CHAPTER VIII
THE MARE'S STABLE
When Lysbeth's reason returned to her in that empty room, her firstsense was one of wild exultation. She was free, she was not Montalvo'swife, never again could she be obliged to see him, never again couldshe be forced to endure the contamination of his touch--that was herthought. She was sure that the story was true; were it not true whocould have moved the authorities to take action against him? Moreover,now that she had the key, a thousand things were explained, trivialenough in themselves, each of them, but in their sum amounting to proofpositive of his guilt. Had he not spoken of some entanglement inSpain and of children? Had he not in his sleep--but it was needless toremember all these things. She was free! She was free! and there on thetable still lay the symbol of her bondage, the emerald ring that was togive him the means of flight, a flight from this charge which he knewwas hanging over him. She took it up, dashed it to the ground andstamped upon it. Next she fell upon her knees, praising and blessingGod, and then, worn out, crept away to rest.
The morning came, the still and beautiful autumn morning, but nowall her exultation had left her, and Lysbeth was depressed and heavyhearted. She rose and assisted the one servant who remained in the houseto prepare their breakfast, taking no heed of the sidelong glances thatthe woman cast at her. Afterwards she went to the market to spend someof her last florins in necessaries. Here and in the streets she becameaware that she was the object of remark, for people nudged each otherand stared at her. Moreover, as she hurried home appalled, her quickear caught the conversation of two coarse women while they walked behindher.
"She's got it now," said one.
"Serve her right, too," answered the other, "for running after andmarrying a Spanish don."
"Marrying?" broke in the first, "it was the best that she could do. Shecouldn't stop to ask questions. Some corpses must be buried quickly."
Glancing behind her, Lysbeth saw the creature nip her nostrils with herfingers, as though to shut out an evil smell.
Then she could bear it no longer, and turned upon them.
"You are evil slanderers," she said, and walked away swiftly, pursued bythe sound of their loud, insulting laughter.
At the house she was told that two men were waiting to see her. Theyproved to be creditors clamouring for large sums of money, which shecould not pay. Lysbeth told them that she knew nothing of the matter.Thereupon they showed her her own writing at the foot of deeds, and sheremembered that she had signed more things than she chose to keep countof, everything indeed that the man who called himself her husband putbefore her, if only to win an hour of blessed freedom from his presence.At length the duns went away vowing that they would have their money ifthey dragged the bed from under her.
After that came loneliness and silence. No friend appeared to cheer her.Indeed, she had no friends left, for by her husband's command she hadbroken off her acquaintance with all who after the strange circumstancesconnected with her marriage were still inclined to know her. He saidthat he would have no chattering Dutch vrouws about the house, and theysaid and believed that the Countess de Montalvo had become too proud toassociate with those of her own class and people.
Midday came and she could eat no food; indeed, she had touched none fortwenty-four hours; her gorge rose against it, although in her stateshe needed food. Now the shame of her position began to come home toLysbeth. She was a wife and no wife; soon she must bear the burden ofmotherhood, and oh! what would that child be? And what should she be,its mother? What, too, would Dirk think of her? Dirk, for whom she haddone and suffered all these things. Through the long afternoon hours shelay upon her bed thinking such thoughts as these till at length her mindgave and Lysbeth grew light-headed. Her brain became a chaos, a perfecthell of distorted imaginations.
Then out of its turmoil and confusion rose a vision and a desire; avision of peace and a desire for rest. But what rest was there for herexcept the rest of death? Well, why not die? God would forgive her, theMother of God would plead for her who was shamed and broken-hearted andunfit to live. Even Dirk would think kindly of her when she was dead,though, doubtless, now if he met her he would cover his eyes with hishand. She was burning hot and she was thirsty. How cool the water wouldbe on this fevered night. What could be better than to slip into it andslowly let it close above her poor aching head? She would go out andlook at the water; in that, at any rate, there could be no harm.
She wrapped herself in a long cloak and drew its hood over her head.Then she slipped from the house and stole like a ghost through thedarkling streets and out of the Maren or Sea Poort, where the guard lether pass thinking that she was a country woman returning to her village.Now the moon was rising, and by the light of it Lysbeth recognisedthe place. Here was the spot where she had stood on the day of the icecarnival, when that woman who was called Martha the Mare, and who saidthat she had known her father, had spoken to her. On that water she hadgalloped in Montalvo's sledge, and up yonder canal the race was run.She followed along its banks, remembering the reedy mere some milesaway spotted with islets that were only visited from time to time byfishermen and wild-fowlers; the great Haarlemer Meer which covered manythousands of acres of ground. That mere she felt must look very cool andbeautiful on such a night as this, and the wind would whisper sweetlyamong the tall bulrushes which fringed its banks.
On Lysbeth went and on; it was a long, long walk, but at last she camethere, and, oh! the place was sweet and vast and lonely. For so far asher eye could reach in the light of the low moon there was nothing butglimmering water broken here and there by the reed-wreathed islands.Hark! how the frogs croaked and the bitterns boomed among the rushes.Look where the wild ducks swam leaving behind them broad trails ofsilver as their breasts broke the surface of the great mere intorippling lines.
There, on an island, not a bowshot from her, grew tufts of a daisy-likemarsh bloom, white flowers such as she remembered gathering when she wasa child. A desire came upon her to pluck some of these flowers, and thewater was shallow; surely she could wade to the island, or if not whatdid it matter? Then she could turn to the bank again, or she might stayto sleep a while in the water; what did it matter? She stepped fromthe bank--how sweet and cool it felt to her feet! Now it was up toher knees, now it reached her middle, and now the little wavelets beatagainst her breast. But she would not go back, for there ahead of herwas the island, and the white flowers were so close that she could countthem, eight upon one bunch and twelve upon the next. Another step andthe water struck her in the face, one more and it closed above her head.She rose, and a low cry broke from her lips.
Then, as in a dream, Lysbeth saw a skiff glide out from among the rushesbefore her. She saw also a strange mutilated face, which she remembereddimly, bending over the edge of the boat, and a long, brown handstretched out to clasp her, while a hoarse voice bade her keep still andfear nothing.
After this came a sound of singing in her ears and--darkness.
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 15