He did his best with the help of the curtain and his own tall figure, toscreen donna Lenora from the gaze of the crowd. He knew that senor deVargas was still somewhere in the room, and on no account did he want afather's interference at this moment. Whether he was really very sorryfor the girl he could not say; she certainly had given him a moral slapon the face when she avowed her love for don Ramon, and he did not feelaltogether inclined at this precise moment to soothe and comfort her, oreven to speak perfunctory words of love, which he was far from feeling,and which, no doubt, she would reject with scorn.
Thus now, when she appeared more calm, tired, no doubt, by the greatemotional effort, he only spoke quite quietly, but with as muchgentleness as he could:
"For both our sakes, donna Lenora," he said, "I could wish that you hadnot named Ramon de Linea. It grieves me sorely that the bonds whichyour 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 thismoment that freedom for which you so obviously crave. Not only yourfather's wrath, but that of the Duke of Alva would fall on you with fargreater weight than it would on me, and your own country hath institutedmethods for dealing with disobedience which I would not like to see usedagainst you. That being the case, senorita," he continued, with areturn 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, ifnot in amity, at least not in open enmity one toward the other?"
"There is no enmity in my heart against you, Messire," she rejoinedcalmly, "and I crave your pardon that I did so far forget myself as tospeak 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 asasunder as the poles. You obey your father, and I mine; our hands willbe 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 hadnot tried to understand one another, for meseems we have fallen intograver misunderstandings than before."
"When may I see you again?" asked Mark van Rycke, with coolness nowquite equal to hers.
"Every day until our wedding, Messire, in the presence of my aunt, donnaInez de Salgado, as the custom of my country allows."
"I shall look forward to the wild excitement of these daily meetings,"he said, quite unable to suppress the laughter which danced in his greyeyes.
She took no notice of the gentle raillery, but dismissed him with agracious nod.
"Shall I tell senor de Vargas," he asked, "that you are alone?"
"No, no," she replied hastily. "I prefer to be alone for a littlewhile. I pray you to leave me."
He bowed before her with all the stiffness and formality which Spanishetiquette demanded, then he turned away from her, and soon she lostsight of his broad shoulders in the midst of the gayest groups in thecrowd.
VIII
The interview with her future husband had not left donna Lenora anyhappier or more contented with her lot. The callousness which he hadshown in accepting a fiancee like a bale of valueless goods was equallyapparent in his attitude after this first introduction to her. The poorgirl'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 becomemotherless; all the care and the tenderness which she had ever known wasfrom the father whose pride in her beauty was far greater than his lovefor his child. A rigid convent education had restrained the developmentof her ideals and of her aspirations; at nineteen years of age thedominating thought in her was service to her King and country, loyaltyand obedience to her father and to the Church.
In the crowded ballroom she saw young girls moving freely and gaily,talking and laughing without apparently a care or sorrow; yet theybelonged to a subject and rebel race; the laws of a powerful aliengovernment dominated their lives; fear of the Inquisition restrained thevery freedom of their thoughts. They were all of them rebels in theeyes of their King: the comprehensive death-warrant issued by the Dukeof Alva against every Netherlander--man, woman, and child, irrespectiveof rank, irrespective of creed, irrespective of politicalconvictions--hung over every life here present like the real sword ofDamocles: even this day all these people were dancing in the verypresence of death. The thought of the torture-chamber, the gibbet, orthe stake could never be wholly absent from their minds. And yet theyseemed happy, whilst she, donna Lenora de Vargas, who should have beenenvied of them all, was sitting solitary and sad; her lace handkerchiefwas soaked through with her tears.
A sudden movement of the curtain on her left roused her from her gloomymeditations. The next moment, a young man--with fair unruly hair, eyesglowing through the holes of the velvet mask which he wore, andsensitive mouth quivering with emotion--was kneeling beside her: he hadcaptured one of her hands, and was kissing it with passionate fervour.Not a little frightened, she could hardly speak, but she did not feelindignant for she had been very lonely, and this mute adoration of heron the part of this unknown man acted like soothing balm on her woundedpride.
"I pray you, sir," she murmured timorously, "I pray you to leave me...."
He looked up into her face, and, through the holes of the mask, shecould see that his eyes were--like hers--full of tears.
"Not," he whispered with soulful earnestness, "till I have told you thatyour sorrow and your beauty have made an indelible impression on myheart, and that I desire to be your humble servitor."
"But who are you?" she asked.
"One who anon will stand very near to you--as a brother...."
"A brother? Then you are...?"
"Laurence van Rycke," he replied, "henceforth your faithful servantuntil death."
Then as she looked very perplexed and puzzled, he continued morequietly: "I stood there--behind the curtain--quite close--whilst mybrother spoke with you. I heard every word that you said, and my heartbecame filled with admiration and pity for you. I came here to-nightonly because I wished to see you. I looked upon you--without knowingyou--as an enemy, perhaps a spy; now that I have seen you I feel as ifmy whole life must atone for the immense wrong which I had done you inmy thoughts. You cannot guess--you will never know how infinite thatwrong has been. But there is one thing I would wish you to know: andthat is that I am a man to whom happiness in her most fulsome beautystretched out her hands, and who in his blindness turned his back onher; if you can find it in your heart to pity and to trust me you willalways find beside you a champion to defend you, a friend to protectyou, a man prepared to atone with his life for the desperate wrong whichhe hath unwittingly done to you."
He paused, and she--still a little bewildered--rejoined gently: "Sir, Ithank you for those kind words; the kindest I have heard since I landedin the Low Countries. I hope that I shall not need a champion, forsurely my husband--your brother, Messire--will know how to protect mewhen necessary. But who is there who hath no need of a friend? and itis a great joy to me in the midst of many disappointments, that in myhusband's brother I shall have a true friend. Still, methinks, that youspeak somewhat wildly. I am not conscious of any wrong that you or yourfamily have done to me, and if your mother is as kind as you are, why,Messire, mine own happiness in her house is assured."
"Heaven reward you for those gentle words, Senorita," said Laurence vanRycke fervently, as he once more took her hand and kissed it; shewithdrew it quietly, and he had perforce to let it go. It might havebeen his for always--her tiny hand and her exquisite person: but for hishot-headed action he might have stood now boldly beside her--the happybridegroom beside this lovely bride. The feeling of gratitude which hehad felt for Mark when the latter chose to unravel the skein of theirfamily's destiny, which he--Laurence--had hopelessly embroiled, was nowchanged to unreasoning bitterness. What Mark had acce
pted with acareless shrug of the shoulders he--Laurence--would now give his life topossess. Fate had indeed made of her threads a tangle, and in thistangle he knew that his own happiness had become inextricably involved.
He could not even remain beside donna Lenora now: he was here unbeknownto his father, a looker-on at the feast, whereat he might have presided.Even at this moment, senor de Vargas, having espied his daughter inconversation with an unknown man, was making his way toward the windowembrasure.
"Senorita," whispered Laurence hurriedly, "that ring upon your middlefinger ... if at any time you require help or protection will you sendit to me? Wherever I may be I would come at once ... whatever you toldme to do I hereby swear that I would accomplish ... will you promisethat if you need me, you will send me that ring?"
And she, who was lonely, and had no one to love her devotedly, gave thepromise which he asked.
CHAPTER IV
JUSTICE
I
Don Ramon de Linea was one of the last to leave the Town House. He wason duty until all the Spanish officers of State had left the building,and it was long past midnight before he wended his way through thenarrow streets of the city till he reached the house of the High-Bailiffin the Nieuwstraate not far from the new bridge.
The outward appearance of the house suggested that most of its occupantswere abed, although there was a light in one of the windows on theground floor, and through the uncurtained casement don Ramon caughtsight of the High-Bailiff and his two sons sitting together over a finalcup of wine.
All the pent-up wrath against Mark van Rycke, which Ramon had beenforced to keep in check under the eye of senor de Vargas, gave itselfvent now in a comprehensive curse, and forgetting every code of decencytoward his host and hostess he went up to the front door and gave theheavy oak panels a series of violent kicks with his boot.
"Hey there!" he shouted roughly, "open, you confounded louts! Whatmanners are these to close your doors against the soldiers of the King?"
He had not finished swearing when the serving man's shuffling footstepswere heard crossing the tiled hall. The next moment there was a greatrattle of bolts being drawn and chains being unhung, whereupon donRamon--still impatient and wrathful--gave a final kick to the door, andsince Pierre had already lifted the latch, it flew open and nearlyknocked the poor man down with its weight.
"Curse you all for a set of lazy louts," shouted don Ramon at the top ofhis voice. "Here, fellow," he added flinging himself into a chair,"take off my boots and cloak."
He held out his leg, and Pierre, dutiful and obedient, took off the longboots of untanned leather which protected the slashed shoes and silktrunk-hose beneath, against the mud of the streets.
"Where is your master?" queried the Spaniard roughly.
"In the dining hall, so please you, senor," replied the man.
"And my men?"
"They went to the tavern over the way about an hour ago, after they hadtheir supper--and they have not yet returned. They are making merrythere, senor," added old Pierre somewhat wistfully.
And--as if in direct confirmation of the man's words--there came fromthe tavern on the opposite side of the street a deafening noise of wildhilarity. The peace of the night was broken and made hideous by hoarseshouts and laughter, a deafening crash as of broken glass, allintermixed with a bibulous song, sung out of tune in a chorus of malevoices, and the clapping of empty mugs against wooden tables.
Don Ramon cursed again, but this time under his breath. The order hadgone forth recently from the Lieutenant-Governor himself that theSpanish troops quartered in Flemish cities were to behave themselves ina sober and becoming manner. The tavern of the "Three Weavers" beingsituated just opposite the house of the High-Bailiff, it was more thanlikely that the latter would take it upon himself to complain of theribaldry and uproar which was disturbing his rest, and as theHigh-Bailiff was in high favour just now a severe reprimand for donRamon might ensue, which prospect did not appeal to him in the least.
For a moment he hesitated whether he would not go back across the roadand order the men to be silent; but as luck or fate would have it, atthat very moment the High-Bailiff opened the door of the dining-room andstepped out into the hall. Seeing the young Spaniard standing there,sullen and irresolute, he bade him courteously to come and join him andhis two sons in a tankard of wine.
Don Ramon accepted the invitation. The spirit of quarrelsome fury stillbrooded within him, and it was that spirit which made him wish to meetMark van Rycke again and either provoke him into that quarrel whichsenor de Vargas' timely intervention had prevented before, or, at anyrate, to annoy and humiliate him with those airs of masterfulness andsuperiority which the Spaniards knew so well how to wield.
II
Mark and Laurence greeted their father's guest with utmost politeness.The former offered him a tankard of wine which don Ramon pushed away soroughly that the wine was spilled over the floor and over Mark vanRycke's clothes, whereupon the Spaniard swore as was his wont andmurmured something about "a clumsy lout!"
Laurence sitting at the opposite side of the table clenched his fiststill the knuckles shone like ivory and the skin was so taut that itthreatened to crack; the blood rushed up to his cheeks and his eyesglowed with the fire of bitter resentment and of indignation not easilykept under control. But Mark ignored the insult, his face expressednothing but good-humoured indifference, and a careless indulgence forthe vagaries of a guest, like one would feel for those of anirresponsible child. As for the High-Bailiff, he still beamed withamiability and the determination to please his Spanish masters in everyway that lay in his power.
"We would ask you, senor," said Laurence after a slight pause duringwhich he had made almost superhuman efforts to regain his self-control,"kindly to admonish the soldiery in the tavern yonder. My mother is aninvalid, the noise that the men make is robbing her of sleep."
"The men will not stay at the tavern much longer," said don Ramonhaughtily, "they are entitled to a little amusement after their arduouswatch at the Town Hall. An Madame van Rycke will exercise a littlepatience, she will get to sleep within the hour and can lie abed alittle longer to-morrow."
"It is not so much the lateness of the hour, senor," here interposed theHigh-Bailiff urbanely, noting with horror that his son was about to losehis temper, "neither I nor my sons would wish to interfere with theinnocent pleasures of these brave men, but..."
"Then what is the pother about, sirrah?" queried the Spaniard withwell-studied insolence.
"Only that..." murmured the unfortunate High-Bailiff diffidently, "onlythat..."
"There are only two women in charge of the tavern at this hour," brokein Mark quietly, "two young girls, whose father was arrested thismorning for attending a camp-meeting outside the city. The girls aretimid and unprotected, therefore we entreat that you, senor, do put astop to the soldiers' brawling and allow the tavern to be closed at thislate hour of the night."
Don Ramon threw back his head and burst into loud and affected laughter.
"By the Mass, Messire!" he said, "I find you vastly amusing to be thuspleading for a pair of heretics. Did you perchance not know that toattend camp meetings is punishable by death? If people want to hear asermon they should go to church where the true doctrine is preached.Nothing but rebellion and high-treason are preached at those meetings."
"We were pleading for two defenceless girls," rejoined Laurence, whosevoice shook with suppressed passion. Even he dared not say anythingmore on the dangerous subject of religious controversy which Don Ramonhad obviously brought forward with the wish to provoke adiscussion--lest an unguarded word brought disaster upon his house.
"Pshaw!" retorted don Ramon roughly, "surely you would not begrudgethose fine soldiers a little sport? Two pretty girls--did you not saythey were pretty?--are not to be found in every street of thisconfounded city: and by th
e Mass! I feel the desire to go and have alook at the wenches myself."
He rose, yawned and stretched. Laurence was white with passion: therewas 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 Ramonlooked on him with contempt in his eyes and a malicious smile round hisfull lips. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed softly--ironically tohimself. The next moment Laurence, unable to control himself, hadsprung to his feet: he would have been at the other's throat, but thatMark who had been quietly watching him was just in time to seize himround the shoulders and thus to prevent murder from being done.
Don Ramon had not failed to notice Laurence's unreasoning rage, nor thegesture which for one instant had threatened his own life, but he showednot the slightest sign of fear. The sarcastic laugh did not wholly diedown on his lips, nor did the look of contempt fade out of his eyes. Helooked on--quite unmoved--whilst Mark succeeded, if not in pacifying hisbrother, at least in forcing him back to his seat and regaining somesemblance 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 andto the Spaniard. Then as Laurence overcome with the shame of his ownimpotence threw himself half across the table and buried his face in hishands, don Ramon said coldly:
"Your senseless rage has done you no good, my friend. After half acentury, you Netherlanders have, it seems, yet to learn that it is notwise to threaten a Spanish gentleman either by word or gesture. PerhapsI would have protected the two females in the tavern yonder from thebrutality 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 willnot raise a finger to save them from any outrage--I'll even countenancemy men's behaviour by my presence in the tavern. Understand? That iswhat you have gained by your impudence--both you and your brother--forwith him too I have a score to settle for impudence that literallypasses belief. If your father were not so well-accredited as a goodCatholic and a loyal subject of the King, I would ... But enough ofthis. Let the lesson be a fruitful one: and you MessireHigh-Bailiff--an you are wise--will inculcate into your sons a clearernotion of respect, duty and obedience toward their superiors."