Читать книгу Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders - Emma Orczy - Страница 4

I

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

II

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

And don Juan de Vargas gave answer with equal solemnity:

"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."

"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."

"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."

The chief sheriff now spoke:

"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."

"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."

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

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

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

"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.

Whereupon the High-Bailiff spoke once more:

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

"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."

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

"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."

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:

"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."

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:

"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."

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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

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

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.

"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.

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

"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."

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

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

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.

III

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But Mark van Rycke was no longer nigh.

IV

Then suddenly her face lit up with joy, the colour rushed to her cheeks, and her lips parted in a smile.

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.

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

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

"But where are your lodgings?"

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

"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.

"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.

"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!"

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.

"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."

"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?"

"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."

"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…"

"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."

"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."

"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."

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:

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

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

"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."

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

"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?"

"What is it, Ramon?"

"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…"

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.

"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."

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.

"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."

"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."

V

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.

"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.

"At your service, señor," replied Mark.

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

"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."

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

"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."

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

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

"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…"

"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."

"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."

"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…"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

VI

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

"How did you get through?"

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

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

"Has everything gone off well?" queried Laurence.

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

"I'll not hinder you."

"Have you been home at all?"

"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."

"And did you speak to father?"

"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.

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

"She is very beautiful, Mark!"

"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."

"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."

VII

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.

But now Mark turned back to his fiancée, ready for thattête-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.

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

"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."

"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."

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

"Why not?"

"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…"

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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

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

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

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

"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."

"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!"

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.

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.

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.

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:

"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?"

"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."

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

"Every day until our wedding, Messire, in the presence of my aunt, donna Inez 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 grey eyes.

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

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

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

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.

VIII

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.

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.

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.

"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, she could see that his eyes were-like hers-full of tears.

"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."

"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 servant until death."

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."

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."

"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.

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.

"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?"

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