Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  While it was still early that morning Dirk summoned Foy and Martin tohis wife's chamber. Adrian for his own reasons he did not summon, makingthe excuse that he was still asleep, and it would be a pity to disturbhim; nor Elsa, since as yet there was no necessity to trouble her.Then, briefly, for he was given to few words, he set out the gist ofthe matter, telling them that the man Ramiro whom they had beaten on theHaarlemer Meer was in Leyden, which Foy knew already, for Elsa had toldhim as much, and that he was no other than the Spaniard named the CountJuan de Montalvo, the villain who had deceived Lysbeth into a mockmarriage by working on her fears, and who was the father of Adrian. Allthis time Lysbeth sat in a carved oak chair listening with a stonyface to the tale of her own shame and betrayal. She made no sign at allbeyond a little twitching of her fingers, till Foy, guessing what shesuffered in her heart, suddenly went to his mother and kissed her. Thenshe wept a few silent tears, for an instant laid her hand upon his headas though in blessing, and, motioning him back to his place, becameherself again--stern, unmoved, observant.

  Next Dirk, taking up his tale, spoke of his wife's fears, and of herbelief that there was a plot to wring out of them the secret of HendrikBrant's treasure.

  "Happily," he said, addressing Foy, "neither your mother nor I, norAdrian, nor Elsa, know that secret; you and Martin know it alone, youand perhaps one other who is far away and cannot be caught. We do notknow it, and we do not wish to know it, and whatever happens to any ofus, it is our earnest hope that neither of you will betray it, even ifour lives, or your lives, hang upon the words, for we hold it betterthat we should keep our trust with a dead man at all costs than that weshould save ourselves by breaking faith. Is it not so, wife?"

  "It is so," answered Lysbeth hoarsely.

  "Have no fear," said Foy. "We will die before we betray."

  "We will try to die before we betray," grumbled Martin in his deepvoice, "but flesh is frail and God knows."

  "Oh! I have no doubt of you, honest man," said Dirk with a smile, "foryou have no mother and father to think of in this matter."

  "Then, master, you are foolish," replied Martin, "for I repeat it--fleshis frail, and I always hated the look of a rack. However, I have ahandsome legacy charged upon this treasure, and perhaps the thought ofthat would support me. Alive or dead, I should not like to think of mymoney being spent by any Spaniard."

  While Martin spoke the strangeness of the thing came home to Foy. Herewere four of them, two of whom knew a secret and two who did not, whilethose who did not implored those who did to impart to them nothing ofthe knowledge which, if they had it, might serve to save them from afearful doom. Then for the first time in his young and inexperiencedlife he understood how great erring men and women can be and whatpatient majesty dwells in the human heart, that for the sake of a trustit does not seek can yet defy the most hideous terrors of the bodyand the soul. Indeed, that scene stamped itself upon his mind in suchfashion that throughout his long existence he never quite forgot it fora single day. His mother, clad in her frilled white cap and grey gown,seated cold-faced and resolute in the oaken chair. His father, to whom,although he knew it not, he was now speaking for the last time, standingby her, his hand resting upon her shoulder and addressing them in hisquiet, honest voice. Martin standing also but a little to one side andbehind, the light of the morning playing upon his great red beard; hisround, pale eyes glittering as was their fashion when wrathful, andhimself, Foy, leaning forward to listen, every nerve in his body strungtight with excitement, love, and fear.

  Oh! he never forgot it, which is not strange, for so great was thestrain upon him, so well did he know that this scene was but the preludeto terrible events, that for a moment, only for a moment, his steadyreason was shaken and he saw a vision. Martin, the huge, patient,ox-like Martin, was changed into a red Vengeance; he saw him, greatsword aloft, he heard the roar of his battle cry, and lo! before himmen went down to death, and about him the floor seemed purple with theirblood. His father and his mother, too; they were no longer human, theywere saints--see the glory which shone over them, and look, too, thedead Hendrik Brant was whispering in their ears. And he, Foy, he wasbeside Martin playing his part in those red frays as best he might, andplaying it not in vain.

  Then all passed, and a wave of peace rolled over him, a great sense ofduty done, of honour satisfied, of reward attained. Lo! the play wasfinished, and its ultimate meaning clear, but before he could read andunderstand--it had gone.

  He gasped and shook himself, gripping his hands together.

  "What have you seen, son?" asked Lysbeth, watching his face.

  "Strange things, mother," Foy answered. "A vision of war for Martin andme, of glory for my father and you, and of eternal peace for us all."

  "It is a good omen, Foy," she said. "Fight your fight and leave us tofight ours. 'Through much tribulation we must enter into the Kingdom ofGod,' where at last there is a rest remaining for us all. It is a goodomen. Your father was right and I was wrong. Now I have no more to fear;I am satisfied."

  None of them seemed to be amazed or to find these words wonderful andout of the common. For them the hand of approaching Doom had opened thegates of Distance, and they knew everyone that through these some lighthad broken on their souls, a faint flicker of dawn from beyond theclouds. They accepted it in thankfulness.

  "I think that is all I have to say," said Dirk in his usual voice. "No,it is not all," and he told them of his plan for flight. They listenedand agreed to it, yet to them it seemed a thing far off and unreal. Noneof them believed that this escape would ever be carried out. All of thembelieved that here in Leyden they would endure the fiery trial of theirfaith and win each of them its separate crown.

  When everything was discussed, and each had learned the lesson of whathe must do that day, Foy asked if Adrian was to be told of the scheme.To this his father answered hastily that the less it was spoken of thebetter, therefore he proposed to tell Adrian late that night only, whenhe could make up his mind whether he would accompany them or stay inLeyden.

  "Then he shan't go out to-night, and will come with us as far as theship only if I can manage it," muttered Martin beneath his breath, butaloud he said nothing. Somehow it did not seem to him to be worth whileto make trouble about it, for he knew that if he did his mistress andFoy, who believed so heartily in Adrian, would be angry.

  "Father and mother," said Foy again, "while we are gathered here thereis something I wish to say to you."

  "What is it, son?" asked Dirk.

  "Yesterday I became affianced to Elsa Brant, and we wish to ask yourconsent and blessing."

  "That will be gladly given, son, for I think this very good news. Bringher here, Foy," answered Dirk.

  But although in his hurry Foy did not notice it, his mother saidnothing. She liked Elsa well indeed--who would not?--but oh! thisbrought them a step nearer to that accursed treasure, the treasure whichfrom generation to generation had been hoarded up that it might be adoom to men. If Foy were affianced to Elsa, it was his inheritance aswell as hers, for those trusts of Hendrik Brant's will were to Lysbeththings unreal and visionary, and its curse would fall upon him as wellas upon her. Moreover it might be said that he was marrying her to winthe wealth.

  "This betrothal does not please you; you are sad, wife," said Dirk,looking at her quickly.

  "Yes, husband, for now I think that we shall never get out of Leyden. Ipray that Adrian may not hear of it, that is all."

  "Why, what has he to do with the matter?"

  "Only that he is madly in love with the girl. Have you not seen it?And--you know his temper."

  "Adrian, Adrian, always Adrian," answered Dirk impatiently. "Well, it isa very fitting match, for if she has a great fortune hidden somewhere ina swamp, which in fact she has not, since the bulk of it is bequeathedto me to be used for certain purposes; he has, or will have, moneysalso--safe at interest in England. Hark! here they come, so, wife, puton a pleasant face; they will think it unlucky if you do not smile."


  As he spoke Foy re-entered the room, leading Elsa by the hand, and shelooked as sweet a maid as ever the sun shone on. So they told theirstory, and kneeling down before Dirk, received his blessing in the oldfashion, and very glad were they in the after years to remember that ithad been so received. Then they turned to Lysbeth, and she also liftedup her hand to bless them, but ere it touched their heads, do what shewould to check it, a cry forced its way to her lips, and she said:

  "Oh! children, doubtless you love each other well, but is this a timefor marrying and giving in marriage?"

  "My own words, my very words," exclaimed Elsa, springing to her feet andturning pale.

  Foy looked vexed. Then recovering himself and trying to smile, he said:

  "And I give them the same answer--that two are better than one;moreover, this is a betrothal, not a marriage."

  "Ay," muttered Martin behind, thinking aloud after his fashion,"betrothal is one thing and marriage another," but low as he spoke Elsaoverheard him.

  "Your mother is upset," broke in Dirk, "and you can guess why, so do notdisturb her more at present. Let us to our business, you and Martin tothe factory to make arrangements there as I have told you, and I, afterI have seen the captain, to whatever God shall call me to do. So, tillwe meet again, farewell, my son--and daughter," he added, smiling atElsa.

  They left the room, but as Martin was following them Lysbeth called himback.

  "Go armed to the factory, Martin," she said, "and see that your youngmaster wears that steel shirt beneath his jerkin."

  Martin nodded and went.