"Let me go, miscreant," he gasped as for one moment the grip on histhroat seemed to relax. "By heaven you shall suffer for this outrage."
"'Tis you will suffer," said the other coldly, "even as you would havemade two helpless and innocent women suffer."
"They shall suffer yet!" cried don Ramon with a blasphemous oath, "theyand their kith and kin--aye! and this accursed city which hath given_you_ shelter! Assassin!"
"And it is because you are such an abominable cur," came a voicerelentlessly from behind the leather mask, "because you would hunt twounfortunates down, them and their kith and kin and the city that gavethem shelter, that you are too vile to live, and that I mean to killyou, like I would any pestilential beast that befouled God's earth. Somake your peace with your Creator now, for you are about to meet Himface to face laden with the heavy burden of your infamies."
In don Ramon now only one instinct remained paramount--the instinct of afinal effort for self-defence. When he fell, his knee came in contactwith the dagger which he had dropped. It cost him a terrible effort,but nevertheless he succeeded in groping for it with his right hand andin seizing it: another moment of violent struggle for freedom, anotherconvulsive movement and he had lifted the dagger. He struck withferocious vigour at his powerful opponent and inflicted a gashing woundupon his left arm--the dagger penetrated to the bone, cutting flesh andmuscle through from wrist to elbow.
But even as he struck he knew that it was too late; he had not even thestrength to renew the effort. The next moment the vice-like griptightened round his throat with merciless power. He could neither cryfor help nor yet for mercy, nor were his struggles heard beyond thesefour narrow walls.
The soldiers whom he himself had bidden to be merry and to carouse, weresinging and shouting at the top of their voice, and heard neither hisstruggles nor his cries. The dagger had long since slipped out of hishand, and at last he fell backwards striking his head against the leg ofthe table as he fell.
VII
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, thensitting on the top step of the ladder that led to the cellar and thenceshouting ribald oaths, coarse jests and blasphemies for the benefit ofthe unfortunate girl down below.
But after a time this entertainment also palled, and a council was heldas to who should go down and fetch the girl. The cellar was vastlytempting in itself--with no one to guard it save a couple ofwenches--and the captain more than half-inclined to be lenient toward areal bout of drunkenness. It was an opportunity not to be missed;strange that the idea had not occurred to seven thirsty men before.
Now the provost declared that he would go down first, others couldfollow him in turn, but two must always remain in the tap-room in casethe captain called, their comrades would supply them with wine frombelow. The provost descended--candle in hand--so did four of the men,but Katrine was no longer in the cellar. They hunted for her forawhile, and discovered a window, the shaft of which sloped upwards to ayard at the back of the house. The window was open and there was aladder resting against the wall of the shaft.
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 noconcern, but those soldiers who remained up in the tap-room had acurious experience which their fuddled brains did not at first take inaltogether. What happened was this: the door which gave on the passagewas opened, and a man appeared under the lintel. He was dressed insombre, tight-fitting doublet and hose, with high boots reaching wellabove 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.
The masked man only spoke a few words:
"Tell your provost," he said, "that senor captain don Ramon de Linealies dead in the room yonder."
Then he disappeared, as quietly as he had come.
CHAPTER V
VENGEANCE
I
"Satan! Satan! Assassin!"
Donna Lenora had stood beside the dead body of her lover and kinsmanwide-eyed and pale with rigid, set mouth and trembling knees while herfather explained to her how don Ramon de Linea had been murdered in thetavern 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 deLinea, 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 passageby a mysterious assassin, who had fled directly his nefarious work hadbeen accomplished.
The murderer, however, was seen by the provost in command and by two ofthe soldiers, and was accurately described by them as wearing doubletand high-boots of a dark-brown colour, a hood over his head and a maskof untanned leather on his face. The man had rapidly disappeared in thedarkness, evading all pursuit.
And donna Lenora--thus face to face for the first time in her shelteredlife with crime, with horror and with grief--had, in the first moment ofdespairing misery, not even a prayer to God in her heart, for it wasfilled with bitter thoughts of resentment and of possible revenge.
She had loved her cousin don Ramon de Linea with all the ardour of heryouth, of her warm temperament and of a heart thirsting for theself-sacrifice which women were so ready to offer these days on thealtar of their Love. She had never thought him shallow or cruel: to herhe 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 thatwas strong and noble and chivalrous, the first man who had everwhispered the magic word "love" in her ear.
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 thedark, surreptitiously, treacherously; and donna Lenora in an agony ofpassionate resentment had at last broken the silence which had almostfrightened her father and had suddenly called out with fierce intensity:"Satan! Satan! Assassin!" Her father had given her an account of thehorrible incident, which was nothing but a tissue of falsehoods frombeginning to end, and Lenora had listened and believed. How could shedoubt her own father? She hardly knew him--and he was all she had inthe world on whom to pour out the wealth of her affection and of herfaith.
II
Truth to tell, de Vargas had received the news of don Ramon's death withunbounded satisfaction.
Lenora had obeyed him and had been this night publicly affianced to Markvan Rycke; but between her consent to the marriage and her willingnessto become Alva's tool as a spy among her husband's people there was theimmeasurable abyss of a woman's temperament and a woman's natural pityfor the oppressed.
But the outrage to-night--the murder of the man whom she still loveddespite paternal prohibitions--was bound to react on the girl's warm andpassionate nature--and react in the manner which her father desired. Hetrusted to his own powers of lying, to place the case before hisdaughter in its most lurid light. He had at once spoken of "spies" and"assassins" and his words had been well chosen. Within a few momentsafter he had told Lenora the news, he felt that he could play like askilled musician upon every string of her overwrought sensibilities.Her heart had already been very sore at being forced to part from herfirst lover; now that the parting had suddenly become irrevocable inthis horrible way, all the pent up passion, fierce resentment and wrathwhich she had felt against her future husband and his people could byclever manipulation be easily merged into an equally fierce desire forrevenge.
It was a cruel game to play with a young girl who by blood and race wasmade to feel every emotion with super-acuteness: but de Vargas was notthe man who would ever allow pity or chivalry to interfere with hisschemes: he saw in his daughter's mental suffering, in the shattering ofher nerves and the horror which had well-nigh paral
ysed her, nothing buta guarantee of success for that comprehensive project which had thedeath of the Prince of Orange for its ultimate aim.
"It is strange," murmured the girl after awhile, "that when Ramon talkedwith me in the Town House last night, he said that these Netherlandershad a habit of striking at an enemy in the dark."
"A presentiment, no doubt," rejoined de Vargas with well-feignedgentleness. "Now, my child, you begin to understand--do you not?--whyit is that we Spaniards hate these treacherous Netherlanders. They arevile 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 andhis contemptible little army have sought shelter in Holland--they darenot face the valour and enthusiasm of our troops. But mark you, whatOrange hath done! He hath sown the entire country with a crop of spies!They are here, there, everywhere--not very cunning and certainly notbrave--their orders are to strike in the dark when and how they can.They waylay our Spanish officers in the ill-lighted, and intricatestreets of their abominable cities, they dog their footsteps until theymeet them in some lowly tavern or a tenebrous archway: then out comestheir dagger, swift and sure, and they strike in the gloom--and agallant Spanish officer's blood stains the cobblestones of one of theirtowns. It was don Ramon to-day--it will be Julian Romero perhapsto-morrow--or don Juan de Vargas--who knows? or mayhap the duke of Alvaone day. Orange and his crowd are out on a campaign ofassassination--an army of assassins has been let loose--and theircaptain-general wears a mask of leather and our soldiery have dubbed him'Leatherface'!"
"I have heard of this man 'Leatherface,'" said Lenora slowly. "It ishe, you think, who murdered Ramon?"
"Have we not the soldiers' testimony?" he rejoined blandly, "two men andthe provost saw him quite clearly. As for me, I am not surprised: morethan once our spies have reported that the man undoubtedly hailed fromGhent, and once he was traced to the very gates of this city. But," headded insinuatingly, "here he is surrounded by friends: every burgher inGhent, no doubt, opens wide his hospitable door to the murderer ofSpanish officers."
"Think you it is likely that the High-Bailiff of Ghent or ... or ... myfuture husband would harbour such an assassin?" she asked.
"Well!" he replied evasively, "all Netherlanders are treacherous. TheHigh-Bailiff himself and his son Mark are said to be loyal ... butthere's another son ... and the mother ... one never knows. It would bestrange," he continued unctuously, "if at some future time the murdererof Ramon should find shelter in your house."
"I shall pray to the saints," she rejoined with passionate intensity,"that he and I may meet face to face one day."
Indeed de Vargas had no cause to fear that henceforth his daughter wouldfail in her vigilance. The assassination of her lover had stirred hersoul to its inmost depths. Indifference and light-hearted girlishnesshad suddenly given place to all the violent passions of her ardentnature. For the moment desire for vengeance--for justice she calledit--and hatred of the assassin and his mates had swept every otherthought, every soft aspiration away: all her world--the world as seenthrough the rose-coloured windows of a convent window--had tottered andopened beneath her feet, and through the yawning chasm she now saw eviland lust and cruelty dancing a triumphant saraband over Ramon's deadbody.
"There is a means," resumed de Vargas after a slight pause, during whichthrough half-closed lids he studied the play of every varying emotionupon his daughter's beautiful face, "there is a means, my child, wherebyyou or any faithful servant of our King can henceforth recognise at aglance the man who killed your cousin Ramon."
"A means?"
"Yes. He carries upon his arm the brand of his own infamy."
"Will you tell me more clearly what you mean?" she asked.
"Ramon had not breathed his last when the provost found him andultimately brought him here to my lodgings. He was able to speak and togive a fragmentary account of what had taken place: how he was set uponin the dark and stabbed to death ere he could utter a cry. But at thelast moment he made a supreme effort and wrenching his dagger from hisbelt he struck with it at his assailant. It seems that he inflicted avery severe wound upon the miscreant: the dagger penetrated into theleft forearm close to the elbow and gashed the flesh and muscle as faras the wrist and right through to the bone. It is not likely that atthis moment there is more than one man in Ghent who hath such a wound inthe left forearm: the wound was deep too, and will take some time toheal, and even when it is healed it will leave a tell-tale scar whichwill last for years.
"I think," rejoined Lenora coldly, "that I should know the man whokilled Ramon, even if he bore no brand of Cain upon his person."
Father and daughter looked at one another and for the space of a fewseconds their souls--so different in every ideal, every feeling, everyaspiration--met in one common resolve. He could hardly repress a sighof satisfaction. He knew that he held her, closely, firmly, indissolublyat last. He held her by all the romance which her girlish imaginationhad woven round the personality of a worthless man, and by all the deepsense of injury which she felt as well as all the horror and theindignation at the dastardly deed. And his own warped and gloomy soulwas at one with her pure and childlike one--pure because even the desirefor revenge which she felt, she ascribed to God, and called it justice.The Moorish blood in her which mingles even with the bluest Castilianclaimed with savage, primeval instinct that "eye for an eye" and "toothfor a tooth" which alone can satisfy a hot-headed and passionate race.
Lenora's eyes as she met those of her father lost their look of dulldespair: something of the fanatical hatred which he felt for the wholeof the despised race communicated itself to her, now that she too had somuch cause for hatred.
"We understand one another, Lenora," he said. And like a felinecreature sure of its prey, he drew quite close to her and took her hand,and began gently to stroke it.
"You will have to teach me what to do, father," she rejoined.
"Your heart and wits will tell you that. In a few days you will haveentered the van Rycke household. Keep your eyes and ears open, and winthe confidence and love of all those around you. Let not a word, asign, a gesture escape you, and come and tell me at once all that yousee and hear. Will you promise to do that, my Lenora?" he added,forcing his harsh voice to tones of gentleness.
"I promise," she replied fervently.
"The Lieutenant-Governor believes that Orange himself has been visitingGhent lately! Keep your eyes and ears open, Lenora, you may be themeans of bringing that arch-traitor to his just punishment. Promise methat you will listen," he urged.
"I promise," she reiterated firmly.
"The Lieutenant-Governor comes to Ghent in a few days' time. Whereverhe goes there is always fear for his precious life. If Orange has beenin Ghent then he hath hatched a plot against the Duke--on this I wouldstake my life--promise me that you will be on the watch, Lenora!"
"I promise."
"Upon your soul, my child?"
"Upon my soul!"
"And next to Orange himself, I'd sooner see that masked assassinLeatherface hang than any man in Europe; remember that, little one!"
"I'll not forget."
"The outrage on don Ramon de Linea must not remain unavenged, rememberthat."
"I'll not forget."
"Then let Orange and his rebels look to themselves!" ejaculated deVargas with a note of triumph.
He took from the breast pocket of his doublet a piece of silk ribbon towhich was attached a flat, yet curiously fashioned and shaped piece ofsteel.
"Take this, my child," he said significantly, as he held the trinket outto her. "This little bit of metal hath already done more service to ourLord the King, to our country, and to our faith than a whole army ofspies."
"What is it, dear?" she asked.
"It is a little talisman," he replied, "that will turn any lock and openany secret drawer by whomsoever lock and drawer have been manufactured.It was made for me by the finest metal-cutter of Toledo--one in factwhose s
kill was so paramount that we had reluctantly to ... to put himout of harm's way. He was getting dangerous. This pass-key was hismasterpiece. I have tested it on the most perfect specimens of thelocksmith's art both in Toledo and in Florence. It hath never failed meyet. Take it, my child, and guard it carefully. An I mistake not, youwill find use for it in your new home."
Before she could protest he had thrown the ribbon over her head, andshe--mechanically but with unaccountable reluctance withal--slipped thetrinket into the bosom of her gown.
"Remember, my dear," concluded de Vargas, "that the day after yourmarriage I must return to Brussels. But if you see or hear anythingthat may concern the welfare of our Sovereign Lord the King, or of hisgovernment, you must come to me at once--do not hesitate--invent apretext--come away in secret--do anything rather than delay. Andremember also that anything you may tell me, I will treat in absoluteconfidence. Your name will never appear in connection with anydenunciation ... I mean," he interrupted himself hastily, "with anyservice which you may render to the State. Will you remember that also,my child?"