 Chapter 5 of Leatherface, A Tale of Old Flanders Chapter 5. Vengeance. Satan, Satan, Assassin! Donna Lenora had stood beside the dead body of her lover and kinsman, wide-eyed and pale with rigid, set mouth and trembling knees, while her father explained to her how Don Ramon D'Linia had been murdered in the tavern 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 D'Linia, 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 passage by a mysterious assassin who had fled directly his nefarious work had been accomplished. The murderer, however, was seen by the provost in command and by two of the soldiers, and was accurately described by them as wearing doublet and high boots of a dark brown color, a hood over his head, and a mask of untanned leather on his face. The man had rapidly disappeared in the darkness, evading all pursuit, and Donna Lenora, thus face to face for the first time in her sheltered life with crime, with horror, and with grief, had in the first moment of despairing misery, not even a prayer to God in her heart, for it was filled with bitter thoughts of resentment and of possible revenge. She had loved her cousin, Don Ramon D'Linia, with all the ardor of her youth, of her warm temperament, and of a heart thirsting for the self-sacrifice, which women were so ready to offer these days on the altar of their love. She had never thought him shallow or cruel to her. He 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 that was strong and noble and chivalrous, the first man who had ever whispered 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 honor, but as her father said, in a tavern, in the dark, surreptitiously, treacherously, and Donna Lenora, in an agony of passionate resentment, had at last broken the silence which had almost frightened her father and had suddenly called out with fear her intensity, Satan, Satan, assassin. Her father had given her an account of the horrible incident which was nothing but a tissue of falsehoods from beginning to end, and Lenora had listened and believed. How could she doubt her own father? She hardly knew him, and he was all she had in the world on whom to pour out the wealth of her affection and of her faith. Truth to tell, De Vargas had received the news of Don Ramon's death with unbounded satisfaction. Lenora had obeyed him, and had been this night publicly a-fianced to Mark Van Rijk, but between her consent to the marriage and her willingness to become Alva's tool as a spy among her husband's people, there was the immeasurable abyss of a woman's temperament and a woman's natural pity for the oppressed. But the outrage tonight, the murder of the man whom she still loved, despite paternal prohibitions, was bound to react on the girl's warm and passionate nature, and react in the manner which her father desired. He trusted to his own powers of lying to place the case before his daughter in its most lurid light. He had at once spoken of spies and assassins, and his words had been well-chosen. Within a few moments after he had told Lenora the news, he felt that he could play like a skilled musician upon every string of her overwrought sensibilities. Her heart had already been very sore at being forced to part from her first lover. Now that the parting had suddenly become irrevocable in this horrible way, all the pent-up passion, fierce resentment and wrath which she had felt against her future husband and his people could by clever manipulation be easily merged into an equally fierce desire for revenge. It was a cruel game to play with a young girl who by blood and race was made to feel every emotion with super acuteness, but De Vargas was not the man who would ever allow pity or chivalry to interfere with his schemes. He saw in his daughter's mental suffering, in the shattering of her nerves, and the horror which had well night paralyzed her, nothing but a guarantee of success for that comprehensive project which had the death of the Prince of Orange for its ultimate aim. It is strange, murmured the girl after a while, that when Ramon talked with me in the townhouse last night, he said that these Netherlanders had a habit of striking at an enemy in the dark. A presentiment, no doubt rejoined De Vargas with well-famed gentleness. Now, my child, you begin to understand, do you not, why it is that we Spaniards hate these treacherous Netherlanders? They are vile and corrupt to the heart. Every single man, woman or child of them, they fear us and have not the plot to fight us in the open. Orange and his contemptible little army have sought shelter in Holland. They dare not face the valor and enthusiasm of our troops. But, Mark you, what Orange hath done, he hath sown the entire country with a crop of spies. They are here, there, everywhere, not very cunning and certainly not brave. Their orders are to strike in the dark when and how they can. They waylay our Spanish officers in the ill-lighted and intricate streets of their abominable cities. They dog their footsteps till they meet them in some lowly tavern or a tenebrous archway. Then out comes their dagger, swift and sure, and they strike in the gloom, and a gallant Spanish officer's blood stains the cobblestones of one of their towns. It was Don Ramon today. It will be Julian Romero, perhaps tomorrow, or Don Juan De Vargas, who knows, or may have the Duke of Alva one day. Orange and his crowd are out on a campaign of assassination, an army of assassins has been let loose, and their captain general wears a mask of leather, and our soldierry have dubbed him Leatherface. I have heard of this man Leatherface, said Lenora slowly. Is it he you think who murdered Ramon? Have we not, the soldier's testimony, he rejoined blandly. Two men and the provost saw him quite clearly. As for me, I am not surprised. More than once our spies have reported that the man undoubtedly hailed from Ghent, and once he was traced to the very gates of this city. But, he added insinuatingly, here he is surrounded by friends. Every burger in Ghent, no doubt, opens wide his hospitable door to the murderer of Spanish officers. Thank you, it is likely, that the high bailiff of Ghent, or my future husband, would harbor such an assassin, she asked. Well, he replied evasively, all Netherlanders are treacherous, the high bailiff himself and his son Mark are said to be loyal. But there is another son, and the mother, one never knows. It would be strange, he continued unctuously, if at some future time, the murderer of 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, D'Varcus had no cause to fear that henceforth his daughter would fail in her vigilance. The assassination of her lover had stirred her soul to its inmost depths. Indifference and light-hearted girlishness had suddenly given place to all the violent passions of her ardent nature. For the moment, desire for vengeance, for justice, she called it, and hatred of the assassin and his mates had swept every other thought, every soft aspiration away, all her world, the world as seen through the rose-colored windows of a convent window, had tottered and opened beneath her feet, and through the yawning chasm she now saw evil and lust and cruelty, dancing a triumphant saraband over Ramon's dead body. There is a means, resumed D'Varcus, after a slight pause, during which, through half-closed lids, he studied the play of every varying emotion upon his daughter's beautiful face. There is a means, my child, whereby you, or any faithful servant of our king, can henceforth recognize at a glance 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, and ultimately brought him here to my lodgings. He was able to speak, and to give a fragmentary account of what had taken place, how he was set upon in the dark and stabbed to death ere he could utter a cry. But at the last moment he made a supreme effort, and wrenching his dagger from his belt, he struck with it at his assailant. It seems that he inflicted a very severe wound upon the miscreant. The dagger penetrated into the left forearm, close to the elbow, and gashed the flesh and muscle, as far as the wrist, and right through to the bone. It is not likely that at this moment there is more than one man in Ghent who hath such a wound in the left forearm. The wound was deep, too, and will take some time to heal, and even when it is healed it will leave a tell-tale scar which will last for years. I think rejoined Lenora coldly that I should know the man who killed Ramon, even if he bore no brand of cane upon his person. Father and daughter looked at one another, and for the space of a few seconds their souls, so different in every ideal, every feeling, every aspiration, met in one common resolve, he could hardly repress a sigh of satisfaction. He knew that he held her closely, firmly, indissolubly at last. He held her by all the romance which her girlish imagination had woven round the personality of a worthless man, and by all the deep sense of injury which she felt, as well as all the horror and the indignation at the dastardly deed, and his own warped and gloomy soul was at one with her pure and childlike one, pure because even the desire for revenge which she felt she ascribed to God and called it justice, the moorish blood in her which mingles even with the bluest castilian, claimed with savage primitive instinct that eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth, which alone can satisfy a hotheaded and passionate race. Lenora's eyes as she met those of her father lost their look of dull despair, something of the fanatical hatred which he felt for the whole of the despised race communicated itself to her, now that she too had so much cause for hatred. We understand one another, Lenora, he said, and like a feline creature 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 have entered the van Reich household, keep your eyes and ears open, and win the confidence and love of all those around you. Let not a word, a sign, a gesture escape you, and come and tell me at once all that you see 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 visiting Ghent lately. Keep your eyes and ears open, Lenora. You may be the means of bringing that arch-trader to his just punishment. Promise me that you will listen, he urged. I promise, she reiterated firmly. The Lieutenant Governor comes to Ghent in a few days time. Wherever he goes, there is always fear for his precious life. If Orange has been in Ghent, then he hath hatched a plot against the Duke. On this I would stake 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 assassin, leather-face, hang than any man in Europe. Remember that, little one. I'll not forget. The outrage on Don Ramon de Linia must not remain unevented. Remember that. I'll not forget. Then let Orange and his rebels look to themselves, ejaculated De Vargas with a note of triumph. He took from the breast pocket of his doublet a piece of silk ribbon, to which was attached a flat, yet curiously fashioned and shaped piece of steel. Take this, my child, he said significantly, as he held the trinket out to her. This little bit of metal hath already done more service to our Lord the King, to our country, and to our faith than a whole army of spies. What is it, dear? she asked. It is a little talisman, he replied, that will turn any lock and open any secret drawer by whomsoever lock and drawer have been manufactured. It was made for me by the finest metal cutter of Toledo, one, in fact, whose skill was so paramount that we had reluctantly to put him out of harm's way. He was getting dangerous. This passkey was his masterpiece. I have tested it on the most perfect specimens of the locksmith's art, both in Toledo and in Florence. It hath never failed me yet. Take it, my child, and guard it carefully. And I mistake not, you will find use for it in your new home. Before she could protest he had thrown the ribbon over her head, and she, mechanically but with unaccountable reluctance with all, slipped the trinket into the bosom of her gown. Remember, my dear, concluded De Vargas, that the day after your marriage I must return to Brussels. But if you see or hear anything that may concern the welfare of our sovereign Lord the King, or of his government, you must come to me at once, do not hesitate, invent a pretext, come away in secret, do anything rather than delay, and remember also that anything you may tell me I will treat in absolute confidence. Your name will never appear in connection with any denunciation. I mean, he interrupted himself hastily, with any service which you may render to the State. Will you remember that also, my child? I will remember, she replied. It seemed almost as if she were under the potent spell of some wizard. She spoke and acted just as her father directed, and yet he looked so evil at this moment. Hypocrisy and lust were so apparent in his jaundiced face that even Lenora felt a sudden pang of doubt and of fear, doubt as to the purity of her own motives, and fear at the terrible companionship which would henceforth exist between herself and her father's friends, men who, like him, were bent on the destruction of a nation, and were actuated by blind hatred to oppress an entire people. De Vargas vaguely guessing what went on in the girl's mind made an effort to regain his former bland manner. He strove by gentleness and soft words to lull her suspicions. After all, he was her father, and she, a motherless child, had no one, now in the world, to whom she could cling, on whom she could pour out that wealth of love and tenderness which filled her young heart to overflowing. So now, very soon, she was kneeling close beside him, her head resting against his bosom, the dove nestling near the hawk, and the tears which would not come, all the while that her soul was consumed with bitterness, flowed beneficently at last, and eased her overburdened heart. You will not fail me, little one, asked De Vargas, even in the myths of tender and daring words. Never, she murmured, if you turned against me, father dear, wither, could I go? I have no one in the world but you. As her head was bent and her eyes downcast, she could not see the cold and cruel glitter that shone in his face as he heard this simple profession of wholehearted devotion and faith. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it, she whispered again. Then will God himself reward you, he rejoined unctuously, for you will be serving him and his church, his anointed and the country of his chosen people, after which he rose, kissed her, and finally, with a sigh of intense satisfaction, left her to meditate alone, to dream, and to pray. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Leather Face, A Tale of Old Flanders This is a LibriVox recording. A LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Leatherface, A Tale of Old Flanders, by Baroness Orksie, Chapter 6 A Stranger in a Strange Land A week later was the marriage solemnized between Donna Lenora De Vargas and Mark Van Rijk, son of the High Bailiff of Ghent. The religious ceremony took place in the Abbey Church of Saint Bavon, in the presence of several members of the Grand Council, and of all the high functionaries of the city. Nothing had been spared to make the occasion a magnificent and imposing one. The union between the two young people was known to have the warm approval of the King himself. His holiness the Pope had sent a special blessing to the bride and bridegroom, whilst the Captain General had granted the use of a number of picked troops to render the display more gorgeous. Seventy-hundred-and-fifty Archbishop Spearman and Halberdeers lined the route of the bridal procession between the townhouse and the church. They were dressed in the heraldic colors of the city of Ghent, one like blue and the other yellow, and wore enormous hats with huge feathers dyed in the two colors. The Regent too had graciously lent his court musicians for the occasion, and they headed the procession with full orchestra playing the newest motets. The church itself had been magnificently decorated with tapestries and a huge concourse of people lined the streets in order to view all this pomp and magnificence. After the religious ceremony, a grand banquet was held in the great hall of the townhouse at which eighty-four privileged guests were bidden. It was served at separate tables, each laid for a dozen guests, and consisted of twenty-five courses, which were both varied and succulent. There were fowls stewed in milk and dressed with sweetmeats and spices. There were pickled partridges and pastries, sausages and omelets of every kind, whilst huge fluggins of iced beer and relish wines added to the conviviality of the entertainment. Signor De Vargas presided at the chief table, and he had the bride on his right and the bridegroom on his left. The Hyde Bailiff also sat at this table as did Madame, his wife, and Missour Lawrence Van Rijk, and every one remarked that Signor De Vargas was in high good humor, and that he bestowed marked evidences of his favour, both upon the Hyde Bailiff and upon the bridegroom. During the banquet, the court musicians discoursed sweet music. In fact, everything was done not only with decorum but with liberality. This was the first union between a noted and highly-placed Spanish family and an equally-distinguished patrician house of Flanders, and in a brief toast, tankered in hand, Signor De Vargas expressed the hope that it might prove the precursor of a great many more. Those present at the feast remarked moreover that the bride was beautiful beyond powers of description, that the bridegroom looked as usual as if he had been spending half his nights in the taverns, and that Missour Lawrence Van Rijk looked pale and sick, but nothing of any grave moment occurred during the length of this exciting and strenuous day. After the banquet, the tables were cleared, and many more guests arrived to take part in a grand reunion and ball which lasted well into the night. But neither the bride nor bridegroom nor any of the grand Spanish seniors stayed for that. A small procession was formed soon after the conclusion of the banquet, consisting of the parents of bride and bridegroom, flanked by a guard of honour which conducted the young couple from the townhouse to the residents of the High Baleuf, which was to remain their home until such time as a more fitting permanent abode could be provided for them. And now the escort had taken leave of the young people. Don Juan De Vargas and the High Baleuf had to return to their guests at the townhouse, and Clémence Van Rijk had gone to rest. The archbassiers had gone, and the serving men and women, with the exception of Pierre and Jeannie, had gone to watch the illuminations and to listen to the strains of the orchestra, which could be heard quite plainly through the open windows of the townhouse. Clémence Van Rijk had conducted the bride upstairs to the nuptial chamber with her own hands. She had drawn a high-backed chair close to the fire and made the young girl sit down. Mark then placed a footstool to her feet and a down cushion to her back. Lenora accepted all these little attentions without a word, but with a grateful smile. She was far too tired to speak, and when Clémence finally kissed her on the forehead and whispered a motherly, God bless you, my child, she could hardly murmur a feeble good night in reply. Then Madame Van Rijk went away, and the house seemed suddenly to become very still. Lenora was still in her bridal gown, which was of stiff white brocade, with very high starched collar and hard stomacher that cramped her movements and made her sides ache. Her hair had been combed away from her forehead, and only a few unruly curls lay moist against her brow. Her delicate skin rebelled against the conventional white and pink unguents which the careful fingers of a highly trained waiting woman had laid upon her cheeks and lips, and the dark lines of a black pencil round her lashes could not add luster to her luminous dark eyes which, despite fatigue, shone with marvelous brilliancy. She sat with hands folded before her, staring into the fire, and the flames in wanton frolic threw a golden glow upon her face and her gown, and deep blue shadows all around her. Mark Van Rijk, unseen by her, stood at the other end of the monumental hearth, one arm resting against the ledge, his head against his hand, so that his face was completely in shadow, and she could not know that he was watching her. You are tired, Madonna, he asked, after a little while, and she replied pathetically, like a child about to cry, very tired, Misser. It has been a long and trying day for you, he continued lightly. I confess to being very tired myself, and as soon as Jeanne comes to wait on you, I would beg of you that I might take my leave. Then, as she said nothing, but continued to stare into the fire in a listless manner, he added a little impatiently, Jeanne will not be long. She attends upon my mother every night, but will be at your service directly. Can you put up with my company, Madonna, till she come? I am at your service, Misser, she rejoined stiffly. If there is ought you wish to say to me how cold you are, sweetheart, he said good-humidly. It would seem as if we were still in the presence of that awe-inspiring duena of yours. What was her name? I forgot, but by the mass I tell you, sweet, that she froze the very marrow in my bones, and you were so formal in her presence, too, Burr. It makes me shiver to think of those half-hours spent during the past week in such a freezing atmosphere. He laughed, a quaint little laugh, half merry and half shy, and after an instance hesitation he drew a low chair forward and sat down in front of the fire close to her, even then she did not turn to look at him. Had it not been for your eyes, Madonna, he said softly, I would have sworn that you were fashioned of marble. Now he was leaning a little forward, his elbow resting on his knee, his hand shading his face from the light of the fire. He was studying her face closely and thought that he had never seen any woman quite so beautiful. Lawrence was a fool he was saying to himself as he took in every detail of the perfect face, the delicate contour of the cheeks, the pearly whiteness of the skin, the exquisite line of chin and throat, and above all those dark glowing unfathomable eyes which betrayed all the latent fire and passion which coldness of demeanor strove vainly to conceal. Lawrence was a fool he would have fallen madly in love with this beautiful creature and would have made her happy and contented with her lot whilst the bonds of matrimony would have sat more lightly on him than on me. He sighed feeling a little sorry for himself, but nevertheless he stretched out his hand and captured hers, an exquisitely fashioned little hand it was delicate to the touch and pulsating with life like a prisoned bird. Mark was a young man and one who had already got out of life most of the joys which it holds, but just for a moment he felt a curious thrill of unaccustomed pleasure in holding this perfect thing. Donna Lenora's hand, his own hands were strong, yet slender, finely shaped and warm to the touch, but it must be supposed that as he held hers he must quite unconsciously have hurt her, for suddenly he saw that she turned even wider than she had been before. Her eyes closed and quite abruptly she withdrew her hand. Do I anger you, Madonna? He asked. Nay, Missouri, she replied coldly. May I not then hold your hand for a very little while in mind, if you wish, but she did not voluntarily put her hand out to him, and he made no second attempt to capture it. We do not seem to be getting along very fast, he said quaintly. She smiled. Seeing how we came to be together, Missouri, she said, we were not like to have much in common. Yet we shall have to pass our lives together, Madonna. Alas, she sighed, I own that the prospect cannot be very alluring for you. It doth not seem to suggest an interminable vista of happiness. Oh, she murmured, as if involuntarily I was not thinking of happiness. How strange he retorted gently. Now, whenever I look at you, Madonna, I invariably think of happiness, happiness with me, with you, sweetheart, if you will, but allow me to work for that object. After all, my dear, he added with that whimsical smile of his, we are both young. You and I, life lies all before us. I own that we have made a sorry beginning, that the first chapter of our book of life hath been ill-written and by clumsy hands. But suppose we turn over a few pages. Do you not think that we might happen on a more romantic passage? He drew nearer still to her, so near that as he bent toward her, his knee touched the ground and his arm instinctively stretched out behind her, so that at the least movement on her part it would close around her and hold her, as indeed he longed that it should do. She was so very beautiful and that air of settled melancholy, of childlike helplessness and pathos in her, made an irresistible appeal to him. Madonna, he whispered, and you would let me, I should like to make love to you now. But she, with a quick, impatient jerk, suddenly sat bolt upright and freed herself almost roughly from that arm which was nearly encircling her shoulders. Love, she said with cold sarcasm, you. He bit his lip and in his turn drew back. The dour look in his face became more marked and the merry twinkle died out of his eyes. His knee no longer touched the ground, but he remained quite self-possessed and said, still quite good, humbly, Yes, I, your husband, as it happens, Madonna, would love from me be so very distasteful to you then. I have no love for you, Missour, as you well know. She said coldly, I told you what my feelings were toward you the first time that we met at the townhouse, the night of our betrothal. Yes, he owned, you spoke very plainly then. And since then I have had no cause to change. I am as distasteful to you as I ever was, he asked, with droll consternation. Oh, not distasteful, Missour. Come, that's something. Enough me thinks, not by a long way, but it is a beginning. Today I am not altogether distasteful. Tomorrow I might even be tolerated. In a week, toleration might turn to liking. And after that, liking too. Never, she broke infirmly, I should have to forget that which is indelibly writ upon my memory. And what is that? That you married me without love and without wooing. Bought me like a bundle of goods, just because my father is powerful and yours ambitious. A week ago we were betrothed, Missour. Since then, how hath your time been passed? In wild ecstatic half-hours spent in the presence of your duena and sitting opposite to the chilliest bride in Christendom, he said whimsically, and the rest of the time in the taverns of Ghent she retorted haughtily and places of ill-repute. Who told you that? he asked quietly. Oh, your reputation is well known. How could it fail to reach mine ears? Evil tongues always make themselves heard, Madonna, he said, still speaking very quietly, although now he sat quite apart from her with his long legs stretched out before him and his hands clasped between his knees. I would, you had not listened. I would, I had not heard, she assented, for then I should not have added one more humiliation to all those which I have had to endure. And I, another regret, he said with a short sigh, but even if evil tongues spoke true, Madonna, he continued more lightly, the shame of my conduct would sit on me and not on you. They call me a ne'er-do-well in the city and have, it seems, done so in your hearing. Well, let me plead guilty for the past and lay my contrition at your feet. Once more the more gentle mood overcame him. The house was so still and there was something quite unaccountably sweet in this sentimental dalliance with this exquisitely beautiful woman who was his wife, sentimental indeed, for though she appeared cold and even cruelly sarcastic, he felt the strength of a fine nature in her. Here was no mere doll, mere puppet and slave of man, content to take her lot as her family or her husband chose to shape it, content to endure or accept a husband's love without more return than passive obedience and meaningless kisses. At the back of his mind he still thought Lawrence a fool and felt how well suited two such warm natures would have been to one another, but for the moment a strange desire seized him to win a kind look from this beautiful woman on his own account, to see her smile on him willingly and confidingly, to win her friendship and her trust even though no warmer feeling should ever crop up between him and her. Madonna, he said, and once again he dropped his knee to the ground and leaned toward her so that her warm breath touched his hand which he placed upon hers. There are many men in the world who never do well because they have been left to the companionship of those who do equally badly. Will you, Dane, to believe that all the evil that is in me lies very much on the surface? They call me wild and extravagant. Even my mother calls me careless and shallow, but if you smiled on me, Madonna, me thinks that something which lies buried deep down in my heart would stir me to an effort to become worthy of you. His voice, habitually somewhat rough and always slightly ironical, was wonderfully gentle now. Instinctively perhaps even against her will, Lenora turned her head slowly round and looked at him. He had never before looked so straight and closely into her eyes, and as she bore his scrutinizing glance, the warm blood slowly mounted to her cheeks. Her face was partly in shadow. Only the outline of her small head was outlined by the ruddy glow of the fire and the tiny ear shown, transparent and crimson, like a shell, with the golden tendrils of her fair hair gently stirring in the draft from the wide open hearth. As she was excited and perhaps a little frightened, her breath came and went rapidly, and her lips were slightly parted, showing a faint glimmer of pearly teeth beyond. Mark felt a sudden rush of blood to his head, to be alone with this adorable woman so close to him, to feel her panting like a young creature full of life and passion, slightly leaning against his arm, to look into those wonderful dark eyes and to know that she was his, was indeed more than man could endure in cold blood. The next moment he had caught her with irresistible masterfulness in both his arms and drawn her down to him, as he knelt whilst his eager lips sought hers with a mad longing for a kiss, but with an agonized cry of horror, she pushed him away with all her feeble might. For a moment she struggled in his arms like a wild creature panting for liberty and murmuring mad incoherent words, Let me go, let me go, I hate you. The next she was already free and he had struggled to his feet. Now he stood at some little distance from her, looking down on her with a scared gaze and passing his hand mechanically backwards and forwards across his brow. Your pardon, Madonna, he murmured. I did not understand that you could hate me so. The fire was burning low, and the two candles in tall sconces at the further end of the room threw but a fitful light upon that hunched-up young figure in the big highback chair, cowering there half-frightened at her own violence, tired out with emotion. Her nerves quivering after the final tense moment which had left her exhausted and almost unconscious. Mark could only see her dimly. The stiff folds of her wedding gown and the high-starched collar were alone visible in the gloom. She had hidden her face in the cushion of the chair. Presently a sob rose to her throat and then another, and soon she was crying, just like a tired child. Mark felt that he had been a brute and was seized with an infinite pity for her. Madonna, he said gently, I think I can hear Genie's footstep in the corridor. May I call to her to come and attend on you. I thank you, Missour, murmured Lenora, who was making a great effort to swallow her tears. Then I pray you dry your eyes, he pleaded. I would be so ashamed if Genie saw that I had made you cry. She looked up, and even in the gloom, he thought that he could see a swift smile pass across her face. Tomorrow, and you desire, he continued more lightly. Your old dragon, I know, shall be here to wait on you. Until then I trust that you will not feel too lonely away from those you care for. My mother is an angel. You will love her, I think, and my brother Lawrence is learned and well-read. My father, too, is kind. We will all strive Madonna to make you somewhat more contented with your lot. You mistake, Missour, she stammered. I—but already he had bowed before her and bidden her a formal good-night. She had meant to give him her hand and to ask his forgiveness, for indeed she had behaved like an ill-tempered child, a bad beginning for the role which she had sworn to play, but he had gone, and before she could call him back, he was speeding down the corridor, and anon she heard him loudly calling to Genie. Lenora did not see her husband during the whole of the next day and on the one occasion when she ventured to ask after him, with well-famed indifference lest any one guest that all was not well between them, Clemont's van Rijk sighed. Missour at the High Baleuf gave a forced laugh, and Lawrence van Rijk frowned with obvious anger, and in the evening, when she retired to her room and felt strangely irritable and hurt at being left in such solitude, she questioned Ines, who had been allowed to come and wait on her and who had a marvelous faculty for glaning all the gossip that was going about the town. They do say, my angel, said the old woman, with that complacency which characterizes your true gossip, that Missour, Mark van Rijk, had spent his whole day in the tavern opposite. It is known as the three weavers, and many Spanish officers are quartered in there now. Heaven protect us, ejaculated Lenora involuntarily. I trust they did not quarrel. quarrel, my saint, retorted Ines with a spiteful little laugh, for she had no liking for these Netherlanders. Nay, Missour van Rijk, would not dare quarrel with a Spanish officer. No, no, it seems that the taparage of the three weavers was most convivial all the day. It is always frequented by Spanish officers, although the innkeeper is said to be an abominable heretic. There was much gambling and heavy drinking there, so they say, and even now. And as if to confirm the old woman's say, there came from the house opposite, and through the open windows, loud noise of gay laughter and hilarious song, a deep flush rose to Lenora's face. Close that window, Ines, she said, peremptorily, the night hath turned chilly. She went to sit by the fire, and curtly dismissed the gossiping old woman. She knew all that she had wanted to know, and the flush of shame deepened on her cheek. There had been times, during the past week, when a vague hope had stirred in her heart, that may have life did hold a small measure of happiness for her. There were times, when she did not altogether dislike, Mark Van Rijk, when that winning merriment and good humor, which always lurked in his eyes, provoked a response in her own, and others, when certain notes of gentleness in his voice caused a strange thrill in her heart, and brought tears into her eyes, which were not altogether tears of sorrow. She had also felt deeply remorseful at her conduct last night, at the cruel words, I hate you, which she had flung so roughly in his face. Indeed she could scarcely sleep all night, for she was persistently haunted by the dazed look in those merry gray eyes of his, which had just for one brief moment flashed tender reproach on her. But now she felt nothing but shame, shame that she should ever have thought tenderly of a man who could so wrong her, who had so little thought of her that he could spend his whole day in a tavern, whilst his young girl bride was left to loneliness and boredom, in a house where she was a total stranger. She thought him vindictive and cruel. Already she had thought so last night, when he went away hurriedly, without waiting for the apology which was hovering on her lips. Now she was quite sure that she hated him, and the next time she told him so, she certainly would not regret it. But somehow she felt more forlorn than she had been before that daughter'd Inez had filled her ears with gossip. The house, as usual, was very still, but Lenora knew that the family had not yet gone to rest. A while ago she thought that she had heard footsteps and a murmur of voices in the hall below. A desire for company seized the young girl and she wracked her brain for an excuse to go down to her mother-in-law, who she knew was kind and who perhaps would cheer and comfort her a little, and give her kind pity in her loneliness. 7. The Rebels At this same hour in the small width drawing-room, which adjoined the dining-hall in Monsieur van Rijk's house, five men were sitting round the gate-legged table in the center of the room. At the top of the table sat Clémence van Rijk in a tall chair, covered with crimson velvet. Opposite to her sat a man who was dressed in rough clothes of dark-colored baffle, and whose rough was of plain coarse linen. He wore a leather belt to which was fastened a heavy wallet and high tough boots that reached above his knee. His black hat and mantle lay on a chair close by. In fact, his clothes, more than ordinarily somber and plain, were such as the serving man of a poor burger might wear. Nevertheless, this man had round his neck a crimson ribbon to which was attached a gold pendant in the shape of a dead weather, which is the badge worn by the knights of the Golden Fleece. When this man spoke, the others listened to him with marked deference, and Lawrence van Rijk stood all the time beside his chair and served him with wine. In appearance he was spare of build and tall. He wore full beard and mustache, and hair brushed away from an unusually high forehead. His eyes were prominent and very keen and astute, as well as frank and kindly in expression, and his eyebrows were fully and markedly arched. Clémence van Rijk was the only woman present. The other three men were all dressed in dark clothes, and their black mantles hung over the backs of their chairs. The room in which these half-dozen people were assembled was narrow and oak-paneled. At the end of it there was a low and very wide window recess across which heavy curtains of crimson velvet had been drawn. At the side a door gave on the dining hall. This door was open, and the hall beyond was in complete darkness. The whole room was only dimly lighted by one thick wax candle which burned in a tall sconce that stood on a bracket in an angle of the room and threw a fitful light on the grave faces of the men sitting around the table. The high bailiff half-business at the townhouse, Clémence van Rijk, was saying in reply to the stranger who sat opposite to her. He will not be home until midnight. My son, Mark, too, is from home, she added more curtly. Your highness can discuss your plans with these gentlemen in all security, and if you wish me to retire, she half-rose as if she meant to go, but a word from the stranger kept her in her place. I entreat you to stay with us, Mevro, he said. We would wish you to hear all that we have to say of a truth we have no more loyal adherents than Mevro van Rijk and her son, and what we should have done in this city without their help I do not know. He turned at the same time to Lawrence and stretched out his hand to him. The young man at once bent the knee and kissed the gracious hand. The little that we have done, Monsignor, said Clémence softly, hath been done with great gladness seeing that it was in your service. Not only mine, Mevro, rejoined the stranger, I am but the instrument of God's will and humble follower of his cause. What you have done was done for him and for the cause of liberty, of justice, and of right. May God's blessing rest upon your highness's enterprise, murmured Clémence fervently. For God and William of Orange is our cry. Your cause is the cause of God. Alas, said the prince, with a sigh of utter weariness and dejection, you know how little success I have had in this city. Promises, promises, promises I have in plenty, and a couple of thousand young men from the town have rallied to my standard. A poor result indeed, after all my efforts, so much tyranny, he exclaimed bitterly such wanton oppression, the dastardly outrages at Mons and at Mecklen, and only two thousand men among thirty, willing to take up arms to defend their liberty, their ancient privileges, their very homes. He leaned his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands. Clémence van Rijk was silent, as were the men. Their hearts echoed all the bitterness which had surged up in William of Orange's heart. Yet your highness refuses to take me with you, said Lawrence, with gentle reproach. Only for the moment, misser, rejoined the prince, only for the moment. Never fear, but I will send for you as soon as I have need of you. Can I afford to reject so devoted a champion? But for the moment you can do so much more for me by staying quietly at home than if you followed me on my recruiting campaign. I have not yet exhausted the resources and enthusiasm of this city. Of that I feel confident I shall try again for another week. There are still several likely houses that I have not visited and whose cordial invitation I have received. Beware of treachery, your highness, broken Clémence van Rijk suddenly. Nay, Madonna, he said, whilst that same winning smile lit up the somber dejection of his face. But have I not told you that my dragon is on the watch? Not a step am I allowed to take in this city without his permission. He allowed me to come to this house tonight, because he knew that I desired to express my gratitude to you personally. But I can assure you, he added, laughing softly to himself, I had to fight for the permission. Is that not insolence, exclaimed one of the others hotly? Were we not to be trusted with the care of your sacred person? You all signors, and M. Van Rijk and his mother rejoined the prince, but there are others in this house. Do not blame my devoted leather face. He continued earnestly, but for him I should not be here now. No man could be more watchful, no man more brave or more resourceful. Countless times did he save me from the assassin's dagger and the poisoner's cup. If my life is necessary for the cause of freedom and justice, then have freedom and justice in leather face their truest and most efficient champion. Amen to that, rejoined Clemont's Van Rijk with fervor. I only wish I knew who he was that I might pray more personally for him. Ah, we none of us know who he is. Madonna said William of Orange, more lightly. He is leather face and that is enough for us. And this reminds me that he begged me to be back at my lodgings by ten o'clock, so I have not much time to spend in this pleasing gossip. Shall we to serious business now? At your highness's service, replied Lawrence, and the others also murmured a quick assent. Well then, signors, having decided on our coup, we have only the details to consider. You have all assured me that the Duke of Alva will come to Ghent within the next few days, and that our two thousand recruits are ready to carry out the orders which we have framed for them. The numbers will be doubled within the next few days, interposed one of the grave's signors with conviction. Your highness's presence in the town, though only known to a very few loyalists, hath wrought miracles already. The wave of enthusiasm is spreading, asserted another. Well, if we had more men, quote the Prince cheerily, our plan would of assurity be more certain of success. I cannot say that I altogether approve of the plan, for as you know, I am a soldier and have no great mind for plots and conspiracies. But those on whose judgment I place infinite confidence, men such as Monsieur Paul Byes, pensionary of Leiden, Marnix of Thelouse, Marnix of Saint Aldegonde, and others all approve of it, and I have therefore given it mine assent. He sank his voice yet lower to a whisper, and he leaned right across the table as did the other men, so that their ears were quite close to his mouth. The Duke of Alva comes to Ghent in about a week's time, he continued, the idea is to seize his person and hold him a prisoner here and hostage, whilst we demand the withdrawal of all the Spanish troops from the Netherlands and the abolition of the Spanish Inquisition. To seize the person of the Duke of Alva, murmured Clémence van Rijk, and so great was the terror which the tyrant inspired in every Flemish heart, that even those who already knew of this daring plot were appalled at the magnitude of such an outrage. Why not, William of Orange earnestly? Less than a hundred years ago, the town of Bruges held the Archduke Maximilian, king of the Romans, a prisoner within her walls until he swore to dismiss all foreign troops from the Netherlands within four days and gave hostages for his fidelity. What Bruges did then cannot Ghent do now? With Alva a prisoner in our hands we can dictate our terms to the king. It is a bold coup, seniors, I own, but it hath every chance of success. A murmur of approval went round the table. Clémence alone was silent. She was old and feeble. Perhaps she had seen more than one bold coup fail. And terrible reprisals follow such failures. But Lawrence was full of eagerness and enthusiasm. It cannot fail. He asserted vehemently, Are there not two thousand men in the city who are devoted to your highness, heart and soul, and who are ready to give their lives for your cause. Two thousand, and within three days there will be five, more than enough for such a bold coup. It will and must succeed. One lucky hazard, and we may win all that we have fought for, lived for, died for, for over a century. It cannot fail, came with fervent conviction from every one of the others. Ghent can do what Bruges have done, they affirmed. With a tyrant, a prisoner in our hands we can dictate terms as Bruges did and a hundred years ago. Well said, signors, rejoin William of Orange, and your approval, you who know this city so much better than I do, have given me further encouragement. And now, he added with serious earnestness, you will want to know why I convened this meeting, which by Mevru van Rijks graciousness I have been able to do. And you will wish to hear what role has been assigned to each of you in the great event which we are preparing. Let me but offer my life, interposed Lawrence, eagerly. Nay, not your life, I hope, monsieur, quote the prince with a smile, your forethought and prudence and your united cooperation are what we want. Ye are risking your lives, signors, in this enterprise, that I will not deny, but ye are men, and know which you value most, your life, or the very existence of your nation, which is threatened with complete destruction. For Orange, for faith and for liberty, said one of the men simply, and the others merely murmured, tell us what we must do. You must be wary and alert above all things, signors, for I have chosen you for a very arduous task in connection with this enterprise. And you must recognize that, however carefully we organize it, there will always be one week link in the chain, which we are forging for the capture of that abominable tyrant, the Duke of Alva. One week link? Yes, we do not and cannot know for certain on which date Alva proposes to come to Ghent. The dates of his visits to Flemish towns are always kept a secret until the very moment of departure. He dreads assassination, interposed one man with a sneer. On the last occasion of the Duke's visit to Ghent, said Clémence Van Rijk, my husband was only apprised of it by Courier two hours before his arrival. The Courier had started from Brussels a bare half hour before the Lieutenant Governor and his courtage left the city precisely, and even then the High Bailiff was in advance of everyone else with the news nodded the Prince. And that is where our difficulty lies, how to collect together a couple of thousand men at perhaps an hour's notice, men who are scattered in different portions of this city and probably engaged in their usual evocations. Where will their leaders be? Each at the different points where our secret stores of arms are kept. There are four of these points and four captains whom I have appointed to command five hundred men each. Having distributed the arms, the captains will lead their respective companies to the Wallport, where a crowd is sure to collect as soon as the rumor has spread to the town that the Lieutenant Governor is coming. Our men will mix with the crowd and add a given signal when the Duke's courtage crosses the bridge, they will rush the bodyguard, scatter confusion among the escort, and in the Malay seize the person of Alva. During the inevitable tumult that will ensue among the soldiers and the populace, our valuable hostage shall be conveyed in absolute secrecy to Head Spanjard's Castile, where of course we can easily keep him a close prisoner whilst we negotiate with the King. But this of course is for the future signeurs, he added, and my concern now is to explain to you the method which I and my counselors have devised for the calling together of our stalwarts as soon as the Duke's coming visit is announced. Have I your close attention, signeurs? He had indeed the four men round the table bent forward more eagerly still so as not to lose one word of their noble chief's commands, but before they could formulate the words of loyalty and of enthusiasm which hovered on their lips, a soft sound like the beating of a bird's wing against the window pain froze those whispered words upon their lips. Every head was immediately turned to the window, every face became rigid and pale, every brow was contracted with the effort to strain the faculty of hearing to its tensest point. It seemed as if six pairs of glowing eyes would pierce the folds of the velvet curtain which hung before the window. The Prince was the first to recover himself. It is Leatherface, he whispered, come to give me warning. He rose and would have gone to the window, but Clémence van Rijk caught him by the arm and clung convulsively to him. Not you, Monsignor, she entreated, not you, it might be a traitor. Then the tapping was repeated and Lawrence went cautiously up to the window and after an instant's hesitation he suddenly drew the curtains aside with a resolute gesture. Then he unfastened the tall casement and threw it open. The night was of an inky blackness and as the lattice flew open a gust of wind and heavy driving rain nearly extinguished the light of the candle, but in the framework of the window a man's head and shoulders detached themselves from out the gloom. The head and shoulders were closely enveloped in a hood and cape and the face was hidden by a mask and all were dripping with wet. Leatherface murmured the Prince and Clémence van Rijk gave a sigh of relief. There is a light in the window above whispered the man with the mask and a shadow has crossed behind the windows of the corridor. Someone is a stirrer overhead and the civic business at the townhouse is drawing to an end. We have nearly finished, murmured the Prince in reply, and I'll come away at once. Is the street clear? Quite, and will be for another ten minutes till the night watchman comes round. I saw him just now. He is very drunk and might make trouble. I come, friend, rejoin the Prince, and as soon as may be. The hooded head disappeared in the gloom. Lawrence closed the window and drew the curtains together again. I envy that man, he said, and Clémence murmured a fervent God bless him. Then the Prince turned once more to his friends. You see, he said with his grave smile, how carefully my dragon guards me. There is evidently no time for lengthy explanations and I must be as brief as I can. He now opened the wallet at his belt and took out from it a small packet of papers. I am going to entrust these papers to Missour Lawrence van Rijk. He said, they contain the names and places of abode and of business of every one of those two thousand men who have actually tendered me their oath of allegiance and have sworn to give me unconditional support. I propose that Missour van Rijk keep these lists because it will undoubtedly be his father, the High Bailiff, who will learn sooner than anyone else in the town the day and hour of the Duke of Alva's visit to Ghent. As soon as this is known to him, Missour van Rijk will then go to each of you, signores, and give you each a list of five hundred names, at the head of which will be noted the rallying point where these men will have to meet their captain and receive their arms. You in your turn will then each go and beat up the five hundred men whose names will have been given you and order them to go to their respective rallying points. All this plan, added the Prince, has been very carefully thought out and it seems to me simple and easy of execution. But if any of you, signores, can think of a better one, I am, of course, always ready to take advice. You know your own city better than I do. You might devise something still more practical than what I propose. Nay interposed one of the men. Me seems that nothing could be more simple, and I, for one, do vote unconditionally for the acceptance of his highness's plan. The others all gave their assent hastily now, for again that gentle tapping was heard against the window pane, only rather more firmly, more urgently, this time. But no one went to the window to see what the tapping meant. Obviously, the faithful watcher outside scented some still hidden danger. The Prince at once, by rising, gave the signal that the conference was at an end. As he did so, he handed the packet of papers to Lawrence van Rijk, who received it, unbended knee. It is a treasure, Missouri, said William of Orange earnestly, which involves the lives of many, and even, perhaps, the whole existence of this city. Where will you keep it? It was Clemont's van Rijk, who replied, This room, she said, is mine own private withdrawing room. That bureau there hath a wonderful lock which defies the cleverest thief. It contains my most valuable jewels. The papers will be safer there than anywhere. Let me see you lock them up in their mevru, rejoined the Prince graciously. I entrust them to you and to Lawrence with utmost confidence. Clemont's then handed a key to her son, and he locked the packet up in the tall bureau of carved and inlaid mahogany and satin wood, which stood in an angle of the narrow room, close to the window and opposite to the door. I am meeting some friends and adherents tomorrow, said William of Orange, finally, at the house of Monsieur the procurator general, whom of a truth God will bless for his loyalty. And I pray you, signores, as many of you as can do so, to meet me there at this same hour. But should we not meet again, do you understand all that you have to do? The men nodded in silence, whereupon the Prince took formal leave of them, and of his host and hostess, he said kind and grateful words to Clemont's van Rijk, who with tears in her eyes, kissed the gracious hand which was held out to her. She then escorted her noble guest out of the room and across the dining hall, the others following closely behind. All were treading as noiselessly as they could. The door which gave from the dining room on the hall and staircase beyond was wide open. The room itself was in absolute darkness, and only a tiny light flickered in the hall, which made the shadows round corners and in recesses appear all the more dense. Will your highness grope your way to the front door, whispered Clemont's van Rijk, or shall my son bring a lantern to guide you? No, no, said William of Orange hurriedly. That small light yonder is quite sufficient. I can see my way, and we must try not to wake your hall porter. Oh, nothing will rouse him, save a very severe shaking, and the bolts and bars have been left undone, as my husband will be coming home late tonight. And if I am not mistaken, quote the prince, my devoted friend Leatherface is waiting for me outside to see me safely to my lodgings. He is always mistrustful of hidden traps, or hired assassins for me. Farewell, signors, he added lightly. Remember my instructions, in case we do not meet again. But tomorrow, interposed Lawrence van Rijk, I tomorrow, said William of Orange, at this hour, at the house of Missour De Nuit, the procurator general. Those of you, signors, who care to come will be welcome. Not one of us would care to stay away, rejoined Lawrence with earnest conviction.