were ufelefs, I know.  To afk You to erafe the events
of the paft two weeks from Your memory were perhaps
an infult.  As for Me I fhall look upon it as a facred duty
never to offend You with My prefence as long as I live.
But I lay Mine undying homage at Your feet.\par


\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\raggedright
{\normalsize{ "MARK VAN RYCKE."}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The letter dropped into her lap, for awhile she sat,
staring straight into the fire.\par

The girl was putting away her ironing-board and folding
away the linen, ranging it carefully in the press.  Having
made the room quite tidy, she asked timidly:\par

"Will the noble lady deign to take supper?"\par

But she had to repeat her question three times at intervals
before Lenora gave answer.\par

"What?" she said vaguely, like one waking from a
dream.  "Yes!--No!--What didst say, girl?"\par

"Will the noble lady deign to take supper?"\par

"Bring me some milk and bread," replied Lenora, "and
... can I sleep here to-night?"\par

"In this bed," said the girl: and she pointed to the recess
in the wall, where snow-white sheets and pillows seemed
literally to invite repose, "if the noble lady will deign to
be satisfied."\par

"I shall be glad to rest here," said Lenora with a
woe-begone little sigh, "for I am very tired.  Anon a wagon
will be here with my effects and my serving woman.  Send
her to me directly she arrives."\par

Her voice was absolutely toneless and dull: she spoke
like one who is infinitely weary, or in utter hopelessness:
but the girl, whose kind heart ached for the beautiful lady,
did not dare to offer comfort.  She prepared to leave the
room in order to fetch the frugal supper.  Lenora turned
her head once more toward the fire: her eyes caught sight
of the letter which still lay in her lap.  With a sudden
fierce gesture she picked it up, crushed it between her
fingers and threw it into the flames.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
A few minutes later Grete came back carrying a tray
with fine wheaten bread, a jar of milk, and some fresh
cheese, her round young face beaming with benevolence
and compassion.\par

"If the noble lady will deign to eat," she said, as she
put the tray down upon the table, "the noble lady will feel
less weary ... and then, as soon as the ox-wagon arrives
with the serving woman, the noble lady could go to bed."\par

"Wait one moment," said Lenora, as the girl once more
prepared to go, "I want a courier--now at once--to take
an urgent message as far as Brussels.  Can you find me one?"\par

"There are four butchers in the town, noble lady, who
deliver all the messages for three or four leagues round.
Uncle can go and see if one of them is inclined to go....
But the night is very rough...."\par

"I will give the man who will take my message to
Brussels this night five golden ducats," said Lenora
peremptorily.\par

Grete opened her eyes wide with astonishment.\par

"Five golden ducats!" she exclaimed ecstatically.  Of
a truth the poor trading folk of Dendermonde had never
seen quite so much money all at once and in the same hand.\par

"I doubt not but that Michel Daens, the butcher, at the
sign of the 'Calf's Head' in the Meerhem, will be glad to
earn the money.  And he hath a very strong horse."\par

"Then tell your uncle, child, to go at once to him: and
to give him this letter, which he is to deliver without fail
before ten o'clock this night."  From the bosom of her
gown she drew the letter which she had written during
the previous night, and handed it to the young girl.\par

"The letter," she added slowly, "is for Messire don Juan
de Vargas, chief of the Council of His Highness the
Lieutenant-Governor.  He lodges in Brussels at the sign of the
'Blue Firmament,' over against the Broodhuis.  Let your
uncle explain to Michel Daens, the butcher, that if this letter
is not delivered before ten o'clock this evening, he will be
made to suffer the severe penalty imposed by the law on
all those who neglect to do their duty to the State.  Take
the letter, child!"\par

Indeed, this last peremptory order was necessary, for
Grete, hearing to whom the letter was addressed, hardly
dared to touch it.  Indeed there would be no fear that
Michel Daens would fail to execute the noble lady's
commands with punctuality and utmost speed.  The name of
don Juan de Vargas was one that would make any man fly
to the ends of the earth if ordered so to do.  A message
or letter to or from him would of a surety be delivered
punctually, even if the heavens were on the point of falling
or the earth about to open.\par

To Grete the name meant something more than that: it
was the dreaded symbol of an awful reality--a reality which
for her had meant the terrors of that awful night, when
the Spanish officer threatened and insulted her and Katrine,
when death or outrage stared them both in the face, and
the awful catastrophe was only averted by the interference
of the mysterious Leatherface.\par

So she took the letter which was addressed to one who
was even greater, even more to be feared than the Spanish
officer; she took it with a trembling hand as she would some
sacred symbol: then she curtseyed and went out of the room.\par

Lenora rose and followed her into the passage, where
she stood listening until she heard Grete calling to her uncle
and aunt.  The three of them then spoke together in
Flemish which Lenora hardly understood; but she caught the
names Michel Daens and Messire don Juan de Vargas, and
then the words spoken very emphatically by Grete:
"Before ten o'clock this night."  Then she went back to her
room, and closed the door softly behind her.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
So, then, the die was cast.  There was an end to all the
irresolution, the heart-achings, the tearing of soul and
nerves upon the rack of doubt and indecision.  Hopeless
misery and deathly bitterness filled Lenora's heart now.\par

She had been fooled and deceived!  Fooled by soft words
and cajoling ways, by lies and treachery: and she had very
nearly succumbed to the monstrous deceit.\par

Fool! fool! that she was!  She reiterated the word aloud
over and over again, for there was a weird pleasure in
lashing her pride with the searing thongs of that humiliating
memory.  Had not God Himself intervened and torn the
mask from the traitor's face she might even now be lying
in his arms, with the kiss of an assassin upon her lips!  A
shudder of loathing went right through her.  She shivered
as if stricken with ague, and all the while a blush of intense
shame was scorching her cheeks.\par

Fool!  Fool!\par

She had stood with her father beside the dead body of
her lover--her lover and kinsman--and there she had
registered an oath which a few cajoling words had well-nigh
caused her to break.  Surely the dull, aching misery which
she was enduring at this moment was but a very mild
punishment for her perjury.\par

She had allowed Ramon's murderer to cajole her with
gentle words, to lull her into apathy in the face of her
obvious duty to her King and to the State.  He had played
the part of indifference when all the while he--above all
others--was steeped to the neck in treason and in rebellion!
He! the spy of the Prince of Orange! the hired assassin! the
miserable cowardly criminal!  And she had listened to
him, had sat close beside him by the hearth and allowed his
arm to creep around her shoulders ... the arm which
had struck Ramon down in the dark ... the arm--she
no longer doubted it now--which would be hired to strike
the Duke of Alva, or her own father with the same
abominable treachery.\par

Oh! the shame of it! the hideous, abominable shame!
He had guessed last night that she was on the watch, that
she had seen and heard the odious plotting against the life
of the Lieutenant-Governor: he had guessed, and then--by
tortuous means and lying tongue--had sought to circumvent
her--had lured her into this city--and then, by dint
of lies and more lies and lies again, had hoped to subdue
her to his will by false kisses and sacrilegious love.\par

And she had been on the point of sacrificing her country's
needs and the life of the Duke of Alva to the blandishments
of a traitor!\par

Oh! the shame of it!  The terrible, burning shame!\par

But God had intervened! ... At least of this she could
have no doubt.  All day she had prayed for an indication
from above--she had prayed for guidance, she had prayed
for a sign, and it had come!  Awesome, terrible and
absolutely convincing.  God, in unmasking the one traitor who
had well-nigh touched her heart, had shown her plainly that
her duty lay in unmasking them all!  Traitors! traitors! every
one of them! and God had given her an unmistakable
sign that He desired to punish them all.\par

Did she neglect those signs now she would be the vilest
traitor that ever defiled the earth....  It had all been so
clear....  The mêlée in the streets ... Mark's interference--the
blow from the halberd which had reopened the
half-healed wound ... his momentary weakness and her
sudden vision of the truth! ... Thank God it was not too
late!  The meeting was to be held this night at the house
of Messire Deynoot the Procurator-General ... the
Prince of Orange and all the other rebels would make the
final arrangements for taking up arms against the King and
murdering or capturing the Lieutenant-Governor.\par

This meeting, at any rate, she--Lenora--had frustrated.
Mark of a surety had already warned the conspirators,
before he started on the journey--and Laurence too after
he received her letter....  The meeting of a certainty
would be postponed.  But even so, and despite all warnings,
the band of assassins could not escape justice.  Her letter
would be in her father's hands this night: in a few hours
he--and through him the Lieutenant-Governor--would
know every phase of the infamous plot which had the
murder of His Highness for its first aim--they would know
the names of the two thousand traitors who were waiting
to take up arms against the King--they would know of
William of Orange's presence in Ghent, of his recruiting
campaign there, of the places where he kept stores of arms
and ammunition.\par

All that she had set forth clearly and succinctly--omitting
nothing.  Oh! her father would know how to act!
He would know how to crush the conspiracy and punish the
traitors!\par

Would he also know how to lay his powerful hand on the
mysterious Leatherface ... the man of dark deeds and
cruel, treacherous blows ... the murderer of Ramon de
Linea--the one whom others paid to do the foul deeds
which shunned the light of day...?\par

Lenora leaned back against the cushions of her chair.
Physical nausea had overcome her at the thought of all
that she had done.  She had served the King and had served
the State!  She had undoubtedly saved the life of the Duke
of Alva, and therefore rendered incalculable service to her
country ... she was the means whereby a band of
pestilential traitors and rebels would be unmasked ... and
punished ... and among these she must reckon Mark van
Rycke ... her husband....  Oh! him she hated with
a real, personal hatred far stronger and more implacable
than that wherewith she regarded--impersonally--all the
enemies of the King.  He seemed to her more cruel, more
cowardly, more despicable than any man could be! ... Yes! she
had done all that, and now her one hope was that
she might die this night--having done her duty and kept
her oath, and then been left unutterably lonely and
wretched--in hopeless desolation.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The night was rough, as Grete had foretold.  Gusts of
wind blew against the window-frames and made them
rattle and creak with a weird and eerie sound.  The rain beat
against the panes and down the chimney making the fire
sizzle and splutter, and putting out the merry little tongues
of flame.  Lenora drank some milk and tried to eat the
bread, but every morsel seemed to choke her.  She went to
the window and drew aside the thick curtains and sat in
the seat in the embrasure--for she felt restless and stifled.
Anon she threw open one of the casements.\par

The rain beat in against her face and bare neck, but this
she did not mind; she was glad to cool her head and face
a little.  The Grand' Place looked gloomy and dark; most
of the lights in the Cloth Hall opposite were extinguished--only
in a few windows they still glimmered feebly.
Lenora caught herself counting those lights: there were two
small ones in the dormer windows at the top, and one in a
tall window in the floor below, and right down on a level
with the street the main door stood wide open and showed
a long, shallow streak of light.  One! two! up above! they
looked like eyes!  Then one in the middle that was the
nose--all awry and out of the centre!--and below the long
mouth--like a huge grin!  And the roof looked like a huge
hat with the tower like a feather!  The more Lenora looked
into those lights opposite, the more like a grinning face
did they seem, until the whole thing got on her nerves, and
she started laughing! laughing! ... She laughed until
her sides ached, and her eyes were full of tears! she laughed
though her head was splitting with pain, and the nerves of
her face ached with intolerable agony.  She laughed until
her laughter broke into a sob, and she fell forward with
her hands upon the window sill, her burning forehead upon
her hands, the rain and wind beating upon her head, her
neck, her back; her hair was soon wet through; its heavy
strands fell away from the pins and combs that confined
them and streamed down like a golden cascade all about
her shoulders, the while she sobbed out her heart in misery
and wretchedness.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The clock of the Cloth-Hall tower chimed the ninth hour.
Lenora raised her head and once more peered out into
the night.\par

Nine o'clock!  If Michel Daens had done his duty, he
must be more than half-way to Brussels by now.  It
almost seemed to Lenora's supersensitive nerves at this
moment that she could hear the tramp of his horse's hoofs
upon the muddy road--Hammer!  Hammer!  Hammer!
Surely, surely she could hear it, or was it her own
heart-beats that she was counting?\par

Hammer!  Hammer!  Hammer!  Two horses, each with
a rider, were speeding along the road: one to Brussels--Michel
Daens the butcher-messenger, bearing the letter for
don Juan de Vargas which would raise in its trail a harvest
of death for traitors ... and along the road to Ghent
Mark speeding too, to warn those traitors to remain in
hiding--or to flee while there was yet time--for justice
Was on their track.  Mark had gone to Ghent, of this
Lenora was sure; she had burned his letter, but she
remembered its every word.  He spoke of meeting the ox-wagon
which was on its way from Ghent! besides which, of
course, he was bound to go back.  Was he not the paid spy
of the Prince of Orange--his mentor and his friend?\par

And mentally Lenora strained her ears to listen ... to
hear which of those two riders would first reach his
destination.  And as she listened it seemed as if that monotonous
hammer! hammer! was beating against her heart, and with
every blow was crushing to death more of her life, more
of her youth ... and all her hopes of happiness.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Inez--tired out with the jolting of the wagon, wet to
the skin, fagged and cold--found her mistress still sitting
by the open window, with streaming hair and eyes glowing
as with inward fever.  The devoted soul very quickly
forgot her own discomfort in view of her young mistress'
sorry plight.  She chafed the ice-cold hands and combed
the dripping hair; she took off the heavy gown, and the
leather shoes and silk stockings.  She bathed the hot brow
and little cold feet, and finally got Lenora into bed and had
the satisfaction of seeing her smile.\par

"There now, my saint," she said cheerily, "you feel
better, do you not?  I tell you when I met Messire van
Rycke and he told me that you were here and that we were
to get to you at once, I nearly swooned with fright
... I wanted to ask him a dozen questions ... but he had
ridden away out into the darkness before I could speak a
single word...."\par

The pillow was fresh and smelt sweetly of lavender.
Lenora had closed her eyes and a sense of physical
well-being was--despite heart-ache and mental
agony--gradually creeping into her bones.\par

"Where did you meet Messire van Rycke, Inez?" she
asked quietly.\par

"Oh! a long way from here, my saint.  We did not
start from Ghent till four o'clock in the afternoon, and
have been jogging along at foot-pace ever since.
Oh! these interminable roads, and horrible, jolting wagons!
It was about two hours ago that we came on Messire
van Rycke riding like one possessed."\par

"He was riding toward Ghent?"\par

"Toward Ghent, my saint.  And as I told you--as soon
as he had given Jan his orders, he flew by like the wind.
The roads were quite lonely after that.  I tell you, my
saint, I was passing glad that we had a good escort--two
mounted men you know rode beside the wagon--or I should
have been mightily afraid of malefactors."\par

"You gave the sealed packet to Messire Laurence van
Rycke," asked Lenora, "as I had directed?"\par

"I gave him the packet two hours after you had started."\par

"And what did he say?"\par

"He said nothing, my saint."\par

With a weary sigh, Lenora turned her head away.  She
kept her eyes closed resolutely, and after a while Inez
thought that she slept.  So she tip-toed quietly out of the
room, having drawn the coverlet well over her mistress'
form.  She left the lamp in the room, for she had enough
understanding to know that Lenora was perturbed and
anxious, and in times of anxiety darkness is oft an evil
counsellor.\par

\label{reprisals}%
\hypertarget{reprisals}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{BOOK THREE: GHENT}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XII}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ REPRISALS}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
It is to the seigneur de Vaernewyck--that excellent and
faithful chronicler--that we are indebted for the most
detailed account of all the events which occurred in the city
of Ghent during those few memorable days in October.\par

The weather, he tells us, had been perpetually rainy,
and the days were drawing in rapidly, for it was then the
19th of the month, and what with the sky so perpetually
overcast it was nearly dark when close upon five o'clock
in the afternoon the ensigns of the companies of Walloon
soldiery first entered the city by the Waalpoort.  They
demanded admittance in the name of the King, the Regent
and the Lieutenant-Governor, and the guard at the gate
would certes never have ventured to refuse what they
asked.\par

At first the townsfolk were vastly entertained at seeing
so many troops; nothing was further from their mind than
the thought that these had been sent into the city with
evil intent.  So the gaffers and gossips stood about in the
streets and open places staring at the fine pageant, and
the women and children gaped at the soldiers from the
windows of their houses, all in perfect good humour and
little dreaming of the terrible misery which these soldiers
were bringing in their train into the beautiful city of
Ghent.\par

No one thought of civil strife then.\par

In the forefront marched men and young boys who
carried javelins in their hands and had round shields
swung upon their arm; these shields were bordered with
a rich fringe of crimson silk and they glittered like steel
in the damp atmosphere.  After these men came a
company of halberdiers from the garrisons of Mechlin and
Alost, and they looked splendid in their striped doublets,
their plumed bonnets slung behind their backs, their
enormous boots reaching half-way up their thighs.  In the midst
of them rode the Master of the Camp on his cream charger;
the ends of his crimson and yellow scarf, soaked through
with the rain and driven by the wind, flapped unremittingly
against his steel cuirass, whilst the plumes on his felt hat
hung--bedraggled--into his face.\par

Then came the arquebusiers, marching five abreast, and
there were several thousands of them, for it took half an
hour for them all to cross the bridge.  These were
followed by a vast number of elegant foot-soldiers carrying
their huge lances upon their shoulders, well-armed,
magnificently accoutred, their armour highly polished and richly
engraved and wearing gauntlets and steel bonnets.  Finally
came three companies of artillery with culverines and
falconets and with five wagons, and behind them the massed
drummers and fifers who brought up the rear playing gay
music as they marched.\par

The troops assembled on the Kouter which was thronged
to overflowing with gaffers and idlers.  Everyone was
talking and jesting then, no one had a thought of what
was to come, no one looked upon these gaily-decked troops
with any sinister prescience of coming evil.  They were
nearly all Walloons, from the provinces of Antwerp and
Brabant, and many of them spoke the Flemish tongue in
addition to their own--and when after inspection they stood
or walked at ease on the Kouter, the girls exchanged jests
and merry sallies with them.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Two hours later the Duke of Alva entered the city.  It
was a very dark night, but the rain had left off.  The
Lieutenant-Governor had a company of lancers with him,
and these were Spanish, every man of them.  One hundred
torch-bearers accompanied the Duke and his escort and
they had much difficulty in keeping their torches alight in
the damp night air; the flames spluttered and sizzled and
the men waved the torches about so that sparks flew about
in every direction to the grave danger of the peaceable
citizens who were in the foremost ranks of the crowd.\par

It was to be supposed that the High-Bailiff and Sheriffs
of the city had been warned of the arrival of His Highness,
for they met him at the Waalpoort, attired despite the
threatening weather in their magnificent civic robes.  The
Duke who rode a black charger paused just inside the gates
and listened in silence to the loyal address which these
dignitaries presented to him.  The sizzling torches threw
a weird, unsteady light upon the scene, distorting every
form into a grotesque shape, half-concealing, half-illumining
the stern face of the Lieutenant-Governor draped in
his velvet robe.\par

When the loyal address had been duly presented, and
further speeches of welcome delivered by the senior sheriff
and by the Schout, the Lieutenant-Governor demanded that
the keys of the city be within the hour brought to him on
the Kouter where he would be inspecting the troops.  This
demand greatly astonished the sheriffs and aldermen, but
they did not dare to raise any objections and promised
that they would most dutifully comply with His Highness'
request.\par

"With my commands," the Duke corrected them curtly.\par

Nor would he dismiss the grave seigneurs, but kept
them kneeling there before him in the mud, until they
had humbly assured him that they would execute his
commands.\par

Whereupon the Duke proceeded to the Kouter.\par

The troops had been aligned for his inspection, and a
very gay and gaudy throng they looked in the flickering
torch-light.  All the houses round the Place were lighted
up from within by now, and crowds thronged in from all
the side streets.  It was many years since Ghent had seen
so gay a sight.  There were three hundred torch-bearers
on the parade ground by now, each with huge resin torches,
and so brightly illumined was the Place that you could
have deciphered a letter out in the open just as easily as
you would in daylight.  Lances and halberds held erect
formed a shimmering background to the picture like a
forest of straight tall stems, and their metal heads
glimmered like little tongues of fire, throwing out strange and
unexpected flashes of light as the men moved who held them.\par

In the centre of the picture the Duke of Alva on
horseback.  The endurance of the man was absolutely
wonderful!  He had ridden all the way from Brussels that
day--starting at daybreak--a matter of nine leagues and more.
He had tired two horses out, but not himself--and he was
a man of sixty.  The chronicler goes on to tell us that
the Duke's face looked grim and determined, but not
fatigued, and in his prominent eyes under their drooping
lids was a glitter like steel--hard and cruel and triumphant too.\par

He held the reins of his charger with one hand, the other
was on his hip.  He wore a felt hat which he had pulled
down upon his brow, and a huge cape of dark woollen stuff
lined with purple silk which covered his shoulders and fell
right round him over his saddle-bow.  A group of
cavaliers surrounded him in fantastic multi-coloured doublets
and hose, all slashed and pinked, and enormous bonnets
covered with gigantic plumes, and behind these stood the
standard bearers.  The autumn wind had caught the folds
of the huge ensigns which were grouped in half dozens
close together, so that the great folds interlocked from
time to time and spread themselves out like a monster
moving, waving mass of crimson and yellow with the
devices of the companies embroidered thereon in black
and silver.\par

It was indeed a fine and picturesque spectacle, arranged
with a view to making it impressive and to strike awe into
the hearts of the citizens.  The civic dignitaries had
returned by now, and the High-Bailiff had brought the keys
of the town upon a velvet cushion.  He and the ten sheriffs
and the Schout, the fifteen Vroedschappen who were the
city councillors and the Schepens who were the aldermen
all approached the Lieutenant-Governor with back nearly
bent double in their loyalty and humility.\par

But when they were within speaking distance of the
Duke they all had to kneel--just as before--in the mud
and the dirt.  The Master of the Camp was there to direct
them and they had not the pluck to resist.  Then the
High-Bailiff was made to advance alone with the cushion in both
his hands and upon the cushion the keys of the city, and
he was made to kneel close to the Duke's stirrup and
humbly present him with the keys.\par

The Lieutenant-Governor said curtly: "'Tis well!" and
ordered the chief gentleman of his body-guard to take
possession of the keys.  Then he said in a loud voice so that
every one could hear:\par

"The gates of this city shall be closed this night, and
will so remain until such time as the order which I am
about to give to the inhabitants is complied with."\par

There was a prolonged roll of drums; and the gentleman
of the bodyguard rode away from the Place with a
company of halberdiers, and he carried the keys of the
city with him.  He was going to close the gates of the city
as the Lieutenant-Governor directed.\par

When the roll of the drums had died away there was a
moment's silence on the huge overcrowded Kouter through
which you might have heard a thousand hearts beating in
sudden deathly anxiety.  Here then was no ordinary
pageant, no mere display of soldiery and of arms such as
the Spaniards were overfond of.  Something momentous
was about to happen which in these days of perpetual strife
and continuous oppression could but mean sorrow and
humiliation to this proud city and to her freedom-loving
children.  The High-Bailiff and the Schout and the town
councillors were all kept kneeling, though they were elderly
men most of them, and the ground was very damp; and
the people crowded in all round the soldiers, as near as
they could, in order to hear what His Highness wished
to say.\par

"Citizens of Ghent," he began in his harsh and strident
voice which could be heard from end to end of the Kouter.
"It has come to my knowledge that William of Nassau
Prince of Orange is dwelling in this city, and that, contrary
to the ordinance of our Sovereign Lord the King, he hath
attempted to levy troops within these gates for an
unlawful purpose.  Those who have thus in defiance of all
law and order enrolled themselves under a standard of
rebellion and have taken up arms against our Sovereign
Lord and King will be dealt with summarily.  But in the
meanwhile understand that any one who henceforth
harbours under his roof the said William of Nassau Prince
of Orange, or assists or aids him to leave this city, is guilty
of rebellion, and will be punished with death.  Understand
also that it is my desire that the person of the Prince
of Orange be delivered unto me within forty-eight hours
at the Kasteel where I shall be lodging, and that I have
ordered that the gates of the city be closed until the
expiration of that time.  And finally understand that if within
forty-eight hours the person of William of Nassau Prince
of Orange is not delivered unto me, then will the whole city
of Ghent be guilty of treason and rebellion, and every
man, woman and child in it will be punishable with death;
and the town itself will be dealt with as summarily as
were Mons and Valenciennes and Mechlin.  God bless our
gracious and merciful King!"\par

He raised his hat and lifted his face up to heaven, and
his lips were seen to move as if in prayer.  The Master of
the Camp gave the signal for a huge and prolonged roll of
drums which echoed from end to end of the Kouter and
into every corner of the city, and all the soldiers set up a
lusty shout of "God bless our Sovereign Lord and King!"  But
the people were silent.  No one uttered a word, no one
joined in the shouting.  Men looked at one another with
scared, wide-open eyes; the boldest had become as pale as
death.  Some of the women swooned with terror, others
broke into terrified sobs; even the children realised that
something very terrible had occurred; they clung weeping
to their mothers' skirts.\par

The Lieutenant-Governor, having spoken, wheeled round
his horse and rode slowly across the Kouter closely
surrounded by his bodyguard and his torch-bearers.  Just
then, so Messire de Vaernewyck assures us, the wind, which
had been very boisterous all the evening, suddenly dropped,
and the air became very still and strangely oppressive.  A
few huge drops of rain fell making a loud patter upon the
steel bonnets and cuirasses of the soldiers, and then a streak
of vivid lightning rent the black clouds right out over the
Leye and a terrific clap of thunder shook the very houses
of the city upon their foundation.  The Duke of Alva's
horse reared and nearly threw him; there was momentary
confusion, too, among the bodyguard.  Those who were
devout Catholics promptly crossed themselves; those who
were superstitious at once saw in that curious and
unexpected phenomenon a warning from God Himself.\par

Then the rain came down in torrents and speedily
dispersed the crowd.  The civic magistrates and councillors
were at last able to struggle to their feet--most of them
felt cramped from the lengthy kneeling.  They assembled
in groups and whispered with one another; the townsfolk
looked on them with eyes full of anxiety; it was to them
that the poorer people must look for help in this awful
calamity which threatened them all.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
After the Lieutenant-Governor and his cortège had left
the Kouter the soldiers broke ground and ran wild
throughout the city.  No special lodgings had been allotted to
them, but apparently they had been told that they could
quarter themselves where they listed.  They began by
taking possession of the covered markets--and this could
easily have been tolerated; but many of them raided the
houses of peaceful citizens in a manner most unseemly
and often brutal, making terrible noise and confusion
throughout the city.  They treated the owners of the houses
as if the latter were nought but menials and they themselves
the masters of the place; so much so indeed that several
families left their homes in the possession of these soldiery,
and took refuge with relations who had not been thus
inflicted.\par

Terror and misery had rapidly spread throughout the
city.  There were many who had not heard the proclamation
of the Lieutenant-Governor, and when the rumour
reached them that numbers of soldiers were billeted in the
town they made preparations for immediate flight.  Some
even went so far as to load all their furniture and effects
upon wagons, ready to go out of the city this very
night--for they remembered how five years ago when first the
Duke of Alva's troops were quartered in Ghent, how
abominably they had behaved toward all the citizens--robbing,
looting, and pillaging, for all the world as if
they were bands of brigands, rather than disciplined
soldiers.\par

Great was the terror and consternation of those who
wanted to flee now when they understood that all the city
gates were closed and that no one would be allowed to go
through them until the Prince of Orange, who was said
to be in Ghent, was delivered over to the Lieutenant-Governor.\par

This was indeed a terrible state of things and one
destined to strike hopeless terror in the hearts of most, seeing
that hardly any one inside the city knew aught of the
Prince of Orange or of his comings and goings, and yet
they were liable to be punished for treason in which they
had had no share.\par

And in the meanwhile the soldiers ran riot throughout
the city--even though, with much ostentation, a great deal
of to-do and much beating of drums, their provosts read
out at the four corners of the city a proclamation
forbidding all looting and marauding, and enjoining the men
under pain of hanging to take anything from the citizens
without paying for it.\par

This proclamation was of course a mere farce, for the
soldiers, despite the lateness of the hour, had at once raided
the butchers', bakers', and other provision shops, and
though they professed to pay for everything they took,
they refused to give more than one sou for a pound of
meat, and then they cut out all the bone, and threw it back
in the face of the wretched butcher who tried to argue
with them.\par

And all the while remember that these men were not
Spaniards; they were Walloons of the provinces
immediately adjacent to the two Flanders, and their kith and
kin had also grievously suffered from Spanish arrogance
and oppression.  But what will men not do for money
or under compulsion--or mayhap under that abject fear
which the very name of Alva had brought forth into the
heart of people who had once been so proud and so
independent?  The Seigneur de Vaernewyck puts it on record
that in his opinion the employing of Walloon troops to
check the so-called revolt of Ghent was an act of refined
cruelty on the part of the Duke.  He liked to pit brother
against brother, kinsman against his own kind.  He had
cowed the Flemings and the Walloons to such an extent
that now at last he could use one against the other, and
could rely on each side being more cruel and relentless
through that extraordinary perversion of human nature
which makes civil strife so much more brutal and horrible
than any war between the nations.\par

\label{my-faithful-watch-dog}%
\hypertarget{my-faithful-watch-dog}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XIII}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ MY FAITHFUL WATCH-DOG}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Some two hours later--in a long, low, vaulted room
which was the refectory of the convent of the Sisters of
St. Agneten--some two thousand men were assembled.
They sat on wooden benches all round the two huge,
horseshoe-shaped tables at which the Sisters were wont to take
their meals.  The room was situate on the ground floor of
the convent building, and a row of low, groined windows
ran the whole length of one of the walls; heavy curtains
hung before all the windows, and portières were drawn
over the doors at either end, both in order to deaden all
sound and to prevent all light from showing without.
Tallow candles burned in tall pewter candelabra at intervals
upon the tables.\par

The bulk of the men who were there were young--or
at any rate still in the prime of life, strong and well-knit
in figure--the sort of men whom any leader would be
glad to enrol as soldiers under his banner; but there were
others among them who were grave and elderly--like
Messire Deynoot, the Procurator-General, and the Baron
van Grobbendock, chief financial adviser on the Town
Council.  Messire Pierre van Overbeque, Vice-Bailiff of
Ghent, was also there, as well as Messires Lievin van
Deynse, the wealthy brewer at the sign of the "Star of the
North" in the Nieuwpoort, Laurence van Rycke, son of
the High-Bailiff, and Frédéric van Beveren, wardmaster
of the Guild of Armourers; and there were a good many
others--gentlemen of substance and consideration in the town.\par

At this moment every one of those two thousand men
were keeping their eyes fixed upon one who alone was
standing under the dais at the end of the refectory where
the abbess of the convent usually had her place.  This
portion of the room was raised two steps above the rest,
and standing there, the man who thus held the attention
of all the others looked abnormally tall, for he was dressed
in doublet and hose of some dark stuff which clung to him
like a skin.  His high boots reached well over his thighs,
his head was closely shrouded in a hood, and his face was
hidden by a mask, made of untanned leather--which left
the mouth only quite free.\par

"His Highness the Prince of Orange, whom may God
protect," he was saying in a loud, clear voice which rang
out from end to end of the room, "was fortunately able
to furnish me with all your names and places of abode.
With the help of Messire van Deynse, who lent us his
horses, and Messire Laurence van Rycke and Frédéric van
Beveren, who gave me their assistance, we were able to
communicate with you all during the night and warn you
of the imminent danger which hung over your heads."\par

"It was well done, friend Leatherface," said Messire
Deynoot, "so well, indeed, that we are all ready and willing
to place ourselves under your guidance and to accept you
as our leader, for of a truth we know not what we
must do."\par

"Would to God," said the man whom they called
Leatherface, "that I could do more for you than the little
which I have done.  To each of you last night I gave the
same warning: 'Danger is nigh! terrible! imminent! for
our plans are discovered and the presence of the Prince
of Orange in Ghent known to the Duke of Alva!  Let
all those who wish to do so leave the city at once with
their wives and children, for death and torture threatens
those who remain!'"\par

"As you see, my dear friend," said Lievin van Deynse,
the wealthy brewer, quietly, "not one of us hath followed
this portion of your advice."\par

"You are all brave men and noble sons of Flanders,"
quoth Leatherface earnestly.  "His Highness is proud of
you, he believes in you, he trusts you.  A cause which
has such men as you for its champions and defenders is
assured of victory."\par

A murmur of satisfaction went round the room, and
Leatherface resumed after a little while:\par

"In the meanwhile, with the help of God, the precious
person of the Prince of Orange is safe."\par

A hearty cheer--quickly suppressed--greeted this
announcement from every side.  "Unfortunately,"
continued Leatherface, "I could not persuade His Highness
to leave the city early this morning.  He would not
believe in the danger which was threatening him....  He
would not believe that his plans and his presence here had
been betrayed."\par

"Yes! betrayed!" now said one of the younger men
vehemently, "and by whom?  Dost know by whom, friend
Leatherface?"\par

And all around the tables, grimly set lips murmured:\par

"By whom?  My God! by whom were we betrayed?"\par

And Laurence van Rycke's glowing eyes were fixed
upon the man under the canopy as if he would have torn
the mask from off his face and read in those mysterious eyes
the confirmation of his own horrible fears.\par

And Leatherface, looking straight into Laurence's pale
and haggard face, said slowly:\par

"By one who hath already paid the full price for all
the misery which that betrayal will bring in its wake."\par

"Dead?" came in awed yet eager query from most of
them there.\par

Leatherface bent his head, but gave no direct reply,
and all of them there were satisfied, for they believed
that the faithful and wary watch-dog--justiciary as well
as guardian angel--had discovered the betrayer, and had
killed him, making him pay the "full price" for all the
misery which he had brought about.  Only Laurence hung
his head and dared not ask any more.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"And now tell us about the Prince," urged Messire
van Overbeque, the Vice-Bailiff.  "Where is he now?"\par

"Well on his way to Brügge, please God," replied the
man with the leather mask.  "All day I had entreated
him to go, but he refused to listen.  'You dream of
treachery,' he said to me, 'and see it where none exists!'  I
spent the day scouting as far as Melle and Wetteren,
for I felt that nothing would convince him but actual
facts.  At four o'clock in the afternoon the advance
courier arrived from Alost.  Luckily, his horse was less
swift than mine.  I managed to gain on him and brought
in the news of the Duke of Alva's arrival to His Highness
half an hour before the commandant of the garrison
knew of it."\par

"Even then it might have been too late," quoth one of
the listeners.\par

"It very nearly was," retorted Leatherface light-heartedly.
"Had the Lieutenant-Governor sent advance orders
that his arrival be kept a secret until his troops passed
through the city gates, the Prince of Orange would still
be in Ghent at this hour."\par

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Laurence van Rycke, "and
what did you do?"\par

"His Highness donned doublet and hose of common
buffle and pulled a tattered felt hat well over his eyes, as
did also the Count of Hoogstraaten and young Count
Mansfeld.  I made myself look as like a draper's assistant
as I could, and then the four of us joined the crowd.  The
rumour of the Duke's coming had spread all over the city;
there were plenty of gaffers about.  All round by the
Waalpoort they abounded, and as the twilight slowly faded
into dusk the approaches to the gate were densely packed.
No one was allowed to loiter round the guard-house or
upon the bridge, but there were many who, with
overwhelming loyalty, desired to greet the Duke of Alva even
before he reached the confines of the city.  That was our
opportunity.  The commandant at the Waalpoort
happened to be in rare good humour; he thought the idea of
meeting the Lieutenant-Governor and his troops some
way outside the city an excellent one.  He allowed those
who wished, to go across the bridge.  The Prince of
Orange, his two friends and I were merged in that crowd,
and no one took notice of us.  Directly we reached
Meirelbeke we struck across the fields.  In ten minutes we left
the crowd a long way behind us, and had skirted the
town as far as Wondelghem.  We were in no danger then,
but His Highness was greatly fatigued.  There was a
difficulty too about getting horses; young Count Mansfeld
was footsore and the Count of Hoogstraaten perished
with thirst.  In short, it was six o'clock before we had
the horses ready, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the
Prince safely started on his way.  When I returned it
was close on eight, and the city gates had all been locked."\par

He gave a light, good-humoured laugh, and one of the
men asked: "Then how did you get in?"\par

"I swam and I scaled the walls," he replied simply.\par

"But ... how?" asked another.\par

"Oh!  I swim like a fish and climb like an ape...."\par

"But were you not seen?"\par

"Oh, yes! and shot at ... but the Spaniards are bad
shots and ... I am here."\par

Again he laughed gaily, light-heartedly like a 'prentice
after an escapade, and the two men who sat nearest
him--the Procurator-General and the Baron van
Groobendock--surreptitiously took hold of his hand and pressed it
warmly.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"So much for the past, seigniors," resumed Leatherface,
after awhile: "my duty is done.  I leave the planning
of the future to wiser heads than mine."\par

"No! no!" quoth the Vice-Bailiff emphatically.  "Have
we not said that we want you to lead us?"\par

"I?" retorted the other gaily.  "What do I know of
leadership?  I am only His Highness' watch-dog.  Let me
follow a leader and bear my share in the present trouble.
I am not fit to command...."\par

A murmur went round the room, and the Procurator-General
rejoined earnestly: "The men will obey no one
but you.  Take off your mask, friend, and let us all look
upon the face of a man."\par

"You have all despised me too much in the past to heed
my counsels now."\par

"There you spoke a lie, man," said Messire van Deynse,
the brewer.  "We have all honoured the man whom we
called Leatherface, as the bravest amongst us all.  We
do not know who you are--we only know you as a gallant
gentleman to whom next to William of Orange himself
we owe every triumph which our cause hath gained over
our execrated tyrants.  Therefore I pray you to unmask
and let us know at least to whom--next to God Himself--we
owe the life of the noble Prince of Orange, and also
to whom we must look in future for guidance and leadership."\par

Once more the murmur went round the room: words
of warm approval came from every side, whilst among
the younger men the cry was raised and repeated
insistently: "Unmask!"\par

"Unmask!" cried Laurence van Rycke.  "Be you criminal
or ne'er-do-well in the eyes of others, you are a hero
in our sight."\par

"Unmask! unmask!" they reiterated unanimously.\par

The man with the leather mask then advanced to the
very edge of the platform, and, putting up his hand, he
asked for silence.\par

"Seigniors," he began, "I am your servant and will do
as you wish.  I have told you that I am no leader and
am not fit to command ... yet you choose to honour
me, and this is no time for false humility and the diffidence
which is the attribute of cowards.  But--despite your
gracious choice of me as your leader in this terrible
emergency--will you ere you finally decide to follow me hear
from me what plan I should pursue, and to what heights
of self-sacrifice I would ask you to rise in the face of the
awful calamity which threatens our city.  Seigniors," he
continued, and indeed now save for the ring of that deep-toned
voice, so great was the silence in the vast refectory
that every heart-beat might have been heard, "you have
heard the decree of our tyrant.  Unless we deliver to
him the precious person of our noble Prince, the whole
city will be delivered over to the brutal soldiery, who
will pillage our houses, desecrate our churches, murder and
outrage our wives, our mothers and our children--just
as they did in Mons, in Valenciennes and in Mechlin.
Seigniors, we are men--all of us here--and at thought of
what awaits us and our fellow-citizens our very heart
blood seems to freeze with horror.  It is of our women that
we must think and of our children!  Thank God that the
Prince knows nothing of this decree--which hath been
framed by the most inhuman monster the world hath ever
known--or of a certainty he would have gone straight
to the Kasteel and given up his precious life to save our
fellow-citizens.  Seigniors, what the Prince would have
done, we know; and as he would have acted, so must we
be prepared to act.  But before I parted from him, I had
his advice on the plan which I now beg leave to place
before you.  On my word of honour, seigniors, he
approved of it in its entirety, and much that I will submit
to you anon hath been framed under his guidance."\par

He paused awhile and through the holes in the mask
his glowing eyes searched the faces of his listeners with
a masterful glance that was both challenging and
appealing.\par

"Every one of us here," he said abruptly, "is, I know,
ready to sacrifice his life for faith, for freedom and
country, and ere we give in to the monstrous tyranny which
hath planned the destruction of our city we must fight,
seigniors, fight to the death, fight for every inch of our
ground, fight for every homestead which we would save
from outrage.  Death awaits us all anyhow, then at any
rate with God's help let us die fighting to the end."\par

Once more he paused in order to draw breath, even
whilst from every side there came emphatic words of
enthusiasm and of approval.  He held his hearers now
in the hollow of his hand; they were unemotional, stolid
men for the most part, these Flemish burghers and
patricians--men who throughout the terrible oppression under
which they had groaned for over fifty years had grimly
set their teeth and endured where others had fought--because
reason and common sense had shown the futility,
the irreparableness of the conflict--but they were men,
too, who, once roused to action, would never give in until
they had won their fight or had been destroyed to the
last man of them; and with that inspiring prophet
standing there before them, stirring their sluggish blood with
his ringing voice, some of that same determination began
to creep into their bones which had animated valiant
Orange and his brothers and his Dutch followers to carry
on the struggle for freedom at all costs and with the last
drop of their blood.\par

"We'll fight with you and under your standard, friend,"
said the Procurator-General who was the spokesman of
the others.  "We are well armed...."\par

"Aye! ye are well armed," rejoined Leatherface
triumphantly.  "The guild of armourers are with us to a man;
and we have been able to supplement our secret stores
with all the treasure in the magnificent armoury which
Messire van Beveren has placed at our disposal in the
name of his guild.  Aye! we are well armed and well
manned!  There are two thousand of us, seigniors, and
our numbers will be doubled before noon to-morrow.  The
Duke hath brought ten thousand soldiers with him! well! it
will be a three-to-one fight; but if we were still more
completely outnumbered we would still carry on the
struggle, seeing that the lives of our children and the
honour of our women are at stake."\par

"We can fight," murmured one of the older men, "but
we cannot conquer."\par

"No! we cannot conquer," said Leatherface earnestly.
"We must perish, because might is greater than right,
unless God chooseth to perform a miracle--and I, for one,
still believe that He will.  But we must not weaken our
determination by reckoning childishly on divine interference.
If we fight, we fight because we refuse to die like
cowards, because we refuse to go before our Maker shamed
at having allowed our homes to be devastated, our women
outraged, our children massacred without striking a
blow--however futile--in their defence.  We fight then,
seigniors?" he added exultantly.  "Is that your decision?"\par

There was not one dissentient voice.  Old and young,
grave and gay, prudent and hot-headed, every man there
was ready to follow the leader of their choice.\par

"For freedom, faith and country!" cried Leatherface
loudly.\par

"For freedom, faith and country," came from two
thousand panting throats.\par

"As to our plan of campaign," now resumed the man
with the mask as soon as silence and calm was restored
once more, "I have not yet had the time to think on all
the details soberly.  But the main outline of it was
dictated to me by the Prince of Orange even whilst we halted
at Wondelghem, waiting for horses.  He is the finest
military strategist the world hath ever known, misfortune
hath pursued him, but hath not impaired his marvellous
powers of command.  I will ask some of you, seigniors,
to aid me with your counsels, and with the directions
which His Highness hath given me we may yet give such
a fine account of ourselves as will force our tyrants to
treat with us for peace.  There are only two thousand of
us now; by to-morrow we can reckon on several thousands
more; but of a certainty at the first clash of arms all our
young and able-bodied fellow-citizens will take heart and
join us in our desperate struggle, and may God help us all!"\par

There is no doubt that he had enflamed the blood of his
hearers; by the dim light of the tallow candles every face
now looked flushed, every pair of eyes glowed with the
noble fire of patriotism and of courage.  Leatherface
waited for a time in silence while whispered conversation
and discussion became general.  He did not join in it
himself, but stood somewhat apart from the others, the
cynosure of all eyes, a strange, almost mysterious figure
in his tightly-fitting clothes which gave full play to the
powerful muscles of arms and thighs and displayed the
great breadth of shoulder and depth of chest.  Many
there were who still eyed him curiously; Laurence van
Rycke in particular did not take his eyes off him, but no
one thought of challenging him again to unmask.  What
mattered what the face was like, when the heart was so
great and fine?\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
After a few minutes the man with the mask once more
advanced to the edge of the platform.  There was still
something that he wished to say.\par

"We must not forget, seigniors," he began very quietly,
"that the tyrant hath given us a respite of forty-eight
hours before he will embark on his hellish work of
destruction.  He hath demanded the person of the Prince of
Orange as the price of his mercy.  Well, seigniors, the
Prince, thank God, is no longer here; but it is just possible
that we may bribe the wild beast yet into satisfaction by
giving him some of the blood for which he thirsts, and
thus save our beautiful city from all the horrors which he
hath in contemplation against her."\par

"And how wilt do that, friend?" sighed, Messire van
Overbeque despondently.\par

"With your permission I will explain," rejoined the
other.  "I propose that anon in the early morning a
certain number of you seek out the Duke of Alva in Het
Spanjaard's Kasteel and tell him that the Prince of
Orange--aided by his humble watchdog--did succeed in evading
once again the trap which had been set for him; but,"
he continued with slow and deliberate emphasis, "that
you are prepared to deliver into his hands the person of the
man Leatherface, since you happen to know his whereabouts
in the city."\par

For a moment he could not continue, loud and vehement
protestations against this monstrous proposal arose from
every side.\par

"I entreat you, seigniors, to remember," he continued
with deep earnestness as soon as the tumult had subsided,
"that a certain amount of mystery hath hung--not through
mine own seeking, believe me--around my person.  Next
to our Prince himself, there are few in this unfortunate
country whose death would be more welcome to our
Spanish tyrants than that of the miscreant Leatherface; and
my belief is that if you offered to give him up to the
Lieutenant-Governor you might obtain from that cruel
despot a small measure of mercy for our city."\par

He had long since finished speaking, but now there were
no longer any protestations or murmurs; an awesome
silence hung about the vaulted room.  No one had stirred;
no one spoke; not one man dared to look his neighbour
in the face.  Every man stared straight before him at that
slim figure, which suddenly appeared to them all, to be
unearthly as it stood there, beneath the canopy, like the
very personification of simple self-sacrifice, offering up his
life so willingly, and above all, so cheerfully to save his
fellow-men.\par

In these days of cruel oppression and of sublime virtues,
such an act of abnegation was probably not rare; men
were accustomed to suffer death and worse for an ideal,
and for the sake of others who were weaker than
themselves; but there was something so engaging, so
light-hearted in that stranger there that every man who heard
him felt that by sacrificing such a man he would be sending
a brother, a son, or dear friend to the gallows.\par

"Well, seigniors," said Leatherface, "I still await your
decision."\par

"You speak glibly, friend," murmured the Procurator-General
sombrely, "but if the tyrant hath you in his power,
it will not only mean death for you, remember, it will
not mean the axe or the gallows, it will mean the torture-chamber
of the Inquisition first and the stake afterwards."\par

"I know that," retorted the other simply.  "Better men
than I have gone through it all for faith and freedom.  I
am young, 'tis true--but I have no ties of interest or
affection that bind me to this earth.  Few men will go to
their Maker so little regretted by kith or kin as I shall be.
So I pray you do not think of me.  Rather turn your
thoughts, I entreat, to the details of the plan, the
composition of the deputation that would be prepared to meet the
Duke of Alva to-morrow.  Those posts, too, will be full
of danger, and the negotiations, too, might fail--what is
the life of one man worth when weighed in the balance
with an entire city?"\par

"And which of us would you entrust with the
abominable errand?" queried Laurence van Rycke abruptly.\par

"Not you, of a certainty," said the other.  "Your mother
will have need of comfort and protection, since she refused
to place herself in safety.  Messire the Procurator-General
should, I think, lead the deputation, he hath never been
suspected of heresy or rebellion, and the proposal would
thus come quite naturally from him; if Messire van
Overbeque will join him and you, Seigneur van Groobendock,
meseems that we could not choose better."\par

"Nay!  I cannot do it," interposed the Vice-Bailiff
vehemently.  "I would sooner cut off my right hand now."\par

"Would you sooner sacrifice this city, all the women
and children, your own wife, Messire, and daughters,
rather than one man whose identity you need never know?"\par

It was indeed a terrible puzzle, one which even these
brave men found it hard to solve.\par

"I entreat you, seigniors," continued Leatherface
earnestly, "to do what I ask.  Nay!" he added resolutely,
"I'll do more.  Just now you chose me as your leader.
Then I command you to act in accordance with my will."\par

"You are quite determined, then?" asked the Vice-Bailiff.\par

"Would you counsel me to waver?" retorted the other.
"Ah, seigniors!" he added, with that ringing note in his
voice which was so inspiring to them all, "I entreat you
do not grieve for me.  Rather grieve for yourselves and
gather courage for your errand.  So help me God, yours
will be no easy task.  You will have to fawn and to cringe
before the tyrant whom you hate.  You will have to bear
his arrogance and the insolence of his menials.  You will
have to swallow your wrath and to bend your pride.  Your
sacrifice indeed will be far harder to make than mine.  I
only offer mine own unworthy life; you will offer up
to-morrow your dignity, your manhood, all that you and your
fathers hold so dear.  Nay!  I would not change places
with you for ten such worthless lives as mine.  See, what
a coward I am--I send you to do this abominable errand,
while I sit at home in comfort and dream of the
happiness of giving my life for Ghent and for her children!"\par

"God help us all!" murmured Messire Deynoot, the
Procurator-General.\par

"Indeed, He alone can do that," rejoined Leatherface,
"for grave fears assail me that our proposal will be
rejected; is it likely that it would appeal to such a
blood-thirsty tyrant as the Duke of Alva?  My one hope--and
that alas! is a slender one--is that he hath it not in his
mind to destroy our beautiful city, and might be glad of
an excuse of exercising mercy."\par

A groan of execration greeted this suggestion.  Was it
likely that any thought of mercy could ever enter the
mind of such a man?--more cruel than any beast of prey,
for he killed for the mere sake of killing, inflicted inhuman
tortures on innocent victims for the sake of gloating over
their sufferings, and rejoiced in bloodshed and outrage
and desecration for their own sakes, without any thought
of benefiting himself.\par

"Then if these negotiations fail, seigniors," concluded
Leatherface finally, "nothing will be left for us but a
bitter struggle which may end in defeat, but which will
leave us proud and unconquered still."\par

"Amen to that," said the Procurator-General fervently.\par

"Then let us go quietly to our homes to-night.  Let
us keep from those who are weak and anxious all
knowledge of that which we have resolved; let our women pray
while we prepare to act.  Flemish women have hearts of
steel; they will not waver when the hour comes.  They
will help us with their prayers now, and load our
arquebuses for us when we need them.  For them we will fight
and for our children, and if defeat stares us in the face
at the last, then will we save them by one supreme act from
falling into the hands of the tyrant.  Until then and after,
seigniors, allow me to keep this mask upon my face.
When you go to meet the Duke of Alva to-morrow, you
will offer him a paltry chattel, a man whom you do not
know, who hath no name, no identity, the spy of the Prince
of Orange--just him whom you call Leatherface."\par

"God reward you," they murmured fervently.\par

"Perhaps He will," whispered the man with the mask,
under his breath, "and with a speedy death!"\par

"And now," he added, "as the hour is late, let us
disperse.  To-morrow, here, and at this hour, we meet again.
Messire Deynoot will give you a report of his audience
with the tyrant, and I may be lucky enough to be allowed
to give my life for this city which I love.  Farewell,
seigniors, may God guard you until then.  If Alva will have
none of me, then I will have the honour of leading
you--to victory, I hope--to death if God wills!"\par

One by one they rose from the benches where they had
been sitting, and all took what they believed to be a last
farewell of that strange man whose identity was still
unknown to them, yet whom they had all learned to love
as a leader and as a friend.  Indeed, their noble hearts
were torn asunder by the awful alternative which he
himself had placed for them.  It was a case of grim
determination, of smothering every call of Sentiment which might
prove insistent against thus sacrificing a brave man to the
cruel lust of an abominable tyrant.  It had to be, and
these men were fine and great enough in themselves to
understand that in offering up his life to save his
fellow-citizens, Leatherface had certainly chosen the better part.\par

And having looked their last on him, they went out
through the postern gate of the convent of St. Agneten
in groups of twos and threes.  They crossed the two
bridges that span the Leye at this point.  The night was
dark, and this was an isolated part of the city, situate
far from the Stadthuis and the Kouter.  From the
St. Baafs and St. Nikolas quarters of the city came faintly
echoing across the river the sound of riotous merriment
proceeding from those buildings and houses wherein the
Walloon soldiery had installed themselves.  But the men
who had just pledged themselves to fight a losing battle
against overwhelming odds paid no heed to what went on
around them.  They glided noiselessly through the dark
and narrow streets; some went to right, some to left, some
to north and others to south, and quietly regained their
homes.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
But in the vast refectory two men had remained behind
after every one else had gone: they were the man with
the mask, and Laurence van Rycke.\par

The latter had waited in silence whilst the whole of
the assembly filed out by the door, but when Leatherface
in his turn prepared to go, Laurence threw him such a
look of appeal, that after an instant's hesitation, he too
decided to wait.\par

Then when the last of the assembly had gone, Laurence
tried to speak, but the words died in his throat ere they
reached his quivering lips.  There was still that look of
mute appeal in his eyes, and of well-nigh unendurable
mental torment in every line of his haggard face, and
suddenly he gave a cry like some wounded creature in
mortal pain; he fell on his knees against the table, and
burying his face in his hands, he sobbed like a child.  The
other waited patiently and silently until the paroxysm
was over: his mouth beneath the mask looked set but
kindly, and his eyes through the holes in the leather were
fixed upon the stricken man.\par

"She is safe from the vengeance of our people," he
said, as soon as he saw that Laurence had momentarily
regained his self-control.  "Is that what troubles you,
Messire?"\par

Laurence--already ashamed of his tears--had struggled
to his feet.  He passed his hand across his moist
forehead and through his unruly hair, and tried to look
Leatherface valiantly between the eyes.\par

"Partly that," he said resolutely.  "But I'll not speak
of her.  It was she then who betrayed us all?" he added
with another heartbroken cry.\par

To this Leatherface made no answer, and Laurence
continued more calmly:\par

"It was of the lists I wish to speak.  The papers which
His Highness entrusted to my care."\par

"Yes?"\par

"I went to look for them after ... after she left the
house, and found that they had gone."\par

"Then what did you do?"\par

"I knew that we were betrayed ... then ... there ...
at once ... and by her ... an exquisite woman,
Messire, whom I ... Oh! it was horrible!" he exclaimed,
and even now a look that was almost like death came over
his wan cheeks and hollow eyes.\par

Then once more he resumed quietly: "For a few moments
the blow of this awful discovery completely stunned
me.  I could neither think nor act.  My first coherent
thought was to consult with my mother as to what had
best be done.  How to find His Highness until evening
I knew not, or how to obtain duplicate lists, so that I
could run round the town and warn all our followers of
the terrible danger that threatened them."\par

"You did not think of flight? ... for your mother,
I mean?..."\par

"I entreated my mother to leave the city at once, but
she refused to go, and we were standing face to face with
one another and the terrible calamity that had befallen
us all when Pierre came in with a letter, which--he said--was
given to him in the open street by a man whom he did
not know.  The letter, I take it, came from you."\par

"Yes," replied the other, "I was afraid that you might
do something rash, and raise the alarm before it was
necessary.  The lists," he added, "are quite safe.  I was
able after His Highness left the High-Bailiff's house last
night to extract them from the bureau, where I did not
feel that they were over safe; in their place I put a packet
containing fictitious lists of men who do not exist, and
places of abode which are not to be found in this city.  It
is these which have been sent to señor de Vargas.  I had
just time to scribble these and to place them in a
conspicuous place in the bureau."\par

"You used a false key then?" queried Laurence in
bewilderment.\par

"Am I not a spy of the Prince of Orange?" retorted
the other with a quaint little laugh, "and are not all spies
provided with means of forcing secret locks?  Here are
the lists," he added, as from inside his doublet he half
drew the packets of papers.  "When you are called to
account for them, you can return them without fear.  No
one will know that they ever left your care ... that is,
if you have not spoken of it before now...."\par

"No.  I had not the heart.  We all knew that we were
betrayed.  You warned us all and took measures to
convene us here to-night; but until the hour when your letter
warned me that for the moment all was well, I endured
mental torments such as surely the lost souls in hell have
never suffered.  I saw those lists in the hands of our
tyrants--placed there by the instrumentality of a woman
who is to me the embodiment of all that is pure and good;
I saw--in my mind--the spies of Alva going the round,
this very night, and arresting our brave followers one
by one ... Oh God! you do not know what I suffered...."\par

"Do not think of that any more, Messire," rejoined
Leatherface quietly.  "As you see, the lists are now safe
in my care.  Alas! it is too late to beg you to take your
mother out of the city.  Guard and protect her well and
God help us all."\par

He once more now prepared to go, and Laurence was
ready to follow him, but just at the last an impulse
caused the latter to detain the mysterious stranger once
more.  There was still one question which hovered on
his lips, the answer to which would perhaps ease that
awful burden of sorrow which Lenora's betrayal had
placed upon his soul:\par

"Messire," he said appealingly, "what of her?"\par

"Pray for her, Messire," replied Leatherface quietly,
"she suffers more than you do."\par

"Must we all curse her then? or else be traitors to our
own people."\par

"Nay! you can pity her!  What she did, she did from
her own sense of patriotism and of justice.  She hates
us all, Messire, as the enemies of her people.  She hates
and despises me as the assassin of the man she loved.
Pray for her, Messire, but in pity pray also for the man
who whilst striving to win her heart, only succeeded in
breaking his own."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
An hour later in the house in the Nieuwstraat, Clémence
van Rycke was still awake.  She sat in her favourite tall
chair beside the hearth, and Laurence her son was kneeling
beside her.\par

"It is too late now, mother," he was saying gloomily.
"No power on earth can save you.  Would to God you
had let me take you to Brügge this afternoon."\par

"And desert my post like a coward," retorted Clémence
hotly.  "I can do little, 'tis true; but when the hour comes
I can tend the sick and the dying, and pray for the dead;
and if you are taken from me, Laurence, I can be laid
beside you....  But," she added, with such an intensity
of bitterness and hatred that her voice nearly choked her
as she spoke, "I would not owe my safety to that execrable
traitress..."\par

"Hush, mother, in the name of Heaven..." broke in
Laurence with a heart-broken sob.\par

"Are you, too, going to defend her?" retorted the mother
fiercely.\par

"She was compelled to act as she did," murmured
Laurence; "she acted in ignorance and innocence.  I'd
stake my life that she is pure and good."\par

"Pure and good!" exclaimed Clémence with a strident
laugh.  "A spawn of the devil, without virtue and
without mercy.  Oh! that my lips should ever have touched
her lying face--that white forehead which concealed
thoughts of falsehood and treachery!  Do not defend
her, Laurence, or you will break my heart.  Leave
her defence to your brother Mark, who cares nothing for
his country and for his kindred, who will smile and drink
whilst the walls of Ghent fall about his ears, who hath
allowed his weak and cowardly heart to be captured by
that murderess!  Leave him to defend her, I say.  Lenora
de Vargas is worthy of Mark van Rycke!"\par

"Mother!" cried Laurence with uncontrolled vehemence
as he threw his arms round his mother's shoulders.  "In
the name of God stop, for you almost blaspheme.  Speak
not of Mark save with a blessing on your lips.  Pray for
him this night, as you have never prayed before."\par

"Laurence," cried the mother, "are you mad?  What
do you mean?  What has happened to Mark?  Where is he?"\par

"In his bed, no doubt, at this moment, mother."\par

"Sleeping whilst we all weep and pray!"\par

"Sleeping in peace whilst giving up life, and more than
life, to try and save us all!" retorted Laurence, as he
slowly rose to his feet.\par

"Laurence! you are mad!  Mark is..."\par

"Mark is the friend and saviour of the Prince of
Orange, mother dear," said the young man quietly, "and
we have all known him hitherto as Leatherface."\par

"It is false!" cried Clémence vehemently.\par

"I swear by God that it is true," proclaimed Laurence,
fervently.\par

The exclamation which she would have uttered froze
upon Clémence van Rycke's lips; for a moment she
remained quite still, leaning slightly forward with hands
resting upon the arms of the chair.  Then a pitiable moan
escaped her, and slowly she rose and then fell upon her
knees.\par

"Oh God! forgive me," she cried, "if this be true."\par

"It is true, mother," said Laurence firmly.  "For close
on two hours to-night I sat close to him whilst he spoke.
In the absence of the Prince of Orange we have chosen
him as our leader; if the Duke of Alva refuses the
proposals which we are going to put before him, Mark will
lead us to fight or to death."\par

"The proposal!  What proposal?"\par

"That Leatherface be given up to the tyrant as the
price of the safety of the city."\par

"And you--his brother--agreed to this infamous
suggestion?" murmured Clémence hoarsely.\par

"We must not leave a stone unturned or a man alive
to save the women and children," replied Laurence
sombrely.\par

"Then may God have mercy on us all!" cried Clémence,
and she fell back heart-broken against the cushions of
her chair.\par

\label{the-tyrants}%
\hypertarget{the-tyrants}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XIV}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE TYRANTS}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The next morning, at the tenth hour, five reverend
seigniors presented themselves before the Duke of Alva,
Lieutenant-Governor of the Low Countries and Captain-General
of the Forces, in the apartments which he occupied
in Het Spanjaards Kasteel.\par

They were Messire Pierre van Overbeque, Vice-Bailiff
of Ghent; Messire Deynoot, Procurator-General, and
Messire Jan van Migrode, Chief Sheriff of the Keure;
then there was Messire Lievin van Deynse, the brewer
at the sign of the "Star of the North," and Baron van
Groobendock, chief financial adviser on the Town Council.\par

They had waited on His Highness at a very early hour,
but had been kept waiting in the guard-room for two
hours, without a chair to sit on, and with a crowd of
rough soldiers around them, some of whom were lounging
about on the benches, others playing at cards or dice, whilst
all of them improved the occasion and whiled away the time
by indulging in insolent jests at the expense of the
reverend burghers, who--humiliated beyond forbearance and
vainly endeavouring to swallow their wrath--did not dare
to complain to the officer in command, lest worse insults
be heaped upon them.\par

At one hour before noon the seigniors were at last
told very peremptorily that they might present themselves
before His Highness.  They were marched between a
detachment of soldiers through the castle yard to the
magnificent apartments in the Meeste-Toren, which at one
time were occupied by the Counts of Flanders.  Now the
Duke of Alva's soldiery and his attendants were in every
corridor and every ante-room.  They stared with
undisguised insolence at the grave seigniors who belonged to
the despised race.\par

The Lieutenant-Governor was graciously pleased to
receive the burghers in his council-chamber where, seated
upon a velvet-covered chair upon an elevated platform
and beneath a crimson dais, he looked down upon these
free citizens of an independent State as if he were indeed
possessed of divine rights over them all.  The officer in
command of the small detachment which had escorted
the deputation into the dreaded presence, now ordered
the five seigniors to kneel, and they, who had a petition
to present and an act of mercy to entreat, obeyed with
that proud humility wherewith their fathers had knelt
thirty-two years ago in sackcloth and ashes before the
throne of the Emperor Charles.\par

"Your desire, seigniors?" queried the Duke curtly.\par

Some of the members of his abominable Grand Council
sat around him, on benches placed well below the level
of the platform.  Alberic del Rio was there--bland and
submissive; President Viglius, General de Noircarmes,
and President Hessels--men who were as bitter against
Orange and his followers as was Alva himself--and,
sitting a little apart from the others, don Juan de Vargas,
but recently arrived from Brussels.\par

"Your desire, seigniors?" the Duke had questioned
peremptorily, and after a few moments Messire Deynoot,
the Procurator-General, who was spokesman of the
deputation, began timidly at first--then gradually more
resolutely.\par

"It is with profound grief," he said, "that we became
aware last night that your Highness' visit to our city was
not one of goodwill and amity.  Your Highness' severe
restrictions upon our citizens and stern measures taken
against them hath filled our hearts with sorrow."\par

"Your abominable treachery hath filled our heart with
wrath," retorted the Duke roughly, "and nothing but the
clemency enjoined upon us by our suzerain Lord and King
prevented us from reducing this accursed city to ashes
and putting every one of her citizens to the sword, without
giving them a single chance of retrieving their hellish
conduct by surrendering themselves unconditionally to
our will."\par

"It is with the utmost confidence," rejoined the
Procurator-General humbly, "that we rely upon the
well-known clemency of our suzerain Lord the King, and place
the future of our beautiful city unconditionally in your
Highness' hands."\par

"The future of the city is in my hands, Messire," said
the Duke dryly, "by the power of our suzerain Lord and
with the help of the troops at my command.  I told you
last night under what condition I will spare your town
from total destruction.  I am not in the habit of changing
my mind during the course of one night."\par

"Alas, your Highness! but the city is quite unable to
fulfil the one condition which would appease the wrath of
our suzerain Lord and your own."\par

"Then," retorted Alva haughtily, "why waste my time
and your own in bandying words which must remain
purposeless?  Either William of Orange is delivered into my
hands, or my soldiers burn your city down at sunset
to-morrow.  By our Lady! is that not clear enough?"\par

"Clear enough, alas!" rejoined the Procurator-General,
and suddenly in his mind there rose a picture of the tall
man last night beneath the dais, of his inspiring words,
his whole-hearted sacrifice: his ringing voice seemed to
echo through this narrow room, and some of the words
which he spoke knocked at the gates of the grave seignior's
memory.\par

"Yours will be the harder task," he had said gaily; "you
will have to fawn and to cringe, to swallow your wrath
and to bend your pride!"  Well!  God knew that they had
done all that: they had swallowed their wrath and bent
their pride before an insolent soldiery, and now they were
fawning and cringing to a tyrant whom they abhorred.\par

Ghent! beloved city! once the home of the free! what
must thy citizens endure for thy sake?\par

And the Procurator-General--the descendant of an
hundred free men--had to lick the dust before Alva's
throne.  He forced his voice to tones of humility, he
looked up at the tyrant with eyes full of unspoken
devotion.\par

"What can we do?" he said timidly, "to prove our
loyalty?  I entreat your Magnificence to look down on our
helplessness.  Orange is no longer in Ghent, and we do
not know where to find him."\par

"A pretty tale, indeed," interposed de Vargas suddenly,
with a strident laugh which was echoed obsequiously by
the other members round the council board, "a pretty,
likely tale, which I trust your Highness will not think to
believe."\par

"I neither believe nor disbelieve any tale which these
grave seigniors choose to tell me," rejoined the Duke.  "I
want Orange--or we burn this city down till not a stone
in it be left upon stone."\par

And Messire Deynoot, whose entire soul rose in revolt
against that rough dictate of a hellish tyrant, had perforce
to subdue his passionate wrath and to speak with affected
humility and unconcern.\par

"We had hoped," he said quietly, "that we might offer
to your Highness such a proof of our loyalty that you
would no longer wish to cast aside a city that hath always
hitherto proved staunch and true."\par

"What mean you, sirrah?  What proofs can you give
me now of this accursed city's loyalty, when you harbour
a veritable army of traitors within your walls?"\par

"We would wish to prove to your Magnificence that
the city itself takes no part in the vagaries and plottings
of a few hot-headed malcontents."\par

"Hot-headed malcontents, forsooth!" exclaimed the
Duke fiercely.  "Two thousand men prepared to take up
arms against our Suzerain Lord the King! ... arms
concealed in churches and cemeteries! money poured into
the lap of Orange and all his rebels!"\par

"There are more than two thousand men who are prepared
to fight and die for their country and their King,"
said the Fleming suavely, "and who are equally ready to
pour money into the coffers of their Liege Lord, as
represented by His Highness Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo,
Duke of Alva, and by the reverend members of his
Council."\par

This he had said very slowly and with marked emphasis,
and even while he spoke he had the satisfaction of seeing
more than one pair of eyes round that Council board gloating
with delight at the vision of treasure and wealth which
his words had called forth.  He and his colleagues had
long after the assembly of last night discussed between
them this one proposal, which might, they hoped, tempt
the cupidity of the Spaniards, which they knew to be
boundless.  They were wealthy men all of them--the town
was wealthy beyond the dreams of Alva's avarice, and
the five men who had been deputed to offer up a brave
man's life as the price of a city's safety, had resolved
to sacrifice their last stiver, and keep the hero in their
midst.\par

But Alva, with a sneer, had already destroyed all the
fond hopes which had been built upon that resolve.\par

"If you offered me every treasure--to the last
gulden--contained in your city," he said, with emphasis no less
strongly marked than had been the other man's offer, "I
would not deny myself the pleasure of razing this
abominable nest of rebels to the ground.  Why should I," he
added with a cynical shrug of the shoulders, "take from
you as a bribe what my soldiers can get for me by the
might of fire and sword?  Orange alone would tempt me,
for I would wish to have him alive--we might kill him by
accident when we destroy the town."\par

"We can collect two million gulden in gold," said
Messire Deynoot insinuatingly, "and lay that sum at the
feet of your Magnificence to-morrow."\par

"Ah?" said the Duke blandly, "then I am greatly
relieved that so much money can be got voluntarily out
of this city.  Your words, Messire, are honey to mine
ears; they prove, beyond a doubt, that if you can raise
two million gulden in forty-eight hours my soldiers can
put up ten times that amount in a two days' sacking of
this town."\par

"The money voluntarily offered, Monseigneur," here
interposed the Vice-Bailiff, "would shame neither the giver
nor the receiver.  The destruction of a free and loyal
city would be an eternal disgrace upon the might of
Spain."\par

"Spare me thy heroics, sirrah!" quoth Alva fiercely,
"or I'll have that impudent tongue of thine cut out before
nightfall."\par

And once more the burghers had to bend their pride
before the appalling arrogance of their tyrant.\par

"Begone now!" added the Lieutenant-Governor peremptorily,
seeing that the Flemings were silent for the
moment.  "The business of the State cannot be held up by
such profitless talk.  And if you have nothing better to
offer to our Gracious King than money which is already
his, why, then, you are wasting my time, and had best go
back to those who sent you."\par

"No one sent us, Monseigneur," resumed the
Procurator-General, with as much dignity as he could
command, even though his back ached and his knees were
painfully cramped.  "We are free burghers of the city of
Ghent, which, alas! hath earned your Highness'
displeasure.  We have offered of our treasure so as to testify
to our loyalty ... but this offer your Magnificence hath
thought fit to refuse.  At the same time we are not at the
end of our resources or of our protestations of loyalty.
We have yet another offer to place before your Highness
which, perhaps, may be more agreeable in your sight."\par

"And what is that offer, sirrah?  Be quick about it, as
my patience, of a truth, is at the end of its resources."\par

The Procurator-General did not make immediate reply.
Truly he was screwing up his determination for the
terrible ordeal which was before him.  He hung his head,
and, despite his fortitude--probably because of weakness
following on fatigue--he felt that tears gathered in his
eyes, and he feared that his voice now as he spoke would
become unsteady.  The others, too, kept their eyes fixed
to the ground.  They could not bear to look on one
another, at this moment when they were about to offer up
so brave and gallant a life in sacrifice for their city and
for all the townsfolk.  Indeed, Messire Deynoot ere he
spoke forced his mind to dwell upon all the horrors of
Mons and Valenciennes and Mechlin, upon all the women
and children, the feeble and the old, his own wife, his
daughters and his mother, so as to gather courage for the
task which had been imposed upon him.\par

Thus there was silence for a minute or so in this narrow
room, wherein the close velvet draperies made the air
heavy, so that the number of men here assembled--Spaniards
and Flemings and soldiers--felt as if an awful
load was weighing their senses down.  Councillor Hessels,
as was his wont, had fallen asleep.  He woke up in the
oppressive silence in order to murmur drowsily: "To
the gallows with them all!"  Alva sat sullen and
wrathful, looking down with contempt and scorn on the kneeling
burghers before him.  De Vargas, now and again, turned
anxious, furtive eyes to where a rich portière of
damask-velvet hid a door in the panelling of the wall.  Even
now it seemed as if that portiere stirred--as if an unseen
hand was grasping it with a febrile nervous clutch--it
seemed, in fact, as if some one lived and breathed there
behind the curtain, and as if all that was said and would
be said in the room would find its echo in a palpitating
heart.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Anon the Duke of Alva's impatience broke its bounds:
"An you'll not speak, sirrah," he cried, "get you gone!
Get you gone, I say, ere I order my lacqueys to throw
you out of my house."\par

"Your pardon, Monseigneur," said Messire Deynoot
with sudden resolution, "I but paused in order to choose
the words which might best please your ears.  The offer
which I am about to make to your Highness is in the
name of all the citizens of Ghent, and I feel confident
that your Highness will gladly acknowledge that no greater
mark of loyalty could be offered by any town to our
suzerain Lord the King."\par

"Speak!" commanded Alva.\par

"Next to the Prince of Orange himself," said the
Procurator-General timidly, "is there not a man who hath
gravely incurred your Highness' displeasure, but who hath
hitherto evaded the punishment which your Highness
would no doubt mete out to him?"\par

"Yes; there is!" replied the Duke curtly.  "A man who
chooses to wrap himself up in a mantle of mystery; a spy
of Orange--a rebel and traitor to the King.  There is
such a man, sirrah!  He hath several times thwarted my
projects with regard to Orange.  If, as you say, Orange is
not in Ghent then hath that man had a hand in helping
him to get away.  Well! what of that man, sirrah?  I
want him.  He is called Leatherface by my soldiers.
What of him, I say?"\par

"Leatherface is in Ghent, Monseigneur," murmured
Deynoot, scarce above his breath.\par

"Come! that's good!  Then will our booty be even
richer than we thought."\par

"Leatherface is in Ghent, Monseigneur," continued
Deynoot, more steadily.  "But he is an elusive creature.
Mysterious agencies are at work, so they say, to enable
him to escape the many traps that are set for him.  He
swims like a fish, and climbs like an ape.  He entered
the city last night, an hour after all the gates had been
closed.  In the terrible confusion which will attend the
destruction of our city, he would escape again....  But
just now he is in Ghent, and..."\par

"And you will deliver him over to me," broke in Alva
with a harsh laugh, "if I will spare your city?"\par

The Procurator-General nodded his head in reply.  His
lips refused him service for that awful, that irreparable
"Yes!"  The five men now no longer hung their heads.
White as the linen ruffles round their throats, they were
gazing straight into the face of the tyrant, trying to read
the innermost thoughts of that inhuman devil, who held
the destiny of their city--or of a brave man--in the hollow
of his claw-like hands.\par

Alva pondered; and while he did so his prominent,
heavy-lidded eyes sought those of his colleagues no less
inhuman, more devilish mayhap, than himself.  And from
behind the heavy portière there seemed to come a long
drawn-out sigh, like some poor creature in pain.  De
Vargas frowned, and a muttered curse escaped his lips.\par

"How long has she been there?" asked Alva quickly,
in a whisper.\par

"All the time," replied de Vargas, also under his
breath.\par

"But this is not for women's ears."\par

"Nay! your Highness does not know my daughter.
It was the man Leatherface who killed her first lover.
She would be happy to see him hang."\par

"And she shall, too.  She hath deserved well of us.
We owe our present triumph to her."\par

Then he turned once more to the burghers.\par

"I like your offer," he said coldly, "and, in a measure,
I accept it....  Nay!" he added with that cruel and
strident laugh of his, seeing that at his words a certain
look of relief overspread the five pale faces before him,
"do not rejoice too soon.  I would not give up the delight
of punishing an entire city for the mere pleasure of seeing
one man hang.  True!  I would like to hold him.  Next
to Orange himself, I would sooner see that mysterious
Leatherface dangling on a gibbet than any other heretic
or rebel in this abominable country.  But to give up my
purpose over Ghent, that is another matter!  Once and
for all, seigniors," he added with fierce and irrevocable
determination, "Ghent shall burn, since Orange has escaped
again.  But I have said that I accept your offer, and I do.
I take it as an expression of tardy loyalty, and will reward
you in accordance with its value.  We will burn your city,
seigniors; but if when your flaming walls begin to crumble
about your ears; when my soldiery have taken their fill
of your money and your treasures, and human lives begin to
pay the toll of your rebellion and treachery, then, if you
deliver to me the person of Leatherface alive, I will, in
return, stay my soldiers' hands, and order that in every
homestead one son and one daughter, aye, and the head
of the house, too, be spared.  Otherwise--and remember
that this is my last word--not one stone shall remain upon
stone within the city--not one inhabitant, man, woman, or
child, shall be left to perpetuate rebellion inside these
walls.  I have spoken, and now go--go and tell Leatherface
that I await him.  He hath not aided Orange's escape
in vain."\par

He rose, and with a peremptory gesture pointed to the
door.  The five burghers were silent.  What could they say?
To beg, to implore, to remonstrate would, indeed, have
been in vain.  As well implore the fierce torrent not to
uproot the tree that impedes its course, or beg the wolf not
to devour its prey.  Painfully they struggled to their feet,
roughly urged along by the soldiers.  They were indeed
cramped and stiff, as well mentally as physically; they had
done their heart-breaking errand--they had swallowed their
wrath and humbled their pride--they had cringed, and they
had fawned and licked the dust beneath the feet of the
tyrant who was in sheer, lustful wantonness sending them
and their kith and kin--guilty and innocent alike--to an
abominable death....  And they had failed--miserably
failed either to bribe, to cajole, or to shame that human
fiend into some semblance of mercy.  Now a deathlike
sorrow weighed upon their souls.  They were like five very
old men sent tottering to their own graves.\par

Some could hardly see because of the veil of tears
before their eyes.\par

But, even as one by one they filed out of the presence
of the tyrant, they still prayed ... prayed to God to help
them and their fellow-citizens in this the darkest hour of
their lives.  Truly, if these valiant people of Flanders had
lost their faith and trust in God then they would have
gone absolutely and irretrievably under into the awful
vortex of oppression which threatened to crush the very
existence of their nation, and would have hurled them into
the bottomless abyss of self-destruction.\par

\label{two-pictures}%
\hypertarget{two-pictures}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XV}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ TWO PICTURES}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
These stand out clearly among the mass of documents,
details, dissertations and chronicles of the time--so clearly
indeed that only a brief mention of them will suffice here.\par

First: Lenora in the small room which adjoined the
council chamber within Het Spanjaard's Kasteel in Ghent.
She had stood for close upon an hour under the lintel of
the open door, her hand clinging to the heavy velvet
portière; not one sound which came from the council chamber
failed to strike her ear: every phase of that awesome
interview between the supplicants and their vengeful tyrant
struck at her heart, until at last unable to keep still, she
uttered a moan of pain.\par

All this was his work!  Not hers!  Before God and her
own conscience she felt that she could not have acted differently;
that if it had all to be done again, she would again
obey the still, insistent voice which had prompted her to
keep her oath and to serve her King and country in the
only way that lay in her power.\par

It was his work! not hers!  His, whose whole life seemed
to be given over to murder, to rebellion and to secret
plottings, and who had tried to throw dust in her eyes and to
cajole her into becoming a traitor too to all that she held
dear.\par

It was his work, and the terrible reprisals which the Duke
of Alva's retributive justice would mete out to this rebellious
city lay at the door of those who had conspired against
the State, and not at hers who had only been an humble tool
in Almighty hands.\par

But in spite of her inner conviction that she had done
right, in spite of her father's praise and approval which he
had lavished on her all the way from Dendermonde to
Ghent, she could not rid herself of a terrible sense of utter
desolation and utter misery, and of a feeling of pity for all
these poor people which caused her unendurable--almost
physically unendurable--agony.\par

When anon the Lieutenant-Governor dismissed the
burghers and after a few words with her father and señor
del Rio left the council chamber, Lenora had a feeling as if
the ground was opening before her, as if an awful chasm
yawned at her feet into which she must inevitably fall if she
dared look into it.  And yet she looked and looked, as if
fascinated by the hideousness of what she saw--pictures of
cruelty and of evil far more horrible than any which had
ever been limned of hell.  And in the overwhelming horror
which faced her now, she felt herself screaming aloud, with
appealing defiance: "It is his work! not mine!  Let the
blood of his kinsfolk fall upon him--not me!" ere she
tottered and fell back.\par

When full consciousness returned to her, her father was
by her side.  He looked pale and sullen and instinctively she
drew away from him, whereat he smiled, showing his large
teeth which looked like the fangs of a wolf.\par

"I ought never to have allowed you to come here,
Lenora," he said roughly.  "As His Highness said, it was
not at all fit for women's ears."\par

"His Highness," she retorted coldly, "also said that to be
here was my right ... your triumph to-day being all due
to me."\par

"Well!" he added lightly, "'tis you wanted to come,
remember."\par

"Yes," she said, "I wanted to come."\par

"I would have sent you to Brussels with Inez and a good
escort.  It is not too late.  You can still go.  Ghent will
not be a fitting place for women during the next few days,"
he added, whilst a glow of evil satisfaction suddenly lit up
his sallow face.  "Would you prefer to go?"\par

"No, father, I thank you," she replied.  "I would wish
to stay."\par

"Ah! that's a brave daughter, and a true Spaniard,"
he cried, "and I promise you that you shall be satisfied
with what you see.  Ramon, your cousin, will be avenged
more completely than even you could have dared to hope,
and that assassin Leatherface will suffer: you shall see
him dangling on a gibbet, never fear."\par

A slight shudder went right through her.  Her face was
as white as her gown; and as she made no reply, her father
continued blandly:\par

"You little thought that your marriage would bring such
a magnificent harvest of reprisals quite so soon!  The city
of Ghent and the man Leatherface!  The destruction of
the one and the death of the other are your work, my
daughter."\par

She closed her eyes; for she saw that awful chasm once
more yawning at her feet, and once more she felt herself
falling ... falling ... with no one to cling to but her
father who kept asking her whether she was satisfied with
what she had done....  His voice came to her as through
a shroud ... he talked and talked incessantly ... of
Ghent ... of rebels ... of murder and pillage and
gibbets and torture-chambers ... of women and children and
fathers of families ... of sons and of daughters ... and
of one--Leatherface ... of the High-Bailiff of Ghent
... of Laurence and of Mark ... her husband.\par

"I wonder where that fool is now," she could hear her
father saying through a muffler which seemed to envelop
his mouth.  "On the high road to Brussels mayhap
with a message from you to me ... did you say you had
sent him on from Dendermonde or straight away from
Ghent?  I am half sorry I gave in to your whim and
brought you here with me ... but 'tis you wanted to come
... eh, my girl?  ... you were so obstinate ... I was
weak enough to give in ... but I ought not to have let
you listen to those mealy-mouthed Flemings! ... ah! you
are my true daughter ... you wanted to see these traitors
punished, what? and Ramon's murder avenged!  Well! you
shall see it all, my dear, I promise you....  But I wish
you could tell me what has become of that fool of a
husband of yours ... we shall have to know presently if you
are still wife or widow...."\par

He said this quite gaily and laughed at his own jest, and
Lenora, pale and wild-eyed, echoed his laugh.  She laughed
as she had done two nights ago at Dendermonde when a
face made up of lighted windows grinned at and mocked
her across the Grand' Place.  She laughed until the whole
room began to dance a wild galliarde around her, until her
father's face appeared like one huge, mocking grin.\par

Then she just glided from the couch down on to the floor.
And there she lay, white and inert, whilst señor de Vargas,
cursing the megrims of women, went calmly in search
of help.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The second picture has for background the refectory in
the convent of St. Agneten at the same hour as when last
night the newly chosen, mysterious leader had roused
boundless enthusiasm in the hearts of all his hearers.  There
is no lack of enthusiasm now either, but tempers are more
subdued--gloom hangs over the assembly, for Messire the
Procurator-General has just given a graphic account of his
mission to the Lieutenant-Governor.\par

When he has finished speaking, the man with the mask
who sits at the head of the table at the top of the long, low
room, asks quietly:\par

"Then he refused?"\par

All the five men who this morning had knelt humbly
before the tyrant, exchange silent glances, after which
Messire Deynoot says firmly:\par

"He refused."\par

"Nothing will save our city," insisted Leatherface
solemnly, "except if we track the Prince of Orange and bring
him bound and a prisoner to the feet of Alva?"\par

"Nothing! save Orange's person will move Alva from
his resolve."\par

Leatherface sits for a moment quite still, with his head
buried in his hands: and the vast crowd now assembled
in the room waits in breathless silence for his next word.
There are far more than two thousand men here this night;
the number has indeed been more than doubled.  The
deadly danger which threatens the city has already brought
over three thousand new recruits to the standard.\par

Suddenly with a resolute gesture Leatherface draws
his mask away and rises to his feet in full view of all the
crowd.\par

"Mark van Rycke!" comes as one cry from several
hundred throats.\par

"Aye!" he says with a light laugh, "your ne'er-do-well
and frequenter of taverns was just the watch-dog of our
noble Prince.  Unknown I was able to render him some
small service.  Now that you are no longer called upon to
throw me as a bait to the snarling lion, I'll resume mine
own identity, and hereby ask you, if--knowing me for
what I am--you still trust me to lead you to victory or to
death?"\par

"To victory!" shout the younger men enthusiastically.\par

"To die like men," murmur the older ones.\par

"To-morrow we fight, seigniors!" says Mark earnestly,
"to-morrow we defend our homes, our wives, our daughters,
with scarce a hope of success.  To-morrow we show
to the rulers of the world how those of the down-trodden
race can die whilst fighting for God and liberty."\par

"To-morrow!" they all assent with unbounded enthusiasm.\par

The ardour of a noble cause is in their veins.  Not one
of them here hesitates for one second in order to count the
cost.  And yet every one of them know that theirs is a
forlorn cause.  How can a handful of burghers and
apprentices stand up before the might of Spain?  But they are
men at bay! they--the sober burghers of a fog-ridden land,
steady, wise of counsel, without an ounce of impetuosity or
hot-headedness in their blood; and yet they are ready to go
into this desperate adventure without another thought save
that of selling their lives and the honour of their women
folk as dearly as they can.\par

For leader they have a man! for help they have only
God!  For incentive they have their own dignity, their
pride, their valour ... for weapon they have the justice
of their cause, and the right to die like men.\par

\label{the-right-to-die}%
\hypertarget{the-right-to-die}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XVI}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE RIGHT TO DIE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
And after the lapse of three hundred and more years the
imagination projects itself into that past so full of heroic
deeds, so full of valour and of glory, and stands still
wondering before the glowing pictures which the insurrection of
Ghent reveals.\par

Memory--the stern handmaiden of unruly imagination--goes
back to that 21st day in October 1572 and recalls the
sounds and sights which from early dawn filled the
beautiful city with a presage of desolation to come; the church
bells' melancholy appeal, the deserted streets, the barred and
shuttered houses, the crowds of women and children and
old men sitting at prayer in their own halls, the peaceful
folk of a prosperous city quietly preparing for death.\par

At four o'clock in the afternoon the Duke of Alva rides
out of the Kasteel with his staff and his bodyguard, which
consists of three squadrons of cavalry, one bandera of
Spanish infantry--halberdiers and pikemen--and five
companies of harquebusiers, The Bandes d'Ordonnance--the
local mounted gendarmerie--are on duty in the Vridachmart,
and thither the Duke repairs in slow and stately
majesty through silent streets, in which every window is
shuttered, and where not one idler or gaffer stands to see
him pass by.  A cruel, ironical smile curls his thin lips
beneath the drooping moustache as he notes the deserted
aspect of the place.\par

"Terror," he mutters to himself, "or sulkiness.  But they
cannot eat their money or their treasures: and there must
be a vast deal of it behind those walls!"\par

On the Vridachmart he halts with his armed escort
grouped around him, the Bandes d'Ordonnance lining the
market place, his standard unfurled behind him, his
drummers in the front.  Not a soul out upon the mart--not a
head at any of the windows in the houses round!  It seems
as if Don Frederic Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva,
Lieutenant-Governor of the Netherlands and Captain-General of
the Forces, was about to read a proclamation to a city of
the dead.\par

A prolonged roll of drums commands silence for His
Highness--silence which already is absolute--and then the
Duke, in his usual loud and peremptory voice, demands the
immediate surrender of the Prince of Orange now an
outlaw in the town.  And suddenly from every house around
the huge market comes the answering cry: "Come and
take him!"  And from every doorway, from every adjoining
street men come rushing along--with pikes and halberds
and muskets, and from end to end of the town the defiant
cry arises: "Come and take him!"\par

The Bandes d'Ordonnance, hastily summoned by the
Duke to keep back the rabble, turn their arms against the
Spanish halberdiers.  Taking up the cry of "Come and take
him!" they go over in a body to the side of the insurgents.\par

At once the Walloon arquebusiers are ordered to fire.
The rebels respond this time with their own battle cry of
"Orange and Liberty!" and a death-dealing volley of
musketry.  Whereupon the mêlée becomes general; the cavalry
charges into the now serried ranks of the Orangists who
are forced momentarily to retreat.  They are pushed back
across the mart as far as the cemetery of St. Jakab.  Here
they unfurl their standard, and their musketeers hold their
ground with unshakable valour, firing from behind the low
encircling wall with marvellous precision and quickness
whilst two bodies of halbertmen and pikemen pour out in
numbers from inside the church, and their artillerymen with
five culverins and three falconets emerge out of the Guild
House of the Tanners which is close by, and take up a
position in front of the cemetery.\par

Alva's troops soon begin to lose their nerve.  They were
wholly unprepared for attack, and suddenly they feel
themselves both outnumbered and hard-pressed.  The Duke
himself had been unprepared and had appeared upon the
Vridachmart with less than two thousand men, whilst the other
companies stationed in different portions of the city had not
even been warned to hold themselves in readiness.\par

And just when the Spanish cavalry upon the Market
Square is beginning to give ground the cry of "{\itshape{Sauve qui
peut}}" is raised somewhere in the distance.\par

The Spanish and Walloon soldiery quartered in the
various guild-houses, the open markets or private homesteads
were just as unprepared for attack as was the garrison of
the Kasteel.  They had been promised that as soon as the
evening Angelus had ceased to ring they could run wild
throughout the city, loot and pillage as much as they
desired, and that until that hour they could do no better than
fill their heads with ale so as to be ready for the glorious
sacking and destruction of the richest town in the
Netherlands.  Therefore, a goodly number of them--fresh from
Mechlin--have spent the afternoon in recalling some of the
pleasurable adventures there--the trophies gained, the
treasure, the money, the jewels all lying ready to their hand.
Others have listened open-mouthed and agape, longing to
get to work on the rich city and its wealthy burghers, and
all have imbibed a great quantity of very heady ale which
has fuddled their brain and made them more and more
drowsy as the afternoon wears on.  Their captains too have
spent most of the day in the taverns, drinking and playing
hazard in anticipation of loot, and thus the men are not at
the moment in touch with their commanders or with their
comrades, and all have laid aside their arms.\par

And simultaneously with the mêlée in the Vridachmart,
the insurgents have made a general attack upon every
guild-house, every market, every tavern where soldiers are
quartered and congregated.  With much shouting and to-do
so as to give an exaggerated idea of their numbers they
fall upon the unsuspecting soldiers--Walloons for the most
part--and overpower and capture them before these have
fully roused themselves from their afternoon torpor; their
provosts and captains oft surrender without striking a blow.
In almost every instance--so the chroniclers of the time
aver--fifty and sixty men were captured by a dozen or
twenty, and within half an hour all the guild-houses are in
the hands of the Orangists, and close on fifteen hundred
Walloons are prisoners in the cellars below; whilst all the
arms stowed in the open markets go to swell the stores of
the brave Orange men.\par

But some of the Walloons and Spaniards contrive to
escape this general rounding up and it was they who first
raised the cry of "{\itshape{Sauve qui peut!}}"\par

Now it is repeated and repeated again and again: it
echoes from street to street; it gains in volume and in power
until from end to end of the city it seems to converge
toward the Vridachmart in one huge, all dominating wave
of sound: "{\itshape{Sauve qui peut!}}" and the tramp of running
feet, the calls and cries drown the clash of lance and pike.\par

Suddenly the bowmen of the Orangists scale the low
cemetery wall as one man and their defence is turned into
a vigorous onslaught: the cavalry is forced back upon the
market square, they catch up the cry: "{\itshape{Sauve qui peut}}!
They are on us!  {\itshape{Sauve qui peut!}}"  They break their ranks--a
panic hath seized them--their retreat becomes a rout.
The Orangists are all over the cemetery wall now: they
charge with halberd and pike and force the Spaniards and
Walloons back and back into the narrow streets which
debouch upon the Schelde.  Some are able to escape over
the Ketel Brüghe, but two entire companies of Spanish
infantry and a whole squadron of cavalry are--so Messire
Vaernewyck avers--pushed into the river where they perish
to the last man.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
At this hour all is confusion.  The picture which the
mind conjures up of the stricken city is a blurred mass of
pikes and lances, of muskets and crossbows, of Spaniards
and Walloons and Flemings, of ragged doublets and plumed
hats--a medley of sounds: of arrows whizzing with a long
whistling sound through the air, of the crash of muskets
and clash of lance against lance, the appeal of those who
are afraid and the groans of those who are dying--of
falling timber and sizzling woodwork, and crumbling masonry,
and through it all the awful cry of "{\itshape{Sauve qui peut!}}" and
the sound of the tocsin weirdly calling through the fast
gathering night.\par

And amidst this helter-skelter and confusion, the Duke
of Alva upon his black charger--untiring, grim, terrible--tries
by commands, cajoleries, threats, to rally those who
flee.  But the voice which erstwhile had the power to make
the stoutest heart quake had none over the poltroon.  He
shouts and admonishes and threatens in vain.  They run
and run--cavalry, infantry, halbertmen and lancers--the
flower of the Spanish force sent to subdue the Netherlands--they
run; and in the general vortex of fleeing cavalry the
Duke is engulfed too, and he is carried along as far as the
Ketel Brüghe, where he tries to make a stand.\par

His doublet and hose are covered with mud and grime;
his mantle is torn, his hat has fallen off his head and his
white hair floats around his face which is as pale as death.\par

"Cowards!" he cries with fierce and maddened rage:
"would you fly before such rabble?"  But his voice has
lost its magic; they do not heed him--they fly--past him
and over the bridge to the safety of Het Spanjaard's
Kasteel.\par

Then prudence dictates the only possible course, or
capture might become inevitable.  Cursing savagely and
vowing more bitter revenge than ever before, the Duke at last
wheels his horse round and he too hastens back to the
stronghold--there to work out a plan of campaign against the
desperate resistance of that handful of Flemish louts whom
His Highness and all Spanish grandees and officials so
heartily despise.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Half an hour later, and we see courier after courier
sent flying from Het Spanjaard's Kasteel to every corner
of the city.\par

The city gates--thank the God of the Spaniards!--have
been well garrisoned and well supplied with culverins and
balls, it is from there that help must come, for--strange
to tell--those louts have actually invested the Kasteel and
have the pretension to lay a regular siege to the stronghold.\par

Was there ever such a farce?  A couple of thousand of
an undisciplined rabble--they surely cannot be more--daring
to pit themselves against a picked guard!  Courier
to the Waalpoort where Lodrono is in command! courier
to the Braepoort!--Serbelloni is there with two culverins
of the newest pattern and two hundred musketeers, the
like of whom are not known outside the Spanish army!\par

The only pity is that the bulk of the forces inside the
city are Walloons! such poltroons as they have already
proved themselves, surrendering in their hundreds to those
confounded rebels! they have been scattered like flies out
of a honey-pot, and the entire centre of the city is in the
hands of the Orangists.  But, anyway, the whole affair is
only a question of time; for the moment the evening is
closing in fast and the position cannot therefore be
improved before nightfall; but in the morning a general
closing-in movement, from the gates toward the centre would
hold the rebels as in a claw and break their resistance
within an hour.  In the meanwhile the morale of the troops
must be restored.  Attend to that, ye captains at the city
gates!\par

Courier follows courier out of the gate-house of the
Kasteel: naked men, ready to crawl, to swim, or to dive,
to escape the vigilance of the Orangist lines.  Impossible!
Not one is able to cross the open ground beyond the castle
moat; the houses on the further bank of the Schelde are
filled with Orangists; bows and muskets are levelled from
every window.  The culverins are down below, covered by
the angles of the cross-streets; the messengers either fall
ere they reach the Schelde or are sent back the way they
came.\par

Attend to the morale of your men, ye captains at the
city gates!  The Duke of Alva, with some three or four
thousand men, is inside the Kasteel, and no orders or
communication can be got from him now before morning.
And just like the flies when driven out of the honey, fly,
scared, to the edges of the pot, so the Walloon soldiers,
those who have escaped from the guild-houses, go and
seek refuge in the shadow of the guard-houses at the
gates.  But the tactics of the Orangists have worked upon
their nerves.  At first there had appeared but a rabble upon
the Vridachmart, but since then the numbers are swelling
visibly; insurgents seem to be issuing out of every doorway,
from under every arch in the city ... they rush out with
muskets and crossbows, with pikes and halberds; and to
the Walloons--already unnerved and fatigued--their
numbers appear to be endless and their arms of a wonderful
precision.  Their muskets are of the newest pattern such
as are made in Germany, and these they use with marvellous
skill, discharging as many as ten shots in one quarter
of an hour, and none but the picked French musketeers have
ever been known to do that.\par

And they are led by a man who seems to know neither
fatigue nor fear.  Here, there and everywhere he appears
to the Walloon and Spanish soldiers like a mysterious being
from another world.  He wears no armour, but just a suit
of leather which envelopes him from head to foot, and his
face is hidden by a leather mask.  His voice rings from
end to end of the market place one moment; the next he
appears inside the enclosure of the cemetery.  Now he is at
St. Pharaïlde and anon back at St. Jakab.  Three of Alva's
couriers hastily despatched to the commandants at the
various gate-houses fall to his pistol, which is the only weapon
he carries, and it is he who leads the last attack on the Ketel
Brüghe which results in the flight of Alva and all his cavalry
to the safe precincts of the Kasteel.\par

Before the evening Angelus has ceased to ring, the whole
of the centre of the city is swept clear of Alva's troops,
and the insurgents have completely surrounded the Kasteel.
Darkness finds the Orangists bivouacking in the open
markets and along the banks of the Schelde and the Leye with
their artillery still thundering against Alva's stronghold
and the gate-houses of the city, like bursts of thunder-clouds
in a storm.  The mantle of night has fallen over a
vast hecatomb of dead and dying, of Walloons and Flemings
and Spaniards, of brothers who have died side by side,
with muskets raised in fratricide one against the other,
and of women and children who have died of terror and
of grief.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
And memory conjures up the vision of the tyrant, the
author of all this desolation, riding slowly through the
portal of the gate-house into the yard of Het Spanjaard's
Kasteel a quarter of an hour or so ere the darkness of the
night will finally cover all the abomination and the crimes,
the murder, the misery and the bloodshed which the
insatiable tyranny of this one man has called down upon a
peaceable and liberty-loving people.\par

He rides with head erect, although fatigue and care are
writ plainly on his ashen cheeks and the wearied stoop
of his shoulders.  His horse has received a wound in the
flank from which the blood oozes and stains its rider's
boots.  Here in the castle-yard, some semblance of order
has been brought about through the activity of the captains.
The horses have been stabled in the vaulted cellars,
the men have found quarters in different parts of the
Kasteel; the musketeers and arquebusiers are up on the walls,
the artillery well-screened behind the parapets.\par

The night has called a halt to men, even in the midst
of barren victories and of unlooked-for defeat, and their
sorrow and their hurts, their last sigh of agony or cry of
triumph have all been equally silenced in her embrace;
but over the city the sky is lurid and glowing crimson
through a veil of smoke; the artillery and musketry have
ceased their thundering; but still from out the gloom there
come weird and hideous noises of hoarse shouts and cries
of "Mercy" and of "Help," and from time to time the
sudden crash of crumbling masonry or of charred beams
falling in.\par

But Alva pays no heed to what goes on around him.
He swings himself wearily out of the saddle and gives a
few brief orders to the captains who press close beside his
stirrup, anxious for a word or a look of encouragement or
of praise.  Then he curtly asks for water.\par

Don Sancho de Avila, captain of the castle guard, hands
him the leather bottle and he drinks greedily.\par

"We are in a tight corner, Monseigneur," whispers de
Avila under his breath.\par

"Hold thy tongue, fool!" is Alva's rough retort.\par

Whereupon the captain stands aside more convinced than
before that disaster is in the air.\par

The Duke had been the last to turn his back on the Ketel
Brüghe and to retire into the stronghold of the Kasteel.
The banks of the Schelde by now are lined with the ranks
of the insurgents, and it was a musket shot fired from
the Vleeshhuis that wounded his horse--close to the
saddle-bow.  His quivering lips, and the ashen hue of his face
testify to his consciousness of danger.\par

But his brow clears perceptibly when he sees Juan de
Vargas coming out to meet him.\par

"Where is thy daughter?" he asks as soon as the other is
within earshot.\par

"In chapel, I imagine," replies de Vargas.\par

"No woman should be abroad this night," says Alva
dryly.  "Send for her and order her to remain within her
apartments."\par

"She has been tending the wounded, and will wish to do
so again."\par

"Well! let her keep to the castle-yard then."\par

"You are not anxious, Monseigneur?"\par

"No.  Not anxious," replies Alva with a fierce oath,
"we can subdue these rebels of course.  But I would I
had brought Spanish soldiers with me, rather than these
Walloon louts.  They let themselves be massacred like
sheep or else run like poltroons.  Vitelli declares he has
lost over a thousand men and at least a thousand more
are prisoners in the various guild-houses--probably more.
We ought never to have lost ground as we did," he adds
sullenly, "but who would have thought that these louts
meant to fight?"\par

"Who, indeed?" retorts de Vargas with a sneer, "and
yet here we are besieged in our own citadel, and by a
handful of undisciplined peasants."\par

"Nay! their triumph will be short-lived," exclaims Alva
savagely.  "We have over two thousand men inside the
Kasteel and surely they cannot be more than three thousand
all told unless..."  He broke off abruptly, then continued
more calmly: "Darkness closed in on us ere reprisals could
commence ... if I had more Spaniards with me, I would
try a sortie in the night and catch these oafs in their sleep
... but these Walloons are such damnable fools and such
abominable cowards....  But we'll fight our way through
in the morning, never fear!"\par

"In the meanwhile cannot we send to Dendermonde for
reinforcements?  The garrison there is all Spanish and..."\par

"How can we send?" Alva breaks in savagely.  "The
way is barred by the artillery of those bandits--save upon
the north and north-east, where that awful morass nearly
half a league in length and width is quite impassable in
autumn.  No! we cannot get reinforcements unless we
fight our way through first--unless one of the commandants
at the gates has realised the gravity of the situation.
Lodrono at the Waalpoort has intelligence," he continues
more calmly, "and Serbelloni hath initiative--and by the
Mass! if one of them doth not get us quickly out of this
sorry place, I will have them all hanged at dawn upon their
gates!"\par

The Duke of Alva's fierce wrath is but a result of his
anxiety.  He holds the Netherlanders in bitter contempt
'tis true!  He knows that to-morrow perhaps he can send
to Dendermonde for reinforcements and can then crush
that handful of rebels as he would a fly beneath his iron
heel.  He would have his revenge--he knew that--but he
also knew that that revenge would cost him dear.  He has
fought those Flemish louts, as he calls them, too often and
too long not to know that when the day breaks once more
he will have to encounter stubborn resistance, dogged
determination and incalculable losses ere he can subdue and
punish these men who have nothing now to lose but their
lives--and those lives his own tyranny has anyhow made
forfeit.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
De Vargas makes no further comment on his chief's last
tirade: remembering his daughter, he goes to transmit to
her the order formulated by the Duke.  Lenora is in the
chapel, and, obedient to her father's commands, she rises
from her knees and returns, silent and heavy-footed, to her
apartments.\par

The hours drag on like unto centuries; she has even
lost count of time; it is forty-eight hours now since she held
Mark's wounded arm in her hand and discovered the awful,
the hideous truth.  Since then she has not really lived, she
has just glided through the utter desolation of life, hoping
and praying that it might finish soon and put an end to
her misery.\par

She had acted, as she believed, in accordance with God's
will! but she felt that her heart within her was broken, that
nothing ever again would bring solace to her soul.  That
long, miserable day yesterday in Dendermonde whilst she
was waiting for a reply from her father had been like an
eternity of torment, and she had then thought that nothing
on earth or in hell could be more terrible to bear.  And
then to-day she realised that there was yet more misery to
endure, and more and more each day until the end of time,
for of a truth there would be no rest or surcease from
sorrow for her, even in her grave.\par

The one little crumb of comfort in her misery has been
the companionship of Grete; the child was silent and
self-contained, and had obviously suffered much in her young
life, and therefore understood the sorrows of others--knew
how to sympathise, when to offer words of comfort, and
when to be silent.\par

Though Inez was a pattern of devotion, her chattering
soon grated on Lenora's nerves; and anon when don Juan
de Vargas agreed to allow his daughter to come with him
to Ghent, Lenora arranged that Grete be made to accompany
her and that Inez be sent straight on to Brussels.
The girl--with the blind submission peculiar to the ignorant
and the down-trodden--had consented; she had already
learned to love the beautiful and noble lady, whose pale
face bore such terrible lines of sorrow, and her sister
Katrine and her aunt both believed that the child would be
quite safe under the immediate protection of don Juan de
Vargas.  Inez was sent off to Brussels, and Lenora and
Grete are now the only two women inside the Kasteel.\par

Together they flit like sweet, pale ghosts amongst the
litters of straw whereon men lie groaning, wounded, often
cursing--they bandage the wounds, bring water to parched
lips, pass tender, soothing hands across feverish foreheads.
Then, at times, Lenora takes Grete's rough little hand in
hers, and together the women wander out upon the
ramparts.  The sentries and the guard know them and they are
not challenged, and they go slowly along the edge of the
walls, close to the parapets and look down upon the waters
of the moat.  Here the dead lie in their hundreds, cradled
upon the turgid waters, washed hither through the narrow
canals by the more turbulent Schelde--their pale, still faces
turned upwards to the grey evening light.  And Lenora
wonders if anon she will perceive a pair of grey eyes--that
were wont to be so merry--turning sightless orbs to the
dull, bleak sky.  She scans each pale face, with eyes seared
and tearless, and not finding him whom she seeks, she goes
back with Grete to her work of mercy among the wounded
only to return again and seek again with her heart torn
between the desire to know whether the one man whom
she hates with a bitter passion that fills her entire soul hath
indeed paid the blood-toll for the dastardly murder of
Ramon, or whether God will punish her for that irresistible
longing which possesses her to hold that same cowardly
enemy--wounded or dying--assassin though he be--for one
unforgettable moment in her arms.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
But it is not desolation that reigns in the refectory of
the convent of St. Agneten, for here the leaders of the
rebellion have assembled, as soon as the guns have ceased
to roar.  The numbers of their followers since last night
have increased by hundreds, and still the recruits come
pouring in.  Those men who but four days ago had
received the Prince of Orange's overtures with vague
promises and obvious indifference, rushed to arms after the first
musket shot had been fired.  Ever since the attack in the
Vridachmart men have loudly clamoured for halberts or
pikes or muskets, and the captains at the various secret
depots, as well as the guild of armourers, had much ado to
satisfy all those who longed to shed their blood with glory
rather than be massacred like insentient cattle.  They are
men who have fought at Gravelines and St. Quentin, and
have not forgotten how to shoulder musket or crossbow or
how to handle a culverin.  Since then, fifteen years of
oppression, of brow-beating, of terrorising, fifteen years
under the yoke of the Inquisition and of Spanish tyranny
have worn down the edge of their enthusiasm.\par

When Orange begged for money and men that he might
continue the fight for liberty, the goodly burghers of Ghent
forgot their glorious traditions and preferred to bend their
neck to the yoke rather than risk the fate of Mons and
of Mechlin.  But now that danger is within their doors,
now that they and their wives and daughters are at the
mercy of the same brutal soldiery whom Alva and de
Vargas take pleasure in driving to bestial excesses and
inhuman cruelties, now that they realise that the fate of
Mechlin is already inevitably theirs--their dormant courage
rises once more to its most sublime altitude.  Die they
must--that they know!--how can they, within the enclosure of
their own city walls, stand up against the armies of Spain,
which can at any moment be brought up in their thousands
to reinforce the tyrant's troops?  But at least they will die
with muskets or pikes in their hands, and their wives and
daughters will be spared the supreme outrage which they
count worse than death.\par

Thus close on five thousand volunteers file past their
leaders this night in the refectory of St. Agneten and tender
their oath of allegiance to fight to the last man for Orange
and liberty.  On the faces of those leaders--of Messire
van Beveren, of Lievin van Deynse, of Laurence van Rycke
and Jan van Migrode, there is plainly writ the determination
to keep up the fight to the end, and the knowledge that the
end can only be death for them all.\par

But in Mark van Rycke's deep-set eyes there is
something more than mere determination.  There is a latent
belief that God will intervene--there is a curious
exultation in their merry depths--a kind of triumphant hope:
and those who stand before him and swear that they will
fight for Orange and liberty with the last drop of their blood
look him straight in the face for a moment and then turn
away feeling less grim and more courageous with a courage
not altogether born of despair.\par

The angel of liberty has unsheathed his sword and
infused his holy breath into these men--easy-going burghers
for the most part, untrained soldiers or even undisciplined
rabble--who have dared to defy the might of Alva.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
And when the first streak of dawn folds the night in its
embrace and lifts from off the stricken city the veil of
oblivion and of sleep, we see some five thousand Orangists
prepared to stand up before Alva's forces which still
number close on eight.  The streets are littered with dead,
with pikes and lances hastily cast aside, with muskets and
plumed bonnets, with broken rubbish and wheelless wagons,
and scraps of cloth or shoes or leather belts.\par

And in the cemetery of St. Jakab the flag of liberty
still flaunts its blazing orange in the pale morning light
and around it men still rally, defiant and unconquered.
The Guild House of the Tanners close by is in flames, and
the tower of St. Jakab a crumbling ruin; the hostel of
St. Juan ten Dullen is a charred mass of debris, and the houses
that front on the Vridachmart a fast crumbling heap of
masonry and glass.\par

The situation of the insurgents is more desperate than
even Alva knows.  Of their three captains, Pierre van
Overbeque is dead, Jan van Migrode severely wounded,
and Laurence van Rycke exhausted.  Of their company
of halberdiers, all the provosts except two have fallen.
The investing lines around the Kasteel have five officers
killed and twenty of their artillerymen have fallen.  Six
hundred of their wounded encumber the Vridachmart.  The
narrow streets which debouch upon the gates are deserted
save by the dead.\par

But as soon as the rising day hath touched the ruined
tower of St. Jakab with its pale silvery light, Mark van
Rycke, their commander, intrepid and undaunted, wakes
the sleeping echoes with his cry: "Burghers of Ghent! to
arms! we are not vanquished yet!"\par

A volley of arrows from the crossbowmen upon the
Waalpoort answers the defiant cry: one arrow pierces a
loose corner of Mark's doublet.\par

"Van Rycke!" cries the provost who stands nearest to
him, "spare thyself in the name of God!  What shall we
do if you fall?"\par

And Mark, unmoved, the fire of enthusiasm unquenched
in his eyes, cries loudly in response:\par

"Do?  What alone can burghers of Ghent do in face of
what lies before them if they give in?  Do?  Why, die like
heroes--to the last man."\par

His doublet hangs from him in rags, his hose is torn, his
head bare, his face black with powder.  He grasps musket
or crossbow, halberd, lance or pike, whichever is readiest
to his hand, whichever company hath need of a leader; a
beam from the burning building has fallen within a yard
of him and singed his hair: "Heroes of Ghent!" he cries,
"which of you will think of giving in?"\par

The morning Angelus begins to ring.  For a few minutes
while the pure clear tones of the church bells reverberate
above the din of waking men and clash of arms, Spaniards
and Walloons and Flemings pause in their hate and their
fight in order to pray.\par

Up in the council chamber of the Kasteel, Alva and
de Vargas and del Rio on their knees mock the very God
whom they invoke, and when the last "Amen!" has left
their lips, Alva struggles to his feet and murmurs fiercely:\par

"And now for revenge!"\par

Through the wide open windows, he gazes upon the
spires and roofs of the beautiful city which he hath sworn
to destroy.  Already many of these are crumbling ruins,
and from far away near the church of St. Jakab a column
of black smoke rises upwards to the sky.  The windows
give upon an iron balcony which runs along the entire
width of the Meeste-Toren: from this balcony an open
staircase leads down into the castle-yard.  The yard and
vaulted cellars opposite are filled with horses, and the
corridors of the palace swarm with men.  And as the Duke,
anon, steps out upon the balcony he sees before him the
five breaches in the castle-walls which testify to the power
of the insurgents' culverins.  He hears the groans of the
wounded who lie all round the walls upon the litters of
straw, he sees the faces of innumerable dead, floating
wide-eyed upon the waters of the moat, and the carcasses of
horses in the yard which add to the horror of the scene by
their pathetic hideousness.\par

And seeing all this, he hath not a thought of pity for
all the innocent whom he vows to punish along with the
guilty.\par

"Now for revenge!" he reiterates fiercely and shakes
a clenched fist toward the tower of St. Jakab, "and if
only I had my Spaniards with me, we would have burned
the town down before now."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VIII}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The day drags on in the weary monotony of incessant
firing, incessant fighting--constant attacks to be repulsed,
numbers of wounded to be added to those who already
encumber the yard--numbers of dead to be added to those
who encumber the waters of the moat.\par

The finest general the victorious Spanish armies have
ever known is besieged in his stronghold by a few hundred
undisciplined, untaught, unseasoned rebel troops.  What
is happening beyond the wide tract of open ground which
lies all round the Kasteel the Duke cannot get to know.
The Orangist lines are all round him screened by the
buildings which face the further bank of the Schelde; and
though his culverins have turned the magnificent Vleeshhuis
into a smoking ruin, those of the Orangists have made
serious havoc in the castle walls.\par

The last onslaught delivered a couple of hours after
noonday resulted in the crumbling together of three of the
widest breaches already existing, making one huge
yawning cavity, which has to be strongly and persistently
defended--a defence which exacts an enormous toll of
wounded and dead every time the Orangist artillery and
musketry return to the attack.\par

"We cannot hold out till nightfall!" Captain de Avila
cries despairingly.  "We have lost two hundred men in less
than two hundred minutes.  If we get no help we are
undone!"\par

"Help!" cries Alva fiercely, "where are we to get help
from if those oafs at the city gates do not find us some?"\par

On the north-east side of the Kasteel lies the open way
to Dendermonde--where Captain Gonzalo de Bracamonte is
quartered with a garrison of five thousand men, and
between that open way of salvation, and those who hold the
Kasteel, there lies a league of spongy morass.  The way
through it is free from the Orangist musketry.  Nature
alone bars it, and does so effectually.\par

Three times to-day has Alva tried to send runners
through that way.  Stripped to the skin they are lowered
by ropes from the parapet, and at first find firm foothold
at the base of the walls.  From up above Alva and his
captains watch the naked men who walk on boldly, proud
of their achievement; their skins shine like metal beneath
the grey, autumnal sky on which the smouldering ruins of
a devastated city have painted a crimson tint.  Alva watches
them until they appear as mere black dots upon the low
horizon--tiny black specks that move for a while, slowly
along, with arms swinging as the mud gets deeper and
walking heavier.  Then suddenly the speck ceases to move
... the arms are thrown up with frantic wheelings and
beatings of the air ... sometimes the speck will turn
and move back slowly toward the castle, but more often
than not it grows shorter and shorter still, till even the tall
arms disappear--engulfed in the morass.\par

Three times have men been sent out on this errand of
death ... three or four at a time ... twice has one man
come back from those hideous, yawning jaws of a loathsome
death--livid, covered with green slime, trembling in
every limb as if stricken with ague.  After that, men refuse
to go ... Alva commands and threatens ... another
batch go off ... another spectre returns from the shores
of another world....  Then the men are obstinate ... to
insist, to command, to threaten further would provoke
mutiny, and the stronghold once more lapses into utter
isolation.\par

The din of musketry from end to end of the city drowns
every other sound, smoke from smouldering ruins obscures
the view beyond the Schelde.  What has happened in the
centre of the city during all these hours, whilst the high
and mighty Lieutenant-Governor and Captain-General of
the Force of Occupation is a virtual prisoner in the hands
of the rebels, he himself cannot possibly tell.\par

"The rebels have lost more heavily than we have," says
de Avila, whilst he snatches a brief rest during the
afternoon, "and they must be getting short of powder."\par

"So are we," says Alva grimly.\par

"Surely Captain Lodrono has come in touch with Captain
Serbelloni by now.  It is inconceivable that the garrisons
at the gate-houses can do nothing."\par

"Those Netherlanders are fighting like devils," says de
Vargas with his evil sneer, "they have nothing to lose
... they know that they are doomed, every man, woman and
child of them ... aye! if I had my way, every man who
speaks the Flemish tongue."\par

"Aye!" retorts Alva with a curse, "but in the meanwhile,
if Serbelloni or Lodrono have not sent a runner to
Dendermonde, those Flemish louts will carry this castle by
storm, and when I am a prisoner in their hands, they'll
either slaughter us all or dictate their own terms."\par

"Ah!" says Avila quietly, "they have not got the Kasteel
yet."\par

"How long can we hold out?" queries de Vargas, who
at Alva's grimly prophetic words, had become livid with
fear.\par

"Unless those rebels have lost more heavily than we
hope, we cannot hold out more than another few hours.
We still have three thousand men and a goodly stock of
powder....  The breach we can defend with stones of
which there is a large store; we killed or wounded over a
hundred of those louts at their last assault ... we can
go on like this until nightfall.  But if at dawn they attack
us again in full force--and we lose many more men to-day
... why..."\par

"Hold thy tongue," cried Alva fiercely, for at the senior
captain's words, many of the younger ones have exchanged
quick, significant glances.  "Shall I have to hang some of
my captains so as to discourage the men from playing the
coward too?"\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IX}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The evening Angelus has just ceased to ring, and a man
is ushered into the presence of the Captain-General; he is
naked, and his body is covered with sticky mud and dripping
with slime; his face is hardly recognisable through a thick
mask of sweat and grime.\par

"I come from Braepoort, Magnificence," he says in a
low, quaking voice, for obviously he is all but exhausted.
"I ran round the town, and struck into the morass ... I
am a man of Ghent ... I know a track ... that's why
Captain Serbelloni sent me."\par

"With what news?" queries Alva impatiently.\par

"None too good, Magnificence," replies the man.  "The
commandants at the gates are sorely pressed ... I hailed
the guard at the Brügge and Waalpoorts as I passed
... they are isolated ... every one of them ... and each
separately attacked by bands of rebels who fight desperately....
The Braepoort cannot hold out much longer ... Captain
Serbelloni asks for help even before nightfall."\par

"Help?" vociferates Alva savagely, "how can I send
them help?  We are besieged in this accursed place; we
cannot fight our way through the rabble, unless some of
those oafs at the city gates come to our assistance.  Help?
'Tis I want help here."\par

"The gates are being bravely defended, Magnificence.
But the rebels still hold the centre of the city.  They have
seized 'Sgravensteen.  Two thousand Walloons have
surrendered to them..."\par

"Two thousand!" exclaims Alva with a fierce oath, "the
miserable poltroons."\par

"At least three thousand rebels threaten the Kasteel."\par

"I know that well enough," retorts Alva roughly.  "They
have made five breaches in our wall! ... the bandits!
Help! 'tis I want help!" he reiterates with a loud curse.\par

"Captain Serbelloni bade me tell your Highness that he
hath sent to Dendermonde for immediate reinforcements.
He hoped your Highness would forgive him if he hath
done wrong."\par

Alva's eyes flash a look of satisfaction, but he makes no
immediate comment.  Not even his colleagues--not even
de Vargas his intimate--should see how immense is his
relief.\par

"Did he send a mounted man," he asks after a while,
"or two?  Two would be better in case a man gets hurt on
the way."\par

"The Captain sent three men, Magnificence.  But they
had to go on foot.  We have no horses at the gates.  The
insurgents rounded them all in long before nightfall.  But
the men hope to pick up one or more on their way."\par

Alva, as is his wont, smothers a savage curse.  The
small body of Spanish cavalry which he had with him in
the town had been the first to run helter-skelter over the
Ketel Brüghe into the Kasteel, whilst a whole squadron
perished in the Schelde.  One of those horses down there in
the yard would mean reinforcements within a few hours.\par

"When did the messenger start for Dendermonde?" he
asks again.\par

"When the Angelus began to ring at noon, Magnificence."\par

"Why not before?"\par

"The captain was undecided.  He thought that every
moment would bring help or orders from your Highness.
He also tried to send messengers to Captain Lodrono at
the Waalpoort, but the messengers must all have been
intercepted and killed, for no help came from anywhere."\par

"Dost know if the message which thy captain sent to
Dendermonde was couched in urgent terms?"\par

"I believe so, Magnificence.  The señor captain was
growing very anxious."\par

Once more the Duke is silent; his brows contract in an
anxious frown.  His active brain is busy in making a
mental calculation as to how soon those reinforcements
can arrive.  "The men will have to walk to Dendermonde,"
he muses, "and cannot get there before nightfall.... the
commandant may start at night ... but he may tarry
till the morrow....  It will be the end of the day before
he and his men are here ... and in the meanwhile..."\par

"At the Braepoort?" he queries curtly, "how many of
the guard have been killed?"\par

"We had a hundred and twenty killed when I left,
Magnificence, and over three hundred lay wounded on the
bridge.  We have suffered heavily," adds the man after a
slight moment of hesitation--the hesitation of the bearer of
evil tidings who dreads his listener's wrath.\par

Alva remains silent for a moment or two, then he says
abruptly: "Dost know that I have half a mind to kill thee,
for all the evil news which thou hast brought?"\par

Then he laughs loudly and long because the man, with
a quick cry of terror has made a sudden dash for the open
window, and is brought back by the lance of the provost
on guard upon the balcony.  The pleasure of striking
terror into the hearts of people has not yet palled upon his
Magnificence.\par

"If I had a whole mind to kill thee," he continues, "thou
wouldst have no chance of escape.  So cease thy trembling
and ask the provost there to give thee water to cleanse
thyself, food to put inside thy belly and clothing wherewith
to hide thy nakedness.  Then come back before me.  I'll
give thee a chance to save thy life by doing a service to
thy King."\par

He makes a sign to one of the provosts, who seizes the
man roughly by the shoulders and incontinently bundles
him out of the room.\par

In the council chamber no one dares to speak.  His
Highness has become moody, and has sunk upon his high-backed
chair where he remains inert and silent, wrapped in gloomy
meditations, and when he is in one of those sullen moods
no one dares to break in on his thoughts--no one except
señor de Vargas, and he too is as preoccupied as his chief.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ X}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"De Vargas!" says Alva abruptly after a while, "dost
mind that to-morrow is not only Sunday, but the feast of
the Blessed Redeemer and a holy day of obligation?"\par

"Aye, Monseigneur," replied de Vargas unctuously, "I
am minded that if we do not go to Mass to-morrow, those
of us who die unabsolved of the sin will go to hell."\par

"The men are grumbling already," breaks in don Sancho
de Avila, captain of the bodyguard.  "They say they will
not fight to-morrow if they cannot go to Mass."\par

"Those Walloons..."\par

"Not only the Walloons, Monseigneur," rejoins de Avila,
"the Spaniards are better Catholics than all these
Netherlanders.  They fear to die with a mortal sin upon their
soul."\par

Nothing more is said just then; the grey day is already
yielding to dusk; the fire of artillery and musketry is less
incessant, the clash of pike and halberd can be heard more
distinctly, and also the cries of the women and the groans
of the wounded and the dying.\par

A few moments later a tall, lean man in the borrowed
dress of a Spanish halberdier is ushered into the presence
of the council.  Water, food and clothes have effected a
transformation which Alva surveys critically, and not
without approval.  The man--lean of visage and clean of
limb--looks intelligent and capable; the Duke orders him to
advance.\par

"'Tis good for thee," he says dryly, "that thy death is
more unprofitable to me than thy life.  I want a messenger
... art afraid to go to the miserable wretch who dares to
lead a rebel horde against our Sovereign King?"\par

"I am afraid of nothing, Magnificence," replies the man
quietly, "save your Highness's wrath."\par

"Dost know where to find the rebel?"\par

"Where musket-balls fly thickest, your Highness."\par

"Then tell him," says Alva curtly, "that as soon as the
night has fallen and the fire of culverins and muskets has
ceased, I will have the drawbridge at the south-east of
this castle lowered, and I will come forward to meet him,
accompanied by my captains and the members of my
council.  Tell him to walk forward and meet me until we are
within earshot of one another: and to order his torch-bearers
to throw the light of their torches upon his face:
then will I put forward a proposal which hath regard to the
eternal salvation of every man, woman and child inside this
city.  Tell him to guard his person as he thinks fit, but tell
him also that from the ramparts of this Kasteel three
hundred muskets will be aimed at his head, and at the slightest
suspicion of treachery the order will be given to fire.  Dost
understand?"\par

"Every word, your Highness," says the man simply.\par

"Then go in peace," concludes Alva, and the man is dismissed.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ XI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
An hour later the drawbridge at the south-east gate of
the Kasteel was lowered.  Twilight had now faded into
night; the dull, grey day had yielded to black, impenetrable
night.  Here and there far away in the heart of the city
lurid lights shot through the darkness, and every now and
then a column of vivid flame would strike up to the dense
black sky, and for a while illumine the ruined towers, the
shattered roofs and broken chimneys around ere it fell
again, sizzling in the damp atmosphere.\par

The Duke of Alva rode out in the gloom; he was seated
upon his black charger, and was preceded by his
torch-bearers and by his bodyguard of archers.  Behind him
walked his captains and the members of his council.  The
procession slowly wended its way under the portal of the
gate-house and then over the bridge.  At the farthest end
of the bridge the Duke reined in his horse, and his
bodyguard, his captains and the members of his council all
stood behind him so that he immediately faced the tract
of open ground beyond which were the Orangist lines.\par

The flickering light of resin torches illumined the
commanding figure of the Duke, dressed in sombre clothes and
silk-lined mantle, and wearing breast and back plates of
armour, with huge tassets over his wide breeches and open
steel morion on his head.  To right and left far away,
toward the open country, the bivouac fires of the insurgents
gleamed weirdly in the night.\par

All noise of fighting had ceased, and a strange silence
had fallen over the city--a silence which hid many secrets
of horror and of despair.\par

Suddenly something began to move, something that at
first appeared darker than the darkness of the night; a few
moments later it appeared as a speck of ruddy light which
moved quickly--now toward the castle bridge; anon it was
distinguishable as a group of men--a dozen or so--with
a couple of torchbearers on in front, the light from whose
torches fell full upon a tall figure which stood out boldly
amongst the others.  Now the group came to a halt less
than fifty paces away, and those upon the bridge could see
that tall figure quite clearly; a man in ragged doublet and
hose, with grimy hands and face blackened with powder;
he held his head very erect and wore neither helmet nor armour.\par

At sight of him, de Vargas gave a cry of rage and surprise.\par

"Mark van Rycke!" he exclaimed.  "What hath he to do
with it all?"\par

"Thy daughter's husband," said Alva coolly.  "Nay, then
we'll soon make her a widow."\par

But to the Orangists he called peremptorily: "'Tis with
the rebel whom ye call Leatherface that I wish to speak."\par

"I have been known as Leatherface hitherto," retorts
Mark van Rycke coolly.  "Speak without fear.  I listen."\par

Vargas' cry of rage was echoed by more than one Spanish
captain present.  They remembered Mark van Rycke, the
ne'er-do-well with whom they had oft drunk and jested
in the taverns of Ghent and Brussels, aye! and before whom
they had oft talked openly of their plans.\par

"Spy as well as rebel!" they cried out to him wrathfully.\par

"Pity he cannot hang more than once," added de Vargas
with bitter spite.\par

But to Alva the personality of the rebel was of no
consequence.  What cared he if the man was called van Rycke
and was the husband of his friend's daughter?  There
stood an abominable rebel who had gained by treachery and
stealth a momentary advantage over the forces of his
suzerain Lord the King, and who would presently suffer
along with the whole of this insurgent city the utmost
rigour of Alva's laws!  In the meanwhile he deigned to
parley with the lout, for he was sore pressed inside the
Kasteel, and the messengers who were speeding to Dendermonde
for reinforcements could not possibly bring help for
at least another four-and-twenty hours.\par

Therefore, now he--the Lieutenant-Governor of the
Netherlands and Captain-General of His Majesty's
forces--demanded attention in the name of the King.\par

"Do ye come as traitors?" he asked in a loud voice, "or
as loyal men?  If as traitors ye shall die ere ye advance
another step.  But if ye are loyal men, then listen, for I
will speak with you in amity and peace."\par

"Thou knowest best, Magnificence," came Mark's clear
voice out of the group, "if we are loyal men or no.  Thou
didst send an emissary to us; he goeth back to thee unhurt:
thou standest before our bowmen even now and not an
arrow hath touched thine armour.  We are loyal men and
are prepared to listen to what ye have to say."\par

"Listen then," resumed the Duke curtly, "but let no false
hopes lure ye the while.  Ye are rebels and are under the
ban of the law.  Nothing but unconditional surrender can
win mercy for your city."\par

"Nothing but humility can save thee from the wrath
of God," retorted Mark boldly.  "We are unconquered,
Magnificence! and 'tis thou who askest to parley--not we."\par

"I do not ask," retorted Alva loudly, "I demand."\par

"Then since 'tis the vanquished who demand, let us hear
what they wish to say."\par

"To-morrow is Sunday, rebel, hadst forgotten that?"\par

"No, tyrant, I had not.  God hath forbidden us to work
on that day, but not to fight against oppression."\par

"He hath also enjoined us to attend Mass on His day.
Are ye heretics that ye care naught for that?"\par

"We care for the Lord's Day as much as Spaniards do."\par

"Yet will ye prevent His people from praying in peace!"\par

"We'll pray for those whom thy tyranny keeps locked up
within thy castle walls."\par

"Not so," exclaims Alva, "my men are free to go: they
will attend Mass in the churches of this city.  Will you
butcher them whilst they are at prayer?"\par

There was no immediate reply to this taunt, but from
the insurgents' ranks there came a loud, warning call:\par

"Do not heed him, van Rycke!  Remember Egmont and
Horne!  Do not fall into the tyrant's trap!  There's
treachery in every word he says."\par

Alva waited in silence until the tumult had subsided.
He knew what he wanted and why he wanted it.  A few
hours' respite would mean salvation for him ... a few
hours! ... and the garrison of Dendermonde would be
on its way to Ghent.  He wanted to stay the hand of time
for those few hours and had invented this treacherous
means to gain that end.\par

"'Tis no wonder," he said quietly as soon as the clamour
on the Orangist side was stilled, "that ye who are traitors
should seek treachery everywhere.  What I propose is loyal
and just and in accordance with God's own decrees.  If
ye refuse, ye do so at the peril of thousands of immortal
souls."\par

"We know not yet what it is ye ask," said van Rycke
quietly.\par

"We demand a truce until the evening Angelus to-morrow--the
Lord's Day which is also the feast of the Holy
Redeemer.  We demand the right to attend Mass in peace
... and in exchange we'll agree not to molest you whilst
ye pray and whilst ye bury your dead."\par

"A truce until the evening Angelus," broke in Mark
hotly, "so that ye may send for reinforcements to the
nearest garrison town.  We refuse!"\par

"You refuse?" retorted Alva.  "For two days and a
night ye have raised your arms against your lawful King.
If you fight to-morrow you will add sacrilege to your other
crimes."\par

"And thou, treachery to thine!" said van Rycke boldly.
"Whence this desire to keep holy the Sabbath day, tyrant?
Wouldst thou have ceased to destroy, to pillage or to
outrage this day if we had not raised our arms in our own
defence?"\par

"Well said, van Rycke!" cried the Orangists.\par

"The immortal souls which your obstinacy would send
to hell," said the Duke of Alva, "will return and haunt you
till they drag you back with them."\par

"Can you not pray in your Kasteel?" retorted Mark.\par

"We have no priest to say Mass for us."\par

"We will send you one."\par

"We have no consecrated chapel."\par

"The priest will say Mass in your castle-yard, beneath
the consecrated dome of heaven.  The Walloon prisoners
whom we have taken are receiving the ministry of our
priests in the guild-houses where they are held."\par

"Nay! but such makeshift would not satisfy the children
of Spain who are also the chosen children of the Church.
But," continued Alva with a sudden assumption of
indifference, "I have made my proposal.  Take it or not as ye
list.  But remember this: the dead who lie unburied in
your streets will have their revenge.  Pestilence and disease
will sweep your city of your children, as soon as we have
vanquished your men."\par

"Treachery!" cried some of the Orangists, "do not heed
him, van Rycke."\par

But of a truth the cry was not repeated quite so insistently
this time.  Alva's last argument was an unanswerable
one.  Pestilence these days was a more formidable
foe than the finest artillery wielded by a powerful enemy:
there were over two thousand dead lying unburied in the
city at this hour: as the tyrant said very truly, these would
take a terrible revenge.  And there was something too in
the sanctity of the Lord's Day which touched the hearts
of these men who were deeply religious and devout and
had a profound respect for the dictates of the Church.
Most of them were Catholics--the importance of attending
Mass on the Lord's Day on pain of committing a deadly
sin weighed hard upon their conscience.  Alva was quick to
note the advantage which he had already gained, and when
the first dissentient voice among the Orangists was heard
to say: "A truce can do no harm and 'twere sacrilege to
fight on the Lord's Day," he broke in quickly:\par

"Nay! 'tis not fighting ye would do, but murder.
Aye! murder on the Day of the Holy Redeemer who died that
ye should live....  My men are Catholic to a man! not
one of them but would far rather let himself be butchered
than commit a deadly sin.  Rebels, who have outraged
your King, to-morrow morning the church bells will be
calling the faithful to the Holy Sacrifice: the truce which
you refuse to hold with us we will grant you of our own
free will.  We will not fight you on the day of the feast
of the Holy Redeemer.  But to-morrow every Spaniard and
every Walloon in our armies will go unarmed and present
himself at your church doors.  I--even I--with my captains
and the members of the King's Council will attend Mass
at the church of St. Baafs and we will be unarmed, for
we shall have placed ourselves under the care of the Holy
Redeemer Himself.  And now tell thy soldiers, rebel, tell
them that Spaniards and Walloons will be in the churches
of Ghent in their thousands and that they will be defenceless
save for the armour of prayer which will encompass them
as they kneel before the altar of God!"\par

"And in the meanwhile," retorted van Rycke, "ye will
be sending to Dendermonde and Alost and Antwerpen: and
when after the evening Angelus we take up arms once
more against your tyranny, there will be five thousand more
Spaniards at our gates."\par

"By the Holy Redeemer whom I herewith invoke," said
Alva solemnly and raised his hand above his head with a
gesture of invocation, "I swear that no messenger of mine
shall leave the city before ye once more take up arms against
your King.  I swear that no messenger of mine hath left this
city for the purpose of getting help from any garrison town,
and may my soul be eternally damned if I do not speak
the truth."\par

Those who were present at this memorable interview
declare that when Alva registered this false and
blasphemous oath a curious crimson light suddenly appeared
in the East--so strong and lurid was it that the perjurer
himself put up his hand for a second or two as if blinded
by the light.  Philip de Lannoy, seigneur de Beauvoir,
assures us that the light was absolutely dazzling and of
the colour of blood, but that he took it as a warning from
God against the sacrilege of fighting on this holy day,
and that it caused him to add the weight of his influence
with Mark van Rycke to grant the truce which the
Spaniards desired.\par

Undoubtedly, the solemn oath spoken by the tyrant who
was such a devout and bigoted Catholic greatly worked
upon the feelings of the Orangists: never for a moment
did the suspicion of the oath being a false one enter their
loyal heads: nor must they be blamed for their childish
confidence in a man who had lied to them and deceived
them so continuously for the past five years.  They were so
loyal themselves, such a trap as Alva was setting for them
now was so far from their ken, that it was impossible for
them to imagine such appalling treachery: as for the
sanctity of an oath, they would as soon have thought of
doubting the evidence of their own eyes.\par

Mark van Rycke, it is true, held out to the last.  He
knew these Spaniards better than those simple burghers
did: not in vain had he spent his best years in the
uncongenial task of worming out their secret plans--their
treacherous devices--over tankards of ale and games of hazard
in Flemish taverns.  He mistrusted them all, he mistrusted
Alva above all!  he had no belief in that execrable monster's
oath.\par

"God is on our side!" he said quietly, "we'll bury our
dead when we can, and pray when God wills.  He'll forgive
the breaking of His Sabbath for the justice of our cause.\par

"They are weary of the fight," he added obstinately, "we
are not."\par

But already every one of his friends was urging him to
grant the truce:\par

"For the sake of our women and children," said van
Deynse who voiced the majority, "let there be no fighting
to-morrow.  The tyrant has pledged his immortal soul that
he will not play us false.  No man would dare to do that
unless he meant to be true."\par

"Rebel!" now shouted Alva impatiently, "I await thine
answer."\par

"Accept, van Rycke, accept," cried the Orangists unanimously
now, "it is God's will that we accept."\par

"I await thine answer, rebel," reiterated Alva.\par

"What answer can I give?" retorted van Rycke.  "You
say your men will go to our churches unarmed.  We are
not butchers as ye would have been."\par

"You will let them pray in peace?"\par

"As thou desirest.  You who were prepared to destroy
our city and to murder our women and our children will
have nothing to fear from us while ye are unarmed and
at prayer."\par

"Until the evening Angelus ceases to ring?"\par

"Until then."\par

"And until that hour we remain as we are.  Our guard
at the gates...."\par

"Our prisoners in our hands."\par

"And may God guard thee," concluded Alva unctuously.\par

"May God have mercy on thy soul if thou hast lied to
us," said Mark van Rycke quietly.\par

To this Alva made no reply, but his grim face looked
in no way troubled.  Special absolution even for speaking
a false oath could easily be obtained, alas! these days by any
Duke of Alva or other tyrant powerful enough to demand
it; and no doubt the Lieutenant-Governor, sent to subdue
the rebellious Low Countries, was well provided with every
kind of dispensation which embodied the principle that "the
end justifies the means!"\par

He wheeled his horse round and, wholly callous and
unconcerned, he rode back slowly over the bridge.\par

As soon as the last of the Spaniards had filed under the
gate-house of the Kasteel and the drawbridge was once
more raised, Mark van Rycke turned with unwonted
peremptoriness to his friends who were crowding round him,
eagerly approving of what he had done.\par

"Van Deynse," he said curtly, "to-morrow at dawn, see
that your musketeers are massed inside the ruins of the
Tanners' Guild House, and you, Laurence, place three
hundred of your picked archers under the cover of the Vish
Mart.  Lannoy, your pikemen beneath the arcades of the
Abbey opposite St. Baafs, and you, Groobendock, yours in
the doorways of the houses opposite St. Pharaïlde, and
every one of you under arms.  Let the Spaniards pray in
peace if they have not lied.  But at the first sign of
treachery, remember your wives and your daughters and do not
spare the murderers of your children or the desecrators of
your homes."\par

\label{truth-and-perfidy}%
\hypertarget{truth-and-perfidy}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XVII}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ TRUTH AND PERFIDY}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The cathedral bells of St. Baafs were the first to ring on
that unforgettable 23rd day of October which was the feast
of the Holy Redeemer: the appealing, sweet, melancholy
sound came clearly through the humid air.  Lenora, who
was in her room with Grete, stood quite still for a moment
and listened.  The bells of St. Pharaïlde took up the call,
then those of St. Jakab and St. Agneten until the clang of
bells echoed from end to end of the city and drowned every
other sound--of strife or of misery.  The roar of the
artillery now was mute, the clash of pikes and lances was no
longer heard--only that curious medley of weird and terrible
sounds still lingered in the air--a medley made up of sighs
and groans, of men falling down exhausted with pain, of
masonry still crumbling and woodwork still sizzling--a
medley to which now was added the roll of drums which on
either side called to the men to lay aside their strife and to
go and pray in peace.\par

On the walls of the castle-yard the Duke's proclamation
of the Lord's Day truce was posted up and he himself was
giving a few brief orders to his captains:\par

"Let the men understand," he said, "that they are free
to go to Mass in the various churches of the city, and that
they can do so without the slightest fear.  But they must all
be back inside the Kasteel precincts by two hours after noon.
Let the couriers go to the gate-houses at the six Poorts and
issue the same orders there, and have the proclamation
posted up.  Make it known here as well as at the Poorts
that if any man fails to respect the truce, if there is any
brawling in the streets or in the taverns, I shall proceed with
merciless severity against the culprits."\par

Then he turned to the captain of the castle-guard, don
Sancho de Avila: "Yours will be the duty to see that
runners are sent out in secret on the Dendermonde road
with orders that any troops which may be on the way, make
all possible speed.  You had best remain in command here
while I go to Mass: keep your picked guard and the
musketeers under arms, for, the moment that the Dendermonde
banderas are in sight, we must be ready to co-operate with
them by a sortie {\itshape{en masse}}."\par

"I quite understand, Magnificence," replied the captain.\par

A few moments later the bridge was lowered and some
three thousand men filed out across it in orderly lines as
for parade--but unarmed.  The Spanish halberdiers formed
the van and the rear-guard, the Walloon pikemen and
archers were massed in the centre, and in the midst of them
walked the Duke of Alva with his immediate cortège: de
Vargas who had his daughter on his arm and Grete close
beside her, don Alberic del Rio, Councillor Hessels and
two or three other members of the Council.  Behind them
came the standard-bearers with standards unfurled and the
drummers.\par

In silence they reached the lines of the Orangists, which
they had to cross in a double file, each man holding up his
hands to show that he was unarmed.  The Orangist leaders
stood by in a group, and when the Duke and the members
of the Council had to file through the lines in their turn,
they stepped forward in order to greet them in amity.\par

"God guard ye!" they said as the Duke walked by.\par

"We'll aid Him in that," retorted the Spaniards cynically.\par

Mark van Rycke was in the forefront of the group at the
moment that Lenora went by leaning on her father's arm.
She looked up just then and saw him.  He held his head
erect as he always did, but she could not fail to see how
completely he had changed in those few hours since last
she saw him at Dendermonde.  The hours seemed to have
gone over him like years: gone was that quaint, gentle,
appealing way to which she had so nearly yielded.  His
attitude now was one of lofty defiance, sublime in its unshakable
determination and in its pride.  Well! perhaps it was better
so!  Was he not the embodiment of everything that Lenora
had been taught to hate and despise since her tenderest
childhood--the despised race that dared to assert itself, the
beneficiary who turned on the hand that loaded him with
gifts and, above all, the assassin who cowered in the dark,
the slave who struck his master whom he dared not defy?
Yes!  Mark van Rycke, her husband, the murderer of
Ramon, stood for all that, and Lenora despised herself for
every tender feeling which had gripped her soul in the past
two days whenever she thought of him as wounded, helpless,
or mayhap dead.\par

And yet now when his eyes met hers, they suddenly took
on a wonderful softness, that quaint look--half-whimsical,
half appealing--came back to them and with it too a look
of infinite pity and of unswerving love; and as she caught
the glance--she who felt so lonely and so desolate--there
came to her mind the remembrance of the sweet and pathetic
story of the primeval woman who was driven forth by God's
angel from the gates of Paradise.  Somehow she felt that
once--not so very long ago--she too had wandered for
a brief while within the peaceful glades of a Paradise of
her own, and that now an angel with a flaming sword stood
at its gates and would not allow her to return, but forced
her to wander out through life in utter loneliness and with
the unbearable load of agonising remorse.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Of all the episodes which the historical records of the
time present to the imagination, not one perhaps is quite
so moving and so inspiring as that of the solemn Mass
which was offered up in every church of the stricken city
on this Sunday morning--the feast of the Holy Redeemer--when
the Duke of Alva and the members of his odious
Blood Council knelt side by side with the heroic men who
were making their last desperate stand for justice, for
liberty and the sanctity of their homes.\par

The Lieutenant-Governor and the Spanish high dignitaries,
both civil and military, are present in the Cathedral
of St. Baafs, as are also the Orangist leaders.  The
Spaniards occupy one side of the aisle, the Flemings, with the
women and children, are on the other, and crowd every
corner of the stately edifice.  Up at the high altar, Father
van der Schlicht is officiating with others of the cathedral
clergy, and the pure voices of the choir boys resound
through the building like the call of the angels of peace.\par

The fabric of the exquisite building bears traces of that
awful fate which an abominable tyranny was reserving for
the entire city.  The walls themselves stand, but in places
they are torn by large fissures, which look like gaping
wounds in the flesh of a giant.  Reverend hands have hastily
swept aside the debris of glass and masonry, the fragments
of stone statues and scraps of iron and wood; but here and
there the head of an angel, the clasped hands of a saint or
palm of a martyr, still litter the floor; the slender columns
of the aisle have taken on a curious rusty tint, and over the
screen the apostles of carved wood are black with smoke.\par

There are two large holes in the roof, through which the
bleak October breeze comes sighing in, and the sweet smell
of stale incense which usually hangs about the place of
worship has yielded to the pungent odour of charred wood
and of singed draperies.\par

On the Flemish side a dull tone of colour prevails, browns
and russets and dull reds--many women have wrapped
black hoods over their heads, and long, black mantles hang
from their shoulders; but on the other side the fantastic
garb of the Spanish halberdiers throws a note of trenchant
yellow right through the sombre tint of the picture: and
the white ruffs round the men's necks gleam like pale stars
upon the canvas.  And over it all the light through the
broken window falls crude and grey.  Only the chancel
glows with a warm light, and Father van der Schlicht's
vestments of crimson silk, the gilt candlesticks upon the high
altar, the flickering yellow flames of the candles, the red
cassocks of the young servers, all form a kaleidoscope of
brilliant colours which is almost dazzling, whilst up above,
the banners and coats-of-arms of the Knights of the Golden
Fleece still flaunt their rich heraldic tints against the dark
vaulting of the roof, and above the high altar the figure of
the Redeemer with arms stretched out to bless, seems to
mock by its exquisite pathos and peace the hideous strifes
of men.\par

The church is crowded from end to end: Flemings and
Walloons and Spaniards, the tyrants and the oppressed, all
kneel together, while Father van der Schlicht up at the
altar softly murmurs the Confiteor: some have rough linen
bandages round their head or arm; some have ugly stains
upon their doublet or hose; others--unable to stand or
lean--lie half prone upon the ground, supported by their
comrades.  The Duke of Alva holds his head erect, and
señor de Vargas bows his down until it well-nigh touches
the ground: most of the women are crying, some of them
faint and have to be carried away.  The Spaniards are more
demonstrative in their devotions than are the Netherlanders,
they strike their breasts at the Confiteor, with wide,
ostentatious gestures, and need much elbow room when they
make the sign of the Cross.\par

At the reading of the Gospel every one stands, and men,
women and children solemnly make profession of that Faith
of Love and Goodwill which the events of the past two
days have so wantonly outraged.\par

Lenora from where she stands can see her husband's head--with
its closely-cropped brown hair--towering above the
rest of the crowd.  He does not look to right or left of him,
but gazes fixedly upon the altar; Lenora can see his lips
moving as he recites the Creed, and to her straining senses
it seems as if right through the murmurings of all these
people she can distinguish his voice amongst all the others,
and that it strikes against her heart with sweet persistence
of unforgettable memories.\par

And suddenly the high altar with the figure of the
Redeemer fades from her sight; the crowds vanish, the priest
disappears, the voices of the choir boys are stilled.  She is
back once more in the small {\itshape{tapperij}} of the inn at Dendermonde,
sitting beside the hearth with Mark--her husband--half
kneeling, half sitting close to her--she lives again
those few moments of dreamlike peace and joy when he
lulled her with gentle words and tender glances which had
shown her the first glimpse of what human happiness might
be--and she lives again the moment when she stood in that
same room with his wounded arm in her hand, and realised
that he was the cowardly assassin who had struck Ramon
down in the dark.\par

God in Heaven! was not her hatred of him justified?
Even at the foot of this altar, where all should be peace
and goodwill, had she not the right to hate this one man
who had murdered Ramon, who had fooled and cajoled her,
and used her as an insentient tool for his own ends, his own
amusement?  Her father had told her that she would see
him hanged, and that his death would be her work under
the guidance of God.  Not one moment of the past would
she undo, and she regretted nothing save the moments of
weakness which came over her whenever she met his glance.
He was the leader of these abominable rebels--a leader
every inch of him, that she could see--but yet a murderer
for all that, and the deadly enemy of her country and her King.\par

God had had His will with her, and now He was dealing
punishment with equal justice to all; and Lenora standing
there, shivering under the cold draught which came on her
from the shattered roof, yet inwardly burning with a fever
of regret and of longing, marvelled, if among the thousands
that would suffer through God's retributive justice, any one
would endure the martyrdom which she was suffering now.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Later on, during the noonday rest, Lenora sat in her
room in the Meeste-Toren and tried to visualise once more
all that she had lived through in the past hour--her meeting
with Mark when she went through the Orangist lines with
her father--the crowded church, the sombre colours, the
pathetic aspect of broken statuary and holy images charred
and shattered--the return to the Kasteel in silence--the
outline of Mark's profile above the crowd--Mark! always
Mark!  If only she could forget!\par

The air in the narrow room felt stuffy and oppressive:
she ordered Grete to open the window.  It gave on the
same iron balcony to which the council chamber and the
apartments of the Duke of Alva had access; but as it was
high up in the wall and very small, she could sit quite close
beside it and yet not be seen by any one who might be
walking on the balcony.  Lenora's head ached intolerably,
and Grete, always kind and anxious, took down the wavy
masses of fair hair and brushed them gently, so as to soothe
the quivering nerves.\par

A strange hush hung in the air--the hush of a Sunday
afternoon when a big and peaceful city is at rest--a hush
in strange and almost weird contrast to the din which had
shaken up the very atmosphere during the past two days.
Only from the castle-yard down below there comes the sad
sound of groans and sighs of pain, and an occasional call for
"donna Lenora!" with the cool, soft hands and the gentle
voice, the ministering angel of goodness and consolation.\par

"Grete," queried Lenora abruptly, "dost love me truly?"\par

"With my whole heart, noble lady," replied the child
simply.\par

"Then, if thou lovest me, didst pray at Mass this morning
for the success of our cause and the confusion of those
abominable rebels?"\par

Grete made no reply, and anon a low, suppressed sob
caused Lenora to say, not unkindly:\par

"Thy heart is with the rebels, Grete."\par

"I know most of their leaders, noble lady," murmured
the girl, through her tears.  "They are brave, fine men.
When I think of those who surely must die after this, I feel
as if my heart must break with sorrow and with pity."\par

"Didst know them well?"\par

"Aye, noble lady.  They used to come to the 'Three
Weavers.'"\par

"The 'Three Weavers,' Grete?"\par

"Aye! my father kept the tavern, here in Ghent....
The noble seigniors of the city and the Spanish officers of
the garrison all used to come to us in the afternoons....
Messire Jan van Migrode, the Chief Sheriff, Messire Lievin
van Deynse and the seigneur de Beauvoir, they all came
regularly.  And ... and Messire Mark van Rycke," she
added under her breath, "him they call Leatherface."\par

"My husband, Grete," murmured Lenora.\par

"I know it, noble lady."\par

"Didst know then that Messire Mark van Rycke was
Leatherface?"\par

"Not till yesterday, noble lady ... not till the men spoke
of it and said that the mysterious Leatherface was the leader
of the rebels ... and that he was the son of the
High-Bailiff of Ghent, Messire Mark van Rycke...."\par

"Thou didst know him, too, then as Leatherface?"\par

"Aye, noble lady," said Grete quietly, "he saved my life
and my sister's.  I would give mine to save him now."\par

"Saved thy life?  How?  When?"\par

"Only a few days ago, noble lady," murmured the child,
speaking with a great effort at self-control.  The recollection
of that awful night brought fresh terror to her heart.\par

But Lenora's brows contracted now in puzzlement.  A
few days ago?  Mark was courting her then....\par

"I do not understand," she said impatiently, "a few days
ago Leatherface ... Messire Mark van Rycke ... was
in Ghent ... I was betrothed to him on the seventh day of
this month...."\par

"And 'tis on that night he saved my life ... and
Katrine's ... aye! and saved us from worse than death...."\par

She paused abruptly; her round, young cheeks lost their
last vestige of colour, her eyes their clear, childlike look.
She cast a quick, furtive glance on Lenora as if she were,
afraid.  But Lenora was unconscious of this change in the
girl's manner, her very senses seemed to be on the alert,
hanging upon the peasant girl's lips....  The night of her
betrothal was the night on which Ramon was murdered
... the tavern of the "Three Weavers" was the place
where he was found.  This girl then knew something of
that awesome occurrence, which, despite outside assurances,
had remained vaguely puzzling to Lenora's mind.  Now she
would hear and know, and her very heart seemed to stand
still as her mind appeared to be waiting upon the threshold
of a mystery which was interwoven with her whole life, and
with her every hope of peace.\par

"But what?" she queried with agonised impatience.
"Speak, girl!  Canst not see that I only live to hear?"\par

"Our father was taken," said Grete quietly, "he was
hanged eight days ago."\par

"Hanged?" exclaimed Lenora, horror-struck.  "Why?
What had he done?"\par

"He was of the Protestant faith ... and..."\par

Lenora made no comment, and the girl wiped her eyes,
which had filled with tears.\par

"Thou and Katrine were spared?" asked Lenora, after
awhile.\par

"We were spared at the time," said Grete, "but I
suppose," she added with quaint philosophy, "we remained
objects of suspicion.  The soldiers would often be very
rough with us, and upon the seventh day of October the
commanding Spanish officer in Ghent..."\par

Once more she paused timidly, fear of having said too
much, fighting with the childish love to retail her woes, and
pour her interesting story into sympathetic ears.\par

"Well?" queried Lenora, more impatiently, "go on,
child.  What did the commanding Spanish officer in Ghent
do to thee on the seventh day of October?"\par

But at this Grete burst into a flood of tears.  The events
were so recent, and the shock of horror and of fear had
been so terrible at the time, that the recollection of it all
still had the power to unnerve her.  Lenora, whose own
nerves were cruelly on the rack at this moment, had much
ado to keep her impatience in check.  After a few moments
Grete became more calm, and dried her eyes.\par

"There was a big to-do at the Town House," she said
more quietly, "and the whole city was gaily decorated.
The apprentices had a holiday in the evening.  They were
very hilarious, and so were the soldiers."\par

"Well?  And--"\par

"The soldiers came to the 'Three Weavers.'  They had
been drinking heavily, and were very rough.  The
commanding Spanish officer came in late in the evening....
He encouraged the soldiers to drink, and to ... to make
fun of us ... of Katrine and of me....  We were all
alone in the house, and we were very frightened.  The
Spanish officer ordered Katrine to wait on the soldiers,
then he made me go with him to a private room...."\par

The tears were once more very near the surface, and
a hot blush of shame for all that she had had to endure
overspread Grete's face and neck.\par

"Go on, child," queried Lenora.  "What happened after that?"\par

"The Spanish officer was very cruel to me, noble lady.
I think he would have killed me, and I am sure the soldiers
were very cruel to Katrine....  Oh! it was horrible! horrible!"
she cried, "and we were quite alone and helpless...."\par

"Yes.  I know that," said Lenora, and even to herself her
own voice sounded curiously dull and toneless; "but tell
me what happened."\par

"I was crouching in a corner of the room, noble lady.
My back ached terribly, for I had been thrown across the
table, and I thought my spine must be broken--my wrists,
too, were very painful where the noble officer had held
them so tightly.  I was half wild with terror, for I did not
know what would become of me.  Then the door opened,
and a man came in.  Oh!  I was dreadfully frightened.  He
was very tall and very thin, like a dark wraith, and over
his face he had a mask.  And he spoke kindly to me--and
after awhile I was less frightened--and then he told me
just what to do, how to find Katrine, to take some money
and run away to our kinswoman who lives in Dendermonde.
I thought then that he was no wraith..." continued Grete
in an awestruck whisper, "but just one of the archangels.
For they do appear in curious disguises sometimes ... he
saved my life and Katrine's, and more than life, noble lady,"
added the girl with a note of dignity in her tone, which sat
quaintly upon her timid little person, "do you not think
that it was God who sent him to protect two innocent girls
from the cruelty of those wicked men?"\par

"Yes; I think so, child," said Lenora quietly.  "But, tell
me, dost know what happened after that?"\par

"No, lady, I do not.  I went to look for Katrine, just as
the stranger ordered me to do.  But," she added under her
breath, and still under the spell of past terrors, "we heard
afterwards through Pierre Beauters, the butcher, that the
noble seignior commandant was found killed that same
night in the tavern of the 'Three Weavers.'  The provost
found him lying dead in the same room where the archangel
had appeared."\par

"Stabbed, child, didst thou say?"\par

"No, noble lady.  The provost told Pierre Beauters that
the noble Spanish commandant had been felled by mighty
hands in a hand-to-hand fight; he had no wound on him,
only the marks of powerful fingers round his throat.  But
his own dagger, they say, was covered in blood.  Pierre
Beauters helped to place the body in the coffin, and he said
that the noble Spanish commandant had been killed in fair
fight--a fight with fists, and not with swords.  He also said
that the stranger who killed him was the mysterious Leatherface,
of whom we hear so much, and that, mayhap, we
should never hear of him again, for the Spanish commandant
must have wounded him to death ... the dagger was
covered with blood almost to the hilt.  But," concluded
Grete, with a knowing little nod of the head, "this I did not
believe at the time, and now I know that it was not so; the
stranger may not have been one of the archangels, but truly
he was a messenger of God.  When the noble lady brought
me back with her to Ghent I heard the men talking about
the mysterious Leatherface.  Then the day before yesterday
when the cavalrymen flew helter-skelter into the castle-yard,
they still talked loudly of Leatherface; but I guessed then
that he was not a real archangel, but just a brave man who
protects the weak, and fights for justice, and..."\par

She paused, terrified at what she had said.  Ignorant as
she was, she knew well enough that the few last words
which she had uttered had caused men and women to be
burned at the stake before now.  Wide-eyed and full of fear
she looked on the noble Spanish lady, expecting every
moment to see a commanding finger pointed on her, and
orders given for her immediate arrest.\par

Instead of which she saw before her a pale, slim girl
scarce older than herself, and infinitely more pathetic, just
a young and beautiful woman with pale face and eyes
swimming in tears, whose whole attitude just expressed an
immense and overwhelming grief.\par

The veil of mystery which had hung over Ramon's death
had indeed been lifted at last by the rough, uncouth hands
of the innkeeper's daughter.  Lenora as yet hardly dared
to look into the vista which it opened up before her:
boundless remorse, utter hopelessness, the dreary sense of the
irreparable--all that lay beyond the present stunning blow
of this terrible revelation.\par

God in Heaven! she cried out mutely in her misery, how
could she ever have thought--even for a moment--that
those grey eyes, so merry and yet so tender--could mask
a treacherous and cowardly soul?  How could she think
that those lips which so earnestly pleaded for a kiss could
ever have been framed to hide a lying tongue?  Would to
God that she could still persuade herself that all this new
revelation was a dream; that Grete--the unsophisticated
child--had lied and concocted the whole story to further
some hidden schemes of her own!  Would to God she could
still believe that Mark was vile and false--an assassin and
a perjurer--and that she could hate him still!\par

She met Grete's eyes fixed so fearfully upon hers--she
met them at the moment when she was about to give
herself over to the transient happiness of a brief day-dream
... dreams of two unforgettable hours when he sat
beside her with his hand shading his face ... his eyes
resting upon her ... dreams of his voice when he said:
"When I look at you, Madonna, I invariably think of happiness."\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
But Grete recalled her to herself, and to the awful
present.  Despite her great respect for the noble Spanish lady,
she suddenly put her arms round her shoulders, and tried
to draw her away from the open window.\par

"His Highness!" she whispered hurriedly, "he will see us."\par

"What matters, child," murmured Lenora, "he will not
harm us."\par

Instinctively, however, she did yield to Grete's insistence
and drew back slightly from the window.  From the
balcony down below there came the sound of measured
tramping.  Two or three men were walking there slowly up and
down and talking confidentially together while they walked.
Whenever they were close to the window their voices came
up quite distinctly, but it was impossible to hear all that
they said, but one or two disjointed sentences gave a faint
clue to the subject of their conversation.  Lenora now
leaned closer to the window-frame trying to hear, for she
had recognised her father's voice as well as that of the
Duke of Alva, and they were speaking of their future plans
against the rebels and against the city, and Lenora felt that
she would give her life to know what those plans were.\par

After a moment or two she heard the voice of Captain
de Avila; he was apparently coming up the iron stairs from
the yard and was speaking hurriedly:\par

"A runner, your Highness," he said, "straight from Dendermonde."\par

"What news?" queried the Duke, and his voice sounded
almost choked as if with fierce impatience.\par

"One of Captain Lodrono's messengers reached Dendermonde
last night," replied de Avila, "he was lucky enough
to get a horse almost at once."\par

"Well...? and...?"\par

"This man came running straight back to bring us the
news!  Captain Bracamonte started at break of day: he
should be well on his way with the reinforcements by now."\par

There was a hoarse exclamation of satisfaction and a
confused murmur of voices for a moment or two.  Then
de Vargas spoke:\par

"It was a bold venture, Monseigneur," he said.\par

"This truce, you mean?" retorted Alva.  "Well! not quite
so bold as it appeared.  Those Netherlanders are such
mighty fools that it is always easy to make them believe
anything that we choose to tell them: do they not always
fall into our traps?  I had only to swear by my immortal
soul that we had not sent for reinforcements and the last
of their resistance was overcome."\par

Lenora could hear her father's harsh laugh after this and
then del Rio said blandly:\par

"Van Rycke did not believe in that oath."\par

"Perhaps not at first," Alva said, "but it was so finely
worded and spoken with such solemnity, it was bound to
carry conviction in the end."\par

"You were not afraid, Monseigneur," queried de Vargas,
"this morning ... in the crowd ... after Mass ... that
the rebels would break the truce and fall upon our men?"\par

"No," replied the Duke curtly, "were you?"\par

There came no answer from de Vargas, and to the listeners
it seemed as if by his silence he was admitting that
he did not believe the Orangists capable of such abominable
treachery.  A fine tribute that--Lenora thought--from her
father who hated and despised the Netherlanders!  But he
and Alva would even now call such loyalty and truth the
mere stupidity of uncultured clowns.\par

"Anyhow it was worth the risk," de Vargas resumed
after awhile, with that cold cynicism which will sacrifice
friends, adherents, kindred for the furtherance of political
aims.\par

"Well worth the risk," asserted Alva, "we have gained
the whole of to-day.  If these rebels had rushed the Kasteel
this morning, I verily believe that we could not have held it:
I might have fallen into their hands and--with me as their
hostage--they would by now have been in a position to
dictate their own terms before reinforcements reached
us--always supposing that they did not murder us all.  Yes,"
he reiterated with obvious satisfaction, "even if treachery
had been in the air it was still well worth the risk."\par

"And in the meanwhile..." suggested del Rio.\par

"In the meanwhile Bracamonte is on his way here....
He must have started well before noon ... he might be
here before nightfall...."\par

"With at least five thousand men, I hope," added de
Vargas.\par

"Night may see us masters of this city once more, seigniors,"
rejoined Alva, "and by God we'll punish those rebels
for the fright they have given us.  Ghent will be envying
Mons and Mechlin...."\par

The three men walked slowly away after that, and their
voices were lost in the distance.  The listeners could no
longer distinguish what was said, but anon a harsh laugh
struck their ear, and leaning out of the window Lenora
could see the Duke and her father standing just outside
the council-chamber.  The Duke had thrown back his head
and was laughing heartily, de Vargas too looked highly
amused.  Not one single word of remorse or regret had
been spoken by either of them for the blasphemous oath
which had finally overcome the resistance of the Orangists:
of a truth it did not weigh on the conscience of the man
who had so wantonly outraged his Maker less than an
hour before he knelt at the foot of His Altar, and de Vargas
and his kind were only too ready to benefit by the perjury.\par

The sack of Ghent--jeopardised for a few hours--was
once more looming ahead as a coveted prize.  What was
a false oath or so--one crime the more--when weighed in
the balance with all the money and treasure which the
unexpected resistance of a few Flemish clowns had so nearly
wrenched from these noble Spaniards' grasp?\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"Didst hear?" came in a smothered whisper from Lenora.
She had turned suddenly and now faced Grete, who stood
wide-eyed and terrified in the centre of the room.  Her
arms were behind her, and she clung to the window-ledge:
her fair hair--all loose--streamed round her shoulders;
pale, with glowing eyes and quivering lips, she looked like
some beautiful feline creature at bay.\par

"Didst hear?" she reiterated hoarsely.\par

"Every word, most noble lady," came the whispered response.\par

"What didst make of it?"\par

"That His Highness sent to Dendermonde for help, and
that troops are on their way."\par

"But His Highness swore most solemnly that he would
respect the truce which he himself asked for, and that both
sides would resume the fight ... this evening ... just as
they were before ... without fresh help or reinforcements."\par

"I heard the men say last night, noble lady, that
reinforcements had already been sent for from Dendermonde
... the Duke feared that the Netherlanders were getting
the upper hand ... he asked for the truce only to gain
time...."\par

"Then ... if Captain Bracamonte arrives from Dendermonde
with fresh troops the Netherlanders are lost!"\par

"God guard them," said Grete fervently.  "He alone can
save them now."\par

"Oh!" cried Lenora with sudden passionate bitterness,
"how can men conceive such abominable treachery?  How
can God allow them to triumph?"\par

Grete said nothing.  Her eyes were full of tears.  Lenora
stared straight out before her into the dark corner of the
room: there was a frown of deep thought between her
brows, and her fresh young mouth became hard and set.\par

"Grete," she said abruptly, "is it not horrible to think
that those we care for are liars and traitors?"\par

Then, as Grete made no reply, she continued with the
same passionate vehemence: "Is it not horrible to think
that brave men must be butchered like cattle, because they
trusted in the oath of a perjurer? ... Oh! that all the
baseness, all the lying should be on one side and all the
heroism on the other! and that God should allow those
monsters to triumph!..."\par

She paused and suddenly her whole expression changed--the
vehemence, the passion went out of it ... her lips
ceased to quiver, a curious pallor overspread her cheeks and
the lines of her mouth became hard and set.\par

"Grete," she said abruptly, "art afraid?"\par

"Of what, noble lady?" asked the child.\par

"Oh! of everything ... of insults and violence and death?"\par

"No, noble lady," said Grete simply.  "I trust to God to
protect me."\par

"Then wilt come with me?"\par

"Whither, noble lady?"\par

"Into the city ... alone with me ... we'll pretend
that we go to Benediction...."\par

"Into the city...?" exclaimed the girl.  "Alone?"\par

"Art afraid?"\par

"No."\par

"Then put up my hair and get hood and cloak and give
me mine...."\par

Grete did as she was ordered.  She pinned up Lenora's
fair hair and brought her a mantle and hood and wrapped
them round her: then she fastened on her own.\par

"Come!" said Lenora curtly.\par

She took the girl by the hand and together the two
women went out of the room.  Their way led them through
endless corridors and down a long, winding staircase; hand
in hand they ran like furtive little animals on the watch
for the human enemy.  Down below the big flagged hall was
full of soldiers: the two women only realised this when
they reached the last landing.\par

"Will they let us pass?" murmured Grete.\par

"Walk beside me and hold thy head boldly," said Lenora,
"they must not think that we are afraid of being challenged."\par

She walked down the last flight of the stairs with slow
majestic steps: her arms folded beneath her cloak, looking
straight ahead of her with that air of calm detachment
and contempt of others which the Spanish {\itshape{noblesse}} knew so
well how to assume.\par

Captain de Avila was below: at sight of donna Lenora
he came forward and said with absolute respect:\par

"La señora desires to go out?"\par

"As you see," she replied haughtily.\par

"Not further than the precincts of the Kasteel, I hope."\par

"What is that to you, whither I go?" she queried.\par

"My orders..." he stammered, somewhat taken aback
by this grand manner on the part of the señora who had
always been so meek and silent hitherto.\par

"What orders have you had, seigneur capitaine?" she
queried, "which warrant your interference with my movements?"\par

"I ... truly..." he murmured, "señor de Vargas..."\par

"My father, I presume, has not given you the right to
question my freedom to go and come as I please," she
retorted, still with the same uncompromising hauteur.\par

"No ... but..."\par

"Then I pray you let me pass....  I hear the bells of
St. Pharaïlde ... I shall be late for Benediction...."\par

She swept past him, leaving him not a little bewildered
and completely abashed.  He watched her tall, graceful
figure as she sailed through the portico and thence across
the castle-yard, then he shrugged his shoulders as if to cast
aside any feeling of responsibility which threatened to
worry him, and returned to the guard-room and to his
game of hazard.  It was only then that he recollected that
it lacked another two hours to Benediction yet.\par

In the yard Lenora had more serious misgivings.\par

"There's the guard at the gate-house," she murmured.
"Keep up thy look of unconcern, Grete.  We can only win
if we are bold."\par

As she anticipated the provost at the gate-house
challenged her.\par

"I go to St. Pharaïlde," she said calmly, "my father is
with me.  He hath stopped to speak with Captain de Avila.
Lower the bridge, provost, and let us pass.  We are late
enough for Benediction as it is."\par

The provost hesitated for a moment.\par

"The seigneur capitaine sent me orders just now that no
one was to leave the Kasteel," he said.\par

"Am I under the seigneur capitaine's orders," she
retorted, "or the daughter of señor de Vargas, who will
punish thee, sirrah, for thine insolence?"\par

The provost, much disturbed in his mind, had not the
courage to run counter to the noble lady's wish.  He had
had no orders with regard to her, and as she very rightly
said, she was not under the orders of the seigneur capitaine.\par

He ordered the bridge to be lowered for her, vaguely
intending not to let her pass until he assured himself that
señor de Vargas was nigh: but Lenora gave him no time for
reflection: she waited until the bridge was down, then
suddenly she seized Grete's hand and quick as a young hare
she darted past the provost and the guard before they
thought of laying hands on her, and she was across the
bridge before they had recovered from their surprise.\par

Once on the open ground Lenora drew breath.  The
provost and the guard could not very well run after her, and
for the moment she was safe from pursuit.  On ahead lay
the sharp bend of the Lower Schelde, beyond it the ruined
mass of the Vleeshhuis, and the row of houses, now all
shattered to pieces, where the Orangists held their watch.
Her heart was beating furiously, and she felt Grete's rough
little hand quivering in hers.  She felt such a tiny atom,
a mere speck in this wide open space.  In front of her was
the city, which seemed even in the silence of this Sunday
afternoon to be quivering in the throes of oncoming death:
to right and left of her the great tract of flat country, this
land of Belgium which she had not yet learned to love but
for which she now felt a wonderful pity.\par

It was a rude lesson which she had been made to learn
within the last hour: the lesson that the idols of her
childhood and girlhood had not only feet of clay but that they
were steeped to the neck in the mire of falsehoods and
treachery: she had also learned that the man whom she
had once hated with such passionate bitterness was worthy
of a pure woman's love: that happiness had knocked at the
gateway of her own heart and been refused admittance: and
that God was not wont to give very obvious guidance in
the terrible perplexities which at times beset His creatures.\par

Therefore now she no longer lured herself with the belief
that she was acting at this moment under the direct will of
God, she knew that she was guided by an overmastering and
blind instinct which told her that she must see Mark--at
once--and warn him that the perfidy of the Duke of Alva
had set a deathly trap for him and for his friends.\par

A few more minutes and she and Grete were over the
Ketel Brüghe and under the shadow of the tall houses on
the river embankment beyond.\par

"Take me!" she said to Grete peremptorily, "to the house
of the High-Bailiff of Ghent."\par

\label{the-last-stand}%
\hypertarget{the-last-stand}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XVIII}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE LAST STAND}}
\endgraf}
\par



\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
The word has gone round, we must all assemble in the
cathedral church--every burgher, every artisan, every
apprentice who belongs by blood to Ghent must for the nonce
cast aside pick and shovel: the dead can wait! the living
claim attention.\par

Quite a different crowd from that which knelt at prayer
this morning!  It is just two o'clock and the sacred edifice
is thronged: up in the galleries, the aisles, the chancel, the
organ loft, the pulpit, everywhere there are men--young
and old--men who for two days now have been face to
face with death and who wear on their grim faces the traces
of the past fierce struggle and of the coming cataclysm.
There are no women present.  They have nobly taken on
the task of the men, and the dainty burghers' wives who
used to spend their time at music or needlework, wield the
spade to-day with as much power as their strength allows.\par

Perfect order reigns despite the magnitude of the crowd:
those who found no place inside the building, throng the
cemetery and the precincts.  Behind the high altar the
Orangist standard is unfurled, and in front of the altar rails
stand the men who have fought in the forefront of the
insurgents' ranks, who have led every assault, affronted every
danger, braved musket fire and arrow-shot and burning
buildings and crumbling ruins, the men who have endured
and encouraged and cheered: Mark van Rycke the popular
leader, Laurence his brother, Pierre Deynoot, Lievin van
Deynse, Frédéric van Beveren and Jan van Migrode, who
is seriously wounded but who has risen from his sick bed
and crawled hither in order to add the weight of his
counsel and of his enthusiasm to what he knows van Rycke will
propose.\par

Yes! they are there, all those that are left! and with them
are the older burghers, the civic dignitaries of their city, the
Sheriffs of the Keure, the aldermen, the vroedschappen, the
magistrates, and the High-Bailiff himself--he who is known
to be such a hot adherent of Alva.\par

It is he who has convened this meeting--a general rally
of the citizens of Ghent.  He called them together by roll
of drums and by word of mouth transmitted by volunteer
messengers who have flown all over the town.  This
morning we spent in prayer--to-day is a day of peace--let us
meet and talk things over, for if wisdom waits upon
enthusiasm, all is not lost yet.  The proposal has come from
the High-Bailiff, at the hour of noon when men only
thought of the grim work of burying the dead, and women
wandered through the streets to search for the loved one
who has been missing since yesterday.\par

But at the word of the High-Bailiff the men laid aside
their picks and spades.  If all is not lost, why then there's
something still to do and--the dead must wait.\par

And every man goes to the cathedral church to hear what
the High-Bailiff has to say: the church and precincts are
crowded.  In silence every one listens whilst he speaks.  He
has always been a faithful subject of King Philip, an
obedient servant of the Regent and the Lieutenant-Governor:
his influence and well-known adherence to the King has
saved the city many a time from serious reprisals against
incipient revolt and from many of the horrors of the
Inquisition.  Now, while up there in the Kasteel Alva impatiently
awaits the arrival of fresh troops which will help to crush
the rebellious city, the High-Bailiff pleads for submission.\par

He has faith in the human tiger.\par

"Let us throw ourselves at his feet," he urges, "he is a
brave soldier, a great warrior.  He will respect your
valorous resistance if he sees that in the hour when you have
the advantage over him you are prepared to give in, and
to throw yourselves upon his mercy.  Let us go--we who
are older and wiser--let those who have led this unfortunate
revolt keep out of the way--I will find the right words I
know to melt the heart of our Lieutenant-Governor now
turned in wrath against us--let us go and cry for mercy
and, by God, I believe that we shall get it."\par

Like the waves upon the sea, the crowd in the church
moves and oscillates: murmurs of assent and dissent mingle
from end to end, from side to side: "No!--Yes!--'Twere
shameful!--'Twere wise!--There are the women to think
of!--And the children!--He will not listen!--Why this
purposeless abasement?"\par

Van Rycke and the other leaders make no comment upon
the High-Bailiff's appeal--even though their whole soul
revolts at the thought of this fresh humiliation to be
endured by the burghers of Ghent, once so proud and so
independent!  But they won't speak!  Mark knows that with
one word he can sway the whole of this crowd.  They are
heroes all--every one of these men.  At one word from
him they will cast aside every thought save that of the
renewed fight--the final fight to the death--they are
seething with enthusiasm, their blood is up and prudence and
wisdom have to be drilled into them now that they have
tasted of the martyr's cup.\par

You can hear Father van der Schlicht's voice now.  He
too is for humility and an appeal for mercy on this the
festival day of the Holy Redeemer.  The Lieutenant-Governor
is a pious man and a good Catholic.  The appeal is sure
to please his ears.  Oh! the virtues that adorn the Duke of
Alva in the estimation of his adherents!  He is pious and
he is brave! a good Catholic and a fine soldier! mercy in
him is allied to wisdom! he will easily perceive that to gain
the gratitude of the citizens of Ghent would be more
profitable to him than the destruction of a prosperous city.  See
this truce which he himself suggested: was it not the product
of a merciful and a religious mind?  To pray in peace, to
obey the dictates of the Church, to give the enemy the chance
of burying the dead!--were these not the sentiments of a
good and pious man?\par

Messire Henri de Buck, senior Schepen and Judge of
the High Court, has many tales to tell of the kindness
and generosity of the Duke.  Oh! they are very eloquent,
these wealthy burghers who have so much more to lose by
this revolt than mere honour and mere life!\par

And the others listen!  Oh yes! they listen! need a stone
be left unturned? and since Messire the High-Bailiff hath
belief in his own eloquence, why! let him exercise it of
course.  Not that there is one whit less determination in
any single man in the crowd!  If the High-Bailiff fails in
his mission, they will fight to the last man still, but
... oh! who can shut his heart altogether against hope?  And
there are the women and the children ... and all those
who are old and feeble.\par

God speed to you then, my Lord High-Bailiff--Charles
van Rycke, the pusillanimous father of a gallant son!  God
speed to all of you who go to plead with a tiger to spare
the prey which he already holds between his claws!  The
High-Bailiff will go and with him Father van der Schlicht
and Father Laurent Toch from St. Agneten, and Messire de
Buck and François de Wetteren: all the men who two days
ago were kneeling in the mud at the tyrant's feet, and
presented him so humbly with the gates of the city which he
had sworn to destroy.  There is no cheering as they detach
themselves from the group of the rebel leaders who still
stand somewhat apart, leaving the crowd to have its will.\par

No cheering, it is all done in silence!  Men do not cheer
on the eve of being butchered; they only look on their
standard up above the high altar behind the carved figure of the
Redeemer, and though they have given silent consent for
this deputation to the tyrant they still murmur in their
hearts: "For Orange and Liberty!"\par

Jan van Migrode, weak and ill from his wound, has
had the last word.  He begs that every one should
wait--here--just as they are ... in silence and patience
... until the High-Bailiff and his friends come back with the
news ... good or bad! peace or renewed fighting--life or
death!--whichever it is they must all be together in order
to decide.\par

Just at the last the High-Bailiff turns to his son.\par

"You do not approve of our going, Mark?" he asks with
some diffidence.\par

"I think that it is purposeless," replies Mark; "you
cannot extract blood out of a stone, or mercy out of the
heart of a brute!"\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ II}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
They go, the once proud burghers of the city of Ghent,
they go to throw themselves for the last time at the feet of
that monster of tyranny and cruelty who even at this hour
is gloating over the thought of the most deadly reprisals
he hath ever dealt to these down-trodden people.\par

They go with grave yet hopeful faces, in their dark robes
which are the outward sign of the humility, the loyalty
which dwell in their hearts.  The crowd have wished them
God speed! and as they file out of the stately cathedral and
through the close, the men stand respectfully aside and eye
them with a trustful regard which is infinitely pathetic.
Their leaders have remained beside the altar rails, grouped
together, talking quietly among themselves: Mark van
Rycke, however, goes to mingle with the crowd, to speak
with all those who desire a word with him, with the men
whose heart is sore at the humiliation which they are forced
to swallow, who would sooner have died than see the
dignitaries of their city go once again as suppliants before
that execrable tyrant whom they loathe.\par

"What is thine idea, van Rycke?" most of the men ask
him as they crowd around him, anxious to hear one word of
encouragement or of hope.  "Dost think the tyrant will
relent?"\par

"Not unless we hold him as he holds us--not unless we
have him at our mercy."\par

"Then what can we do? what can we do?"\par

"Do?" he reiterates for the hundredth time to-day, "do?
Fight to the last man, die to the last man, until God, wearied
of the tyrant's obstinacy, will crush him and give us grace."\par

"But we cannot win in the end."\par

"No! but we can die as we have lived, clean, undaunted,
unconquered."\par

"But our wives, our daughters?"\par

"Ask them," he retorts boldly.  "It is not the women
who would lick the tyrant's shoes."\par

The hour drags wearily on.  In imagination every one
inside and around the cathedral follows the burghers on
their weary pilgrimage.  Half an hour to walk to the
Kasteel, half an hour for the audience with the Duke, half an
hour to return ... unforeseen delay in obtaining
admittance ... it may be two hours before they return.  Great
many of the men have returned to the gloomy task of burying
the dead, others to that of clearing the streets from the
litter which encumbers them: but even those who work
the hardest keep their attention fixed upon the cathedral
and its approach.\par

Van Rycke had suggested that the great bell be rung when
the burghers came back with the Duke's answer, so that all
who wished could come and hear.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ III}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
And now the answer has come.\par

The High-Bailiff has returned with Fathers van der
Schlicht and Laurent Toch, with Aldermen de Buck and
de Wetteren and with the others.  They have walked back
from the Kasteel bareheaded and shoeless with their hands
tied behind their back, and a rope around their neck.\par

That was the Duke of Alva's answer to the deputation
of Flemish patricians and burghers who had presented
themselves before him in order to sue for his mercy.  They had
not even been admitted into his presence.  The provost at
the gate-house had curtly demanded their business, had
then taken their message to the Duke, and returned five
minutes later with orders to "send back the beggars whence
they came, bareheaded and shoeless and with a rope around
their necks in token of the only mercy which they might
expect from him!"\par

The bridge had been lowered for them when they arrived,
but they were kept parleying with a provost at the
gate-house: not a single officer--even of lower rank--deigned
to come out to speak with them; the yard was filled with
soldiers who insulted and jeered at them: the High-Bailiff
was hit on the cheek by a stone which had been aimed at
him, and Father Laurent Toch's soutane was almost torn off
his back.  Every one of them had suffered violence at the
hands of the soldiery whilst the Duke's abominable orders
were being carried out with appalling brutality: every one
of them was bleeding from a cut or a blow dealt by that
infamous crowd who were not ashamed thus to maltreat
defenceless and elderly men.\par

When they crossed the open tract of country between
the castle moat and the Schelde a shower of caked mud was
hurled after them from the ramparts; not a single insult
was spared them, not a sting to their pride, not a crown to
their humiliation.  It was only when they reached the shelter
of the streets that they found some peace.  In silence they
made their way toward the cathedral.  The crowds of men
and women at work amongst the dead and the wounded
made way for them to allow them to pass, but no one
questioned them: the abject condition in which they returned
told its own pitiable tale.\par

The cathedral bell had tolled, and from everywhere the
men came back to hear the full account of the miserable
mission.  The crowd was dense and not every one had a
view of the burghers as they stood beside the altar rail in all
their humiliation, but those who were nearest told their
neighbours and soon every one knew what had happened.\par

The younger leaders ground their heels into the floor,
and Jan van Migrode, sick and weak as he was, was the
first to stand up and to ask the citizens of Ghent if the
events of to-day had shaken them in their resolve.\par

"You know now what to expect from that fiend.  Will
you still die like heroes, or be slaughtered like cattle?" he
called out loudly ere he fell back exhausted and faint.\par

Horror had kept every one dumb until then, and grim
resolve did not break into loud enthusiasm now, but on the
fringe of the crowd there were a number of young men--artisans
and apprentices--who at first sight of the returned
messengers had loudly murmured and cursed.  Now one of
them lifted up his voice.  It raised strange echoes in the
mutilated church.\par

"We are ready enough to die," he said, "and we'll fight
to the end, never fear.  But before the last of us is killed,
before that execrable tyrant has his triumph over us, lads of
Ghent, I ask you are we not to have our revenge?"\par

"Yes! yes!" came from a number of voices, still from
the fringe of the crowd where the young artisans were
massed together, "well spoken, Peter Balde! let us have
revenge first!"\par

"Revenge!  Revenge!" echoed from those same ranks.\par

Every word echoed from pillar to pillar in the great,
bare, crowded church; and now it was from the altar rails
that Mark van Rycke's voice rang out clear and firm:\par

"What revenge dost propose to take, Peter Balde?" he asked.\par

The other, thus directly challenged by the man whose
influence was paramount in Ghent just now, looked round
at his friends for approval.  Seeing nothing but eager,
flushed faces and eyes that glowed in response to his
suggestion, the pride of leadership entered his soul.  He was a
fine, tall lad who yesterday had done prodigies of valour
against the Spanish cavalry.  Now he had been gesticulating
with both arms above his head so that he was easily
distinguishable in the crowd by those who had a clear view, and
in order to emphasize his spokesmanship his friends hoisted
him upon their shoulders and bearing him aloft they forged
their way through the throng until they reached the centre
of the main aisle.  Here they paused, and Peter Balde could
sweep the entire crowd with his enthusiastic glance.\par

"What I revenge would take?" he said boldly.  "Nay! let
me rather ask: what revenge must we take, citizens
of Ghent?  The tyrant even now has abused the most
sacred laws of humanity which bid every man to
respect the messengers of peace.  He is disloyal and ignoble
and false.  Why should we be honourable and just?  He
neither appreciates our loyalty nor respects our valour--let
us then act in the only way which he can understand.
Citizens, we have two thousand prisoners in the cellars of our
guildhouses---two thousand Walloons who under the banner
of our common tyrant have fought against us ... their
nearest kindred.  I propose that we kill those two thousand
prisoners and send their heads to the tyrant as a direct
answer to this last outrage."\par

"Yes! yes!  Well said!" came from every side, from
the younger artisans and the apprentices, the hot-headed
faction amongst all these brave men--brave themselves but
writhing under the terrible humiliation which they had just
endured and thirsting for anything that savoured of revenge.\par

"Yes! yes! the axe for them! send their heads to the
tyrant!  Well spoken, Peter Balde," they cried.\par

The others remained silent.  Many even amongst the
older men perhaps would have echoed the younger ones'
call: cruelty breeds cruelty and oppression breeds callous
thoughts of revenge.  Individually there was hardly a man
there who was capable of such an act of atrocious barbarism
as the murder of a defenceless prisoner, but for years now
these people had groaned under such abominable tyranny,
had seen such acts of wanton outrage perpetrated against
them and all those they held dear, that--collectively--their
sense of rightful retribution had been warped and they had
imbibed some of the lessons of reprisals from their
execrable masters.\par

At the foot of the altar rails the group of leaders who
stood as a phalanx around Mark van Rycke their chief,
waited quietly whilst the wave of enthusiasm for Balde's
proposal rose and swelled and mounted higher and higher
until it seemed to pervade the whole of the sacred edifice,
and then gradually subsided into more restrained if not less
enthusiastic determination.\par

"We will do it," said one of Balde's most fervent adherents.
"It is only justice, and it is the only law which the
tyrant understands--the law of might."\par

"It is the law which he himself has taught us," said
another, "the law of retributive justice."\par

"The law of treachery, of rapine, and of outrage," now
broke in Mark's firm, clear voice once more; it rose above
the tumult, above the hubbub which centred round the
person of Peter Balde; it rang against the pillars and echoed
from end to end of the aisle.  "Are we miserable rabble
that we even dream of murder?"\par

"Not of murder," cried Balde in challenge, "only of
vengeance!"\par

"Your vengeance!" thundered Mark, "do you dare speak
of it in the house of Him who says 'I will repay!'"\par

"God is on our side, He will forgive!" cried some of
them.\par

"Everything, except outrage! ... what you propose is
a deed worthy only of hell!"\par

"No! no!  Balde is right!  Magnanimity has had its day!
But for this truce to-day who knows? we might have been
masters of the Kasteel!"\par

"Will the murdering of helpless prisoners aid your cause,
then?"\par

"It will at least satisfy our craving for revenge!"\par

"Right, right, Balde!" they all exclaimed, "do not heed
what van Rycke says."\par

"We will fight to-morrow!"\par

"Die to-morrow!" they cried.\par

"And blacken your souls to-day!" retorted Mark.\par

The tumult grew more wild.  Dissension had begun to
sow its ugly seed among these men whom a common danger,
united heroism, and courage had knit so closely together.
The grim, silent, majestic determination of a while ago was
giving place slowly to rabid, frenzied calls of hatred, to ugly
oaths, glowing eyes and faces heated with passion.  The
presence of the dozen elderly patricians and burghers still
bare-headed and shoeless, still with the rope around their
necks, helped to fan up the passions which their misfortunes
had aroused.  For the moment, however, the hot-headed
malcontents were still greatly in the minority, but the danger
of dissent, of mutiny was there, and the set expression on
the faces of the leaders, the stern look in Mark van Rycke's
eyes testified that they were conscious of its presence.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ IV}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Then it was that right through this tumult which had
spread from the building itself to the precincts and even
beyond, a woman's cry rang out with appalling clearness.  It
was not a cry of terror, rather one of command, but so
piercing was it that for the moment every other cry was
stilled: Peter Balde's adherents were silenced, and suddenly
over this vast assembly, wherein but a few seconds ago
passions ran riot, there fell a hush--a tension of every nerve,
a momentary lull of every heart-beat as with the prescience
of something momentous to which that woman's cry was
only the presage.\par

And in the midst of that sudden hush the cry was heard
again--more clearly this time and closer to the cathedral
porch, so that the words came quite distinctly:\par

"Let me get to him ... take me to your leader ... I
must speak with him at once!"\par

And like distant thunder, the clamour rose again: men
and women shouted and called; the words: "Spaniard!" and
"Spy!" were easily distinguishable: the crowd could be
seen to sway, to be moving like a huge wave, all in one
direction toward the porch: hundreds of faces showed plainly
in the dull grey light as necks were craned to catch a glimpse
of the woman who had screamed.\par

But evidently with but rare exceptions the crowd was
not hostile: those who had cried out the word "Spy!" were
obviously in the minority.  With death looming so near,
with deadly danger to every woman in the city within sight,
every instinct of chivalry toward the weak was at its
greatest height.  Those inside the cathedral could see that the
crowd was parting in order to let two women move along,
and that the men in the forefront elbowed a way for them
so that they should not be hindered on their way.  It was
the taller of the two women who had uttered the piteous
yet commanding appeal: "Let me go to him!--take me to
your leader!--I must speak with him!"\par

She reiterated that appeal now--at the south porch to
which she had been literally carried by the crowd outside:
and here suddenly three stalwart men belonging to one of
the city guilds took, as it were, possession of her and her
companion and with vigorous play of elbows and of staves
forged a way for them both right up to the altar rails.  Even
whilst in the west end of the church the enthusiastic tumult
around Peter Balde which this fresh incident had momentarily
stilled, arose with renewed vigour, and the young
artisans and apprentices once more took up their cry:
"Revenge!  Death to all the prisoners!" the woman, who was
wrapped up in a long black mantle and hood, fell--panting,
exhausted, breathless--almost at Mark van Rycke's feet and
murmured hoarsely:\par

"Five thousand troops are on their way to Ghent ... they
will be here within two hours ... save yourselves if
you can."\par

Her voice hardly rose above a whisper.  Mark alone
heard every word she said; he stooped and placing two
fingers under her chin, with a quick and firm gesture he lifted
up the woman's head, so that her hood fell back and the
light from the east window struck full upon her face and
her golden hair.\par

"I come straight from the Kasteel," she said, more clearly
now, for she was gradually recovering her breath, "let your
friends kill me if they will ... the Duke of Alva swore a
false oath ... a messenger left even last night for Dendermonde...."\par

"How do you know this?" queried Mark quietly.\par

"Grete and I heard the Duke speak of it all with my
father just now," she replied.  "He asked for the truce
in order to gain time....  He hopes that the troops from
Dendermonde will be here before nightfall ... the guards
at the gate-houses are under arms, and three thousand men
are inside the Kasteel ready to rush out the moment the
troops are in sight."\par

It was impossible to doubt her story.  Those who stood
nearest to her passed it on to their neighbours, and the
news travelled like wild-fire from end to end of the church:
"They are on us!  Five thousand Spaniards from Dendermonde
to annihilate us all!"\par

"God have mercy on our souls!"\par

"God have mercy on our women and children!"\par

Panic seized a great many there; they pushed and scrambled
out of the building, running blindly like sheep, and
spread the terrible news through the streets, calling loudly
to God to save them all: the panic very naturally spread to
the women and children who thronged the streets at this
hour, and to the silent workers who had quietly continued
their work of burial.  Soon all the market squares were
filled with shrieking men, women and children who ran
about aimlessly with wild gestures and cries of lamentation.
Those who had kept indoors all to-day--either fearing the
crowds or piously preparing for death--came rushing out
to see what new calamity was threatening them, or whether
the supreme hour had indeed struck for them all.\par

Inside the cathedral the cries of revenge were stilled;
dulled was the lust to kill.  The immense danger which
had been forgotten for a moment in that frantic thirst for
revenge made its deathly presence felt once more.  Pallid
faces and wide-open, terror-filled eyes were turned toward
the one man whose personality seemed still to radiate the
one great ray of hope.\par

But just for a moment Mark van Rycke seemed quite
oblivious of that wave of sighs and fears which tended
toward him now and swept all thought of mutiny away.\par

He was supporting Lenora who was gradually regaining
strength and consciousness: just for a few seconds he
allowed tumult and terror to seethe unheeded around him:
just for those few seconds he forgot death and danger, his
friends, the world, everything save that Lenora had come
to him at the hour when his heart yearned for her more
passionately than ever before, and that she was looking up
into his face with eyes that told so plainly the whole extent
of her love for him.\par

Only a few seconds, then he handed her over to the
gentle care of Father van der Schlicht, but as with infinite
gentleness he finally released himself from her clinging arms
he murmured in her ear: "God reward you, Madonna!
With your love as my shield, I feel that I could conquer the
universe."\par

Then he faced the terror-stricken crowd once more.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ V}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
"Burghers and artisans of Ghent," he called loudly, "we
have two hours before us.  The perjured tyrant is bringing
five thousand fresh troops against us.  If by nightfall
we have not conquered, our city is doomed and all of us who
have survived, and all our women and children will be
slaughtered like sheep."\par

"To arms!" cried the leaders: Jan van Migrode and
Lievin van Deynse, Pierre Deynoot and the others.\par

"To arms!" was echoed by a goodly number of the crowd.\par

But a great many were silent--despair had gripped them
with its icy talon--the hopelessness of it all had damped
their enthusiasm.\par

"Five thousand fresh troops," they murmured, "and there
are less than four thousand of us all told."\par

"We cannot conquer," came from Peter Balde's friends
at the west end of the church, "let us at least take our revenge!"\par

"Yes!  Revenge!  Death to the Walloons!" they cried.\par

"Revenge! yes!" exclaimed Mark van Rycke.  "Let us
be revenged on the liar, the tyrant, the perjurer, let us
show him no mercy and extort from him by brute force
that which he has refused us all these years--civil and
religious freedom."\par

"Van Rycke, thou art raving!" broke in the men who
stood nearest to him--some of them his most ardent
supporters.  "Alva by nightfall will have three times the
numbers we have.  The gates will be opened to his fresh troops."\par

"We must seize the Kasteel and the gates before then!"
he retorted.\par

"How can we?  We made several assaults yesterday.
We have not enough men."\par

"We have half an hour wherein to increase their numbers."\par

"Thou art raving," they cried.\par

"Not one able-bodied man but was fighting yesterday--not
half their number knew how to handle pike or lance,
musket or crossbow."\par

"Then we must find two thousand men who are trained
soldiers and know all that there is to know about fighting.
That would make it a two to one fight.  Burghers of Ghent,
which one of you cannot account for two Spaniards when
the lives of your women and your children depend on the
strength of your arm?"\par

"Two thousand men?"  The cry came from everywhere--cry
of doubt, of hope, of irony or of defiance.\par

"How are we to get them?  Where can we get them from?"\par

"Come with me and I'll show you!" retorts Mark and
he immediately makes for the door.\par

The other leaders stick close to him as one man, as do
all those who have been standing near the altar rails and
those who saw him even when first he turned to them all,
with eyes glowing with the fire of the most ardent
patriotism, with the determination to die if need be, but by
God! to try and conquer first!\par

It was only those who were in the rear of the crowd or
in the side aisles who did not come immediately under the
spell of that magnetic personality, of that burning
enthusiasm which from its lexicon had erased the word
"Failure!" but even they were carried off their feet by the human
wave which now swept out of the cathedral--by the south
door--bearing upon it the group of rebel leaders with
Mark's broad shoulders and closely cropped head towering
above the others.\par

The throng was soon swelled to huge proportions by all
those who had been hanging about in the precincts all the
afternoon unable to push their way into the crowded edifice.
The tumult and the clamour which they made--added to the
cries of those who were running in terror through the
streets--made a pandemonium of sounds which was almost hellish
in its awful suggestion of terror, of confusion and of
misery.\par

But those who still believed in the help of God, those
in whom faith in the justice of their cause was allied with
the sublime determination of martyrs were content to follow
their hero blindly--vaguely marvelling what his purpose
could be--whilst the malcontents in the rear, rallying round
Peter Balde once more began to murmur of death and of
revenge!\par

Mark led the crowd across the wide cathedral square
to the guild-house of the armourers--the fine building with
the tall, crow-step gables and the magnificent carved portico
to which a double flight of fifteen stone steps and wrought-iron
balustrade gave access.  He ran up the steps and stood
with his back to the portico fronting the crowd.  Every
one could see him now, from the remotest corners of the
square--many had invaded the houses round, and heads
appeared at all the windows.\par

"Burghers of Ghent," he called aloud, "we have to
conquer or we must die.  There are less than four thousand
of us at this moment fit to bear arms against Alva's hordes
which still number seven.  Five thousand more of them
are on their way to complete the destruction of our city, to
murder our wives and our children, and to desecrate our
homes.  We want two thousand well-trained soldiers to
oppose them and inflict on the tyrant such a defeat as will
force him to grant us all that we fight for: Liberty!"\par

"How wilt do that, friend of the leather mask?" queried
some of the men ironically.\par

"How wilt find two thousand well-trained soldiers?"\par

"Follow me, and I will show you."\par

He turned and went into the building, the whole crowd
following him as one man.  The huge vaulted hall of the
guild-house was filled in every corner with Walloon
prisoners--the fruit of the first day's victory.  They were lying
or sitting about the floor, some of them playing hazard with
scraps of leather cut from their belts; others watched them,
or merely stared straight in front of them, with a sullen look
of hopelessness: they were the ones who had wives and
children at home, or merely who had served some time
under Alva's banner and had learned from him how
prisoners should be treated.  When the leaders of the
insurrection with Mark van Rycke at their head made irruption
into the hall followed by a tumultuous throng, the Walloons,
as if moved by a blind instinct, threw aside their games and
all retreated to the furthest end of the hall, like a phalanx
of frightened men who have not even the power to sell their
lives.  Many of those who had rushed in, in Mark's wake,
were the malcontents whose temper Peter Balde's
hot-headed words had inflamed.  Awed by the presence of their
leaders they still held themselves in check, but the
Walloons, from their place of retreat, crowded together and
terrified, saw many a glowing face, distorted by the passion
to kill, many an eye fixed upon them with glowering hatred
and an obvious longing for revenge.\par

Then Mark called out:\par

"Now then, friends: in two hours' time the tyrant will
have twelve thousand troops massed against us.  We have
two thousand well-trained soldiers within our guild-houses
who are idle at this moment.  Here are five hundred of
them--the others are close by! with their help we can crush the
tyrant--fight him till we conquer, and treat him as he would
have treated us.  Here is your revenge for his insults!  Get
your brothers to forswear their allegiance and to fight by
your side!"\par

A gasp went right through the hall which now was packed
closely with men--the five hundred Walloon prisoners
huddled together at one end, and some four thousand men of
Ghent filling every corner of the vast arcaded hall.  In the
very midst of them all Mark van Rycke hoisted up on the
shoulders of his friends--with gleaming eyes and quivering
voice--awaited their reply.\par

The malcontents were the first to make their voices heard:\par

"These traitors," they shouted, "the paid mercenaries of
Alva!  Art crazy, van Rycke?"\par

"The Spanish woman hath cajoled thee!" some of them
exclaimed with a curse.\par

"Or offered thee a bribe from the tyrant," cried others.\par

"We'll hang thee along with the prisoners if thou darest
to turn against us," added Peter Balde spitefully.\par

"Hang me then, friends, an ye list," he said with a loud
laugh, "but let me speak while ye get the gallows ready.
Walloons," he added, turning to the prisoners who were
regarding him with utter bewilderment, in which past terror
still held sway, "ye are our kith and kin.  Together we
have groaned under the most execrable tyrant the world
has even known.  To-day I offer you the power to strike
one blow at the tyrant--a blow from which he will never
recover--a blow which will help you to win that which
every Netherlander craves for: Liberty!  Will ye help us
to strike that blow and cover yourselves with glory?"\par

"Aye! aye!" came from the Walloons with one
stupendous cry of hope and of relief.\par

"Will you fight with us?"\par

"Yes!"\par

"Die with us?"\par

"Yes!"\par

"For the freedom of the Netherlands?"\par

"For Liberty!" they cried.\par

But all the while murmurings were going on among the
Flemings.  Their hatred of the Walloons who had borne
arms against their own native land and for its subjugation
under the heel of an alien master was greater almost than
their hatred against the Spaniards.\par

"The Walloons?  Horror!" they shouted, even whilst
Mark was infusing some of his own ardent enthusiasm into
the veins of those five hundred prisoners.  "Shame on
thee, van Rycke!" whilst one man who has remained
nameless to history cried out loudly: "Traitor!"\par

"Aye! traitor thou!" retorted van Rycke, "who wouldst
prefer the lust of killing to that of victory!"\par

"Burghers of Ghent," he continued, "in the name of our
sacred Motherland, I entreat you release these men; let me
have them as soldiers under our banner ... let me have
them as brothers to fight by our side ... you would shed
their blood and steep your souls in crime, let them shed
theirs for Liberty, and cover themselves with glory!"\par

"Yes! yes!" came from the leaders and from the phalanx
of fighting men who stood closest to their hero.\par

"Yes! yes! release them!  Let them fight for us!"\par

The call was taken back and echoed and re-echoed until
the high-vaulted roof rang with the enthusiastic shouts.\par

"Walloons, will you fight with us?" they asked.\par

"To the death!" replied the prisoners.\par

"One country, one people, one kindred," rejoined Mark
with solemn earnestness, "henceforth there will be neither
Flemings nor Walloons, just Netherlanders standing
shoulder to shoulder to crush the tyrant of us all!"\par

"Netherlanders!  Orange and Liberty!" cried Walloons
and Flemings in unison.\par

"Give them back their own arms, provosts," commanded
Mark, "our untrained men have not known how to use them!
and follow me, friends!  We have not gathered our
reinforcements together yet.  In half an hour we shall have
two thousand brothers under our flag!"\par

"Long live Leatherface!  To arms, brothers!" were the
last shouts which rang through the hall, ere Mark van Rycke
led his followers away to the nearest guild-house and then
to the next, where two thousand Walloon prisoners were by
the magic of his patriotism and his enthusiasm transformed
into two thousand friends.\par


\vs{3}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ VI}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Once more the roar of artillery and of musketry fills the
air.  It is long before the evening Angelus has begun to ring,
but from far away the news has come to every captain at the
city gates that reinforcements are on the way from
Dendermonde.  No one can respect a truce which hid the blackest
perfidy ever perpetrated by a tyrannical master against a
brave people.  As soon as the news has filtrated into the
heart of the city the Orangists rush to their arms, reinforced
by two thousand trained troops; their battle cry becomes
triumphant.\par

"Netherlands!  Orange! and Liberty!" resounds defiantly
from end to end of the city.\par

The besieging force rush the Kasteel! they sow the open
tract of ground around the moat with their heroic dead;
again and again they rush for the breach: culverins and
falconets upon the ramparts are useless after a while: and
a shower of heavy stones falls upon the plucky assailants.
There are five hundred Walloon bowmen now who know
how to shoot straight, and some musketeers who vie with
the Spaniards for precision.  They cover the advance of the
halberdiers and the pikemen, who return to the charge with
the enthusiasm born of renewed hope.\par

The Brügge gate has fallen, the Waalpoort is in the
insurgents' hands: Captain Serbelloni at the Braepoort is
hard pressed, and up in the Meeste Toren of the Kasteel
Alva paces up and down like a caged tiger.\par

"Bracamonte or nightfall!" he cries with desperate rage,
for he cannot understand why the Dendermonde troops are
detained.\par

"Surely that rabble has not seized all the gates!"
Twice he has ordered a sortie! twice the moat has
received a fresh shower of dead.  The breach has become
wider: the Orangist halberdiers are fighting foot by foot
up the walls.  They have succeeded in throwing their bridge
made of pikes and lances across the moat, and soon they
are crossing in their hundreds.\par

"Heavens above, how come they to be so numerous?"\par

Captain de Avila has been severely wounded: three
younger captains have been killed.  The Orangist falconets--a
light piece of artillery and not easy to use--works
incessantly upon the breach.  Alva himself is everywhere.
His doublet and hose are torn, too, his breast-plate and
tassets are riddled with arrow-shot; he bleeds profusely
from the hand.  His face is unrecognisable beneath a
covering of smoke and grime.  Rage and fear have made him
hideous--not fear of personal danger, for to this he is
wholly indifferent, but fear of defeat, of humiliation, of the
heavy reprisals which that contemptible rabble will exact.\par

He insults his soldiers and threatens them in turn; he
snatches musket or crossbow, directs, leads, commands
... and sees his wildest hopes shattered one by one.\par

The din and confusion from the city itself is hardly heard
above the awful pandemonium which reigns in and around
the besieged Kasteel.  The Vleeshhuis on the Schelde is a
mass of flames; the roof suddenly falls in with a terrific
crash which seems to shake the very earth to its depths:
there is not a single window left in the Meeste-Toren, and
the rooms, as well as the yard below, are littered with broken
glass.\par

"We have no more balls left, Magnificence," reports the
captain in charge of the artillery.  "What must we do?"\par

"Do?" cries the Duke of Alva fiercely.  "Throw yourselves
into the moat or get the musketeers to turn their
muskets against you; for of a certainty you will be
massacred within the hour."\par

Inside the city it is hell let loose.  Fighting--hand to
hand, pike to pike--goes on in every street, on every bridge,
under every doorway, aye! even beneath the cathedral
porch.  The doors of the houses have all been broken open
and men who are wounded and exhausted crawl under them
for shelter and safety.  The women and children had all
been ordered to go inside their own homes before the first
battle cry of the Orangists rang out; a goodly number of
them, however, took refuge in the churches, and there were
defended by companies of Walloons posted at the doors.\par

The bridges are fought for inch by inch; when at last
they fell into the hands of the Orangists they are
destroyed one by one.\par

Hell let loose indeed!  Desperate men fighting for
freedom against a tyrant who has never known defeat.  The
evening Angelus was never rung on that Lord's Day--the
feast of the Holy Redeemer--but at the hour when day first
fades into evening Mark van Rycke--superb, undaunted
and glowing now with the ardour of victory--leads the
final assault on the Kasteel.\par

"Netherlanders!  For Liberty!" he cries.\par

A stone has hit his shoulder, there is a huge cut across
his face, the sleeve has been torn right out of his doublet,
his bare arm and the hand which wields an unconquered
sword gleam like metal in the fast gathering twilight.\par

"To the breach!" he calls, and is the first to scramble
down the declivity of the moat and on to the heap of
masonry which fills the moat here to the top of the bank.\par

An arrow aimed at his head pierces his right arm, a stone
hurled from above falls at his feet and raises a cloud of dust
which blinds him, a heavy fragment hits him on the head;
he stumbles and falls backwards, down to the brink of the
moat.\par

"Never mind me," he calls, "for Liberty, Netherlanders!
The Kasteel is yours! hold on!"\par

He has managed to hold on for dear life to the rough
stones on the declivity, crawling along the top of the bank
to escape being trampled on by the pikemen.  The latter
have a hot time at the breach: the Spanish musketeers,
under the Duke of Alva's own eyes, are firing with
remarkable accuracy and extraordinary rapidity, whilst from the
ramparts the shower of heavy stones makes deadly havoc:
twice the Walloons have given ground--they are led by
Laurence van Rycke now--who twice returns to the charge.\par

Mark struggles to his feet: "Hold on, Walloons! the
Kasteel is ours," he cries.\par

And while the Walloons continue the desperate fighting
at the breach, he gathers together a company of Flemish
swordsmen, the pick of his little army, those who have
stuck closely to him throughout the past two days, who have
fought every minute, who have been decimated, lost their
provosts and their captains, but have never once cried
"Halt!" and never thought of giving in.\par

A hundred or so of them are all that is left: they carry
their sword in their right hand and a pistol in their left.
They follow Mark round the walls to where the moat
melts into the wide tract of morass which surrounds the
north-east side of the Kasteel.\par

The shadow from the high walls falls across the marshy
ground, the men move round silently whilst behind them at
the breach and on the bridge the noise of musketry and
falling masonry drowns every other sound.\par

Now the men halt, and still in silence they strip to
their skins; then with their pistols in their right hand
and their sword between their teeth they plunge ankle deep
into the mud.  They are men of Ghent every one of them--men
of the Low Countries who know their morasses as mariners
know the sea: they know how to keep their foothold
in these slimy tracks, where strangers would inevitably
be sucked into a hideous grave.\par

They make their way to the foot of the wall, they move
like ghosts now, and are well-nigh waist deep in the mud.
Night closes in rapidly round them: behind them the sky is
suffused with the crimson reflection of an autumnal
sunset.  Their arms, chests and backs are shiny with sweat,
their hot breath comes and goes rapidly with excitement
and the scent of danger which hovers behind them in that
yawning morass and ahead of them on the parapet of those
walls.\par

"Victory waits for you, my men," says Mark in a
commanding voice, "up on yonder wall.  Whoever is for
Orange and for Liberty, follow me!"\par

Then he starts to climb, and one by one the men follow.
What atoms they look up on those high walls, crawling,
creeping, scrambling, with hands and knees and feet
clinging to the unevenness in the masonry, or scraps of coarse
grass that give them foothold: like ants crawling up a
heap--on they go--their bare backs reflect the crimson glow of
the sun.  Mark, their hero, leads the way, his torn arm and
lacerated shoulder leave a trail of blood upon the stones.\par

At the breach the Walloons must be hard pressed, for
cries of triumph follow each volley from the Spanish musketry.\par

"On, on, Netherlanders! for Orange and Liberty!"\par

Now Mark has reached the top: his arm is over the
parapet, then his knee.  The look-out man has seen him: he
shoulders his musket to give the alarm, but before he can
fire Mark is on him, and three more Flemings now have
scrambled over the wall.  This portion of the Kasteel is
never seriously guarded: the morass is thought to be
impassable, and forms the only guard on the northeast wall;
but these men of Ghent have conquered the morass and they
are on the walls, and have overpowered the look-out men ere
these have had time to scream.\par

Naked, sweating, bleeding at hands and knees, they look
like wraiths from some inferno down below.  They rush
down helter-skelter into the castle yard.  The Spanish
musketeers caught in their rear whence they never expected
attack, down their weapons and run with a mad {\itshape{Sauve qui peut}}
to the shelter of the Meeste-Toren.  The Walloons--not
understanding what has happened--see the Spaniards
running and seize the lucky moment.  Laurence van Rycke
leads them through the breach, and they rush into the yard
with pikes and halberds fixed and fill it suddenly with their
cry of triumph: then they fight their way round to the
gatehouse and lower the bridge, and the Flemings in their
turn come pouring into the Kasteel.\par

Within ten minutes every Spaniard inside the Kasteel
has laid down his arms: the stronghold is in the hands of
the Orangists, and Mark van Rycke up on the iron balcony
outside the Duke of Alva's council chamber, surrounded by
his naked stalwarts, demands the surrender of the
Lieutenant-Governor of the Netherlands in the name of Orange and
of Liberty.\par

Then without a sigh or a groan he throws up his arms,
and those who are nearest to him are only just in time to
catch him ere he falls.\par

\label{the-hour-of-victory}%
\hypertarget{the-hour-of-victory}{}%
{}

\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{CHAPTER XIX}}
\endgraf}
\par

{\centering
{\normalsize{ THE HOUR OF VICTORY}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\normalsize{ I}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
To the women and children shut up in the different churches
and in the houses throughout the city, during those terrible
hours whilst their husbands, brothers, sons were making
their last desperate stand, it was indeed hell let loose; for
while the men were doing, they could only wait and pray.
It was impossible for them even to wander out to try and
help the wounded or to seek amongst the dead for the one
dear face, the mirror of all joy and happiness.  They all sat
or knelt huddled up together, their children closely held in
their arms, murmuring those vague words of comfort, of
surmise, of hope and of fear which come mechanically to
the lips when every sense is lulled into a kind of torpor with
the terrible imminence of the danger and the overwhelming
power of grief.\par

The danger in the houses was greater than in the
churches, for everywhere the horrible concussion of
artillery and the crash of falling masonry broke the windows
and shook the floors.  But many women have that same
instinct which causes the beasts of the forests to hide within
their lair; they feel that they would rather see their home
fall in about their heads, than watch its destruction from a
safer distance.  Clémence van Rycke refused to leave her
house when first Laurence received Lenora's warning of the
impending catastrophe; she refused to leave it now when
her sons were face to face with death and any moment a
stray cannon ball might bring the walls down with a crash.\par

She sat in the high-backed chair in the small withdrawing-room
where, less than a week ago, the first card was
played in that desperate game for human lives which was
finding its climax at this hour; she sat quite still--staring
into the empty hearth with that stolidity peculiar to these
women of the North--and which is only another, calmer,
form of courage.  The High-Bailiff, sullen and silent, sat
close to the table with his head buried in his hands.  Since
his return from his humiliating errand this afternoon he
had not spoken a word to anyone--he believed that the
Orangist cause was doomed, and both his sons certain of
death.  What happened to him after that he really did not
care.\par

Pierre and Jeanne sat in the hall together, quietly telling
their beads.  The din outside was deafening, and the
evening hour was slowly creeping on--day yielded to twilight;
a brilliant sunset lit up for a while the desolation of an
entire city, then sank into a blood-hued horizon, adding its
own lurid light to the crimson glow of burning buildings.\par

And as the veils of night fell more heavily over the
city, gradually the dismal sounds of cannon and musketry
were stilled.  Pierre came in after a while carrying a lamp.\par

"Firing has ceased," he said, "men are running down
the streets shouting that the Kasteel is in our hands and
that the Duke of Alva has surrendered to Leatherface!"\par

He put the lamp down and prepared to go, for Clémence
and the High-Bailiff have made no comment on the joyful
news--perhaps it has failed to reach their dulled senses,
perhaps they do not believe it.  At any rate, what is
victory to them if two brave sons have fallen for its sake?\par

But already the cries through the streets become more
insistent and more sure; men and women run hither and
thither up and down the Nieuwe Straat, and as Pierre
stands by the open door, peering curiously out into the
gloom, people shout to him as they rush by:\par

"Van Rycke has seized the Kasteel!  The Duke of Alva
is a prisoner in our hands."\par

Clémence hears the cries.  She can no longer doubt her
ears.  "Mark?  Laurence?" she calls out.  "Where are they?"\par

The High-Bailiff rouses himself from his apathy.  "I will
go to the Town House," he says, "and will be back with
news."\par

"News of Mark--and of Laurence," cries the mother.\par

The High-Bailiff goes, and she remains alone in the
narrow room, with just the feeble light of the lamp upon
her pale face and trembling hands.  Now and then still,
right through the night, a terrific crash shakes the house
to its foundations, or a sudden lurid light flares upwards
to the sky--roofs are still falling in, crumbling ruins still
burst into flames, but firing and clash of steel have ceased,
and from the various churches the peals of bells send their
triumphant call through the night.\par

The hours go by.  It is nigh on ten o'clock now.  The
High-Bailiff has not yet returned, but Laurence has just
come back--wounded and exhausted but full of the glorious
victory.\par

"Where is Mark?" queries the mother.\par

"Mark is hurt ... but he will be here anon," says the
boy, "the men have made a stretcher for him--he would
not be tended at the Kasteel--he begged to be brought
home--oh! mother dear, how we must love him after this!"\par

Clémence hastily gives orders that Messire Mark's room
be made ready for him at once.  Jeanne, buxom and
capable, is rendered supremely happy by this task.\par

"Mother dear," whispers Laurence, "next to Mark
himself, we all owe our salvation to Lenora."\par

He has no time to say more, even though Clémence's face
has hardened at mention of that name which she abhors;
for Pierre has just come running in breathless and
trembling with excitement.\par

"Mevrouw," he stammers, "it is the noble lady ... the
Spanish lady ... it is..."\par

Before Laurence could further question him, he has
uttered a cry of surprise, which is echoed by one of horror
from Clémence.  Lenora was standing under the lintel of
the door.  Clémence rose from her chair as if moved by a
spring and stood up, rigid, and with arm raised, pointing
straight to the door:\par

"Go!" she commanded sternly.\par

But Lenora advanced slowly into the room.  She was
whiter than the ruff at her throat, her black mantle hung
round her in heavy folds, but the hood had fallen back
from her head, and her golden hair with the yellow light
of the lamp falling full upon it looked like a gleaming
aureole which made her eyes appear wonderfully dark by
contrast and her beauty more ethereal than it had been
before.  Laurence gazed on her in speechless wonder, but
Clémence, full of hatred for the woman whom she believed
to be the author of all the misery of the past few days, still
pointed to the door, and sternly, relentlessly, in a voice
which quivered with the passion of intense hatred, she
reiterated her command:\par

"Go!"\par

"They are bringing Mark home," said Lenora quietly;
"he is wounded ... perhaps to death ... I could not get
to hear ... but when he opens his eyes he will ask for me.
I cannot go unless he sends me away."\par

"They are bringing Mark home," assented the mother,
"and 'tis I who will tend him.  Never shall thy treacherous
hand touch my son..."\par

"Mother," broke in Laurence firmly, "she is Mark's wife
and she has saved us all."\par

Clémence gave a loud sob and fell back in her chair.
Laurence tried in vain to comfort her.  But Lenora waited
quietly until the worst of Clémence's paroxysm of tears had
passed away, then she said with the same patience and
gentleness:\par

"I know, mevrouw, that from the first I was an intruder
in your house.  I, too, have oft in the last few miserable
days longed in vain that Mark and I had never met.  But
do you not think, mevrouw, that our destinies are beyond
our ken? that God ordains our Fate, and merely chooses
His tools where He desires?"\par

"And Satan, too, chooses his tools," murmured Clémence
through her tears.  "Oh go! go!  I beg of you to go," she
added with sudden passionate appeal; "cannot you see that
the sight of you must be torture to us all?"\par

"Will you let me stay until I have seen Mark?" said
Lenora calmly, "and then I will go."\par

"I will not let you see him," protested Clémence with
the obstinacy of the weak.  "I would not allow a spy like
you to come near him ... aye! a spy ... an assassin
mayhap ... how do I know that you are not an emissary
of our tyrants? how do I know that beneath your cloak you
do not hold a dagger?..."\par

Laurence was trying his best to pacify his mother and
throwing pathetic looks of appeal to Lenora the while,
whilst the girl herself was bravely trying to hold herself
in check.  But at this last cruel taunt she uttered a cry of
pain, like a poor wild creature that has been hurt to death.
In a moment she was across the room, down on her knees
beside the old woman and holding Clémence's trembling
hands imprisoned in her own.\par

"Hush!  Hush!" she implored wildly, "you must not say
that ... you must not ... Heavens above, have you not
realised that when I acted as I did, I did so because I
believed God Himself had shown me the way?  You call me
base and vile ... I swear to you by all that I hold most
sacred that I would gladly die a thousand deaths to undo the
work of the past few days ... you speak of an assassin's
dagger ... I believed that my cousin Ramon was
murdered ... foully and in the dark ... by the man who
was known as Leatherface ... my father made me swear
that I would avenge Ramon's death ... what could I
do? what could I do?  I believed that God was guiding me
... I spied upon you, I know ... I found out your
secrets and gave them to my father ... but he had
commanded me and I had no one else in the world ... no one
... only my father ... and I believed in him as I believe
in God...."\par

Her voice broke in a sob, her head fell forward upon
her hands and those of the older woman, and a pitiable
moan of pain came from her overburdened heart.  Laurence,
with his head buried in his hands, would have given his
life to spare her all this misery.  But Clémence said
nothing--she did not repulse the girl nor did she draw her to
her heart; whether she still mistrusted her or not it were
impossible to say, certain it is that she listened, and that
words of hatred no longer rose to her lips.\par

"You will not let me see Mark," continued Lenora, trying
to speak more calmly, "you are afraid that I would go
to him as an enemy ... a spy ... an assassin....
Ah! you have chosen the weapon well wherewith to punish me!
An enemy, ye gods!--I who would give the last drop of
blood in my veins to help him at this hour, I who love him
with every fibre of my heart, with every aspiration of my
soul! ... Don't you understand? cannot you understand
that he has forced his way right into my very being, that
I have left my people, my father, to come to him ... to
warn him, to help him ... to be with him in the hour of
danger....  Let me stay....  Let me be with him!
... Cannot you see that Love for him is all that I live for
now?..."\par

She had ceased speaking, and over the high, oak-panelled
room there fell a silence which soon became oppressive.  A
few moments ago while Lenora was pouring out her heart
in wild words of passionate longing, Clémence and Laurence
had suddenly uttered a cry--half of horror and half of
joy--a cry which was quickly suppressed and which the girl
did not hear.  Now the tension on her nerves was suddenly
relaxed and she broke down utterly--physically and
mentally she felt like one who has received a blow with a
pole-axe and is only just alive--no longer sentient, hardly
suffering.  She was crouching on the ground with her head on
the older woman's knee, a pathetic picture of hopelessness.
She felt indeed as if this earth could hold no greater
suffering than what she endured now--to have dreamed for one
brief while that she had helped the man she loved in the
hour of his greatest danger, and then to be made to feel
that she was still an enemy in the sight of all his people.\par

She lost count of time, it might have been but a few
seconds that she knelt there broken-hearted; it might have
been a cycle of years; the din from the streets outside, the
bustle inside the house only reached her ears like sounds
that come in a dream.  A kind of torpor had fallen over
the broken-hearted girl's senses and mercifully saved her
from further pain.  She closed her eyes and semi-consciousness
wrapped her in a kindly embrace.  Semi-consciousness
or a happy dream.  She could not tell.  All that she knew
was that suddenly all misery and all suffering fell away
from her; that an invisible presence was in the room which
was like that of the angel of peace, and that strong, kind
arms held her closely, so that she no longer felt that an
awful chasm yawned before her and that she was falling
into a hideous abyss where there was neither hope nor
pardon.  Of course it must have been a dream--such dreams
as come to the dying who have suffered much and see the
end of all their woe in a prescient glimpse of heaven--for it
seemed to her that the kind grey eyes which she loved were
looking on her now, that they smiled on her with infinite
tenderness and infinite understanding, and that the lips
which she had longed to kiss whispered gentle, endearing
words in her ear.\par

"It is your love, Madonna, which led me to victory.  Did
I not say that with it as my shield I could conquer the
universe?"\par

"Mark," she murmured, "you are hurt?"\par

"Not much, dear heart," he replied with that quaint laugh
of his which suddenly turned this delicious dream into
exquisite reality, "kind hands have tended me and gave me
some clean clothing.  I would have had you in my arms
ere now, but was too dirty an object to appear before you."\par

Then the laughter died out from his eyes, they became
intent, searching, desperately anxious.\par

"Madonna," he whispered--and he who for three days
had faced every kind of danger, trembled now with
apprehension--"what you said to my mother--a moment
ago--did you mean it?"\par

"Your love, Mark," she murmured in reply, "is all that I
live for now."\par

Then he folded her in his arms once more.\par

"Mother, dear," he said, "you must love her too.  My
whole happiness hangs upon her kiss."\par

\label{epilogue}%
\hypertarget{epilogue}{}%
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\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\Large\strut{EPILOGUE}}
\endgraf}
\par


\vs{2}
{\noindent}
Many there are who hold to the belief that the death of
Alva would have saved the unfortunate Netherlanders
many more months of woe and oppression at his hands,
and that mayhap it would have deterred the royal despot
over in Madrid from further acts of perfidious tyranny.\par

Therefore Mark van Rycke--the responsible leader of the
successful insurrection of Ghent--has often been blamed for
his leniency to a man who--if he had been victorious--would
not have spared a single woman or child in the city.\par

With the right and wrongs of that contention this
chronicle hath no concern.  Mark van Rycke led the men of
Ghent to victory, and having done that he fell sick from
wounds and exhaustion, and after being hastily tended by
his friends, he was taken home where for many days he
hovered between life and death.\par

It was the civic dignitaries--the High-Bailiff, the
Aldermen and Sheriffs of the Keure who assumed the
responsibility of dealing with the tyrant, and they remained true
apparently to their principles of conciliation and of loyalty,
for within two days of their heroic and desperate stand for
liberty and while the ruins of their beautiful city were still
smouldering, the men of Ghent had the mortification of
seeing the Duke of Alva ride--humiliated but
unscathed--out of the town.\par

Just as fifty years ago the town of Brüges held the
Archduke Maximilian, King of the Romans, a prisoner till he
ordered the withdrawal of all foreign troops from their
gates, so did the men of Ghent now exact the same
undertaking from the Duke of Alva.\par

For the moment Ghent was freed from the immediate
danger of annihilation, and the departure of Alva from
Belgium less than a year later saved her perhaps altogether
from the fate of many of her sister cities; certain it is that
the High-Bailiff and the older burghers extracted from their
prisoners--among whom was señor de Vargas and several
members of the Blood Council--concessions and privileges
for which they had clamoured in vain for half a century;
but beyond that the tyrant was allowed to go free, and
against this decision of their magistrates and their Griet
Mannen the heroes of the insurrection did not raise a
protest.  Perhaps they had suffered too much to thirst for
active revenge.\par


\vs{4}
{\noindent}
{\centering
{\footnotesize{END}}
\endgraf}
\par


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