That evening, but not until dark had fallen, two other travellersentered Leyden, namely, Foy and Martin. Passing unobserved throughthe quiet streets, they reached the side door of the house in the BreeStraat. It was opened by a serving-woman, who told Foy that his motherwas in Adrian's room, also that Adrian was very much better. So thither,followed more slowly by Martin, went Foy, running upstairs three stepsat a time, for had he not a great story to tell!
The interior of the room as he entered it made an attractive picturewhich even in his hurry caught Foy's eye and fixed itself so firmly inhis mind that he never forgot its details. To begin with, the placewas beautifully furnished, for his brother had a really good taste intapestry, pictures, and other such adornments. Adrian himself lay upon arichly carved oak bed, pale from loss of blood, but otherwise little theworse. Seated by the side of the bed, looking wonderfully sweet in thelamplight, which cast shadows from the curling hair about her brows onto the delicate face beneath, was Elsa Brant. She had been reading toAdrian from a book of Spanish chivalry such as his romantic soul loved,and he, resting on his elbow in the snowy bed, was contemplating herbeauty with his languishing black eyes. Yet, although he only saw herfor a moment before she heard his entry and looked up, it was obviousto Foy that Elsa remained quite unconscious of the handsome Adrian'sadmiration, indeed, that her mind wandered far away from the magnificentadventures and highly coloured love scenes of which she was reading inher sweet, low voice. Nor was he mistaken, for, in fact, the poor childwas thinking of her father.
At the further end of the room, talking together earnestly in the deepand curtained window-place, stood his mother and his father. Clearlythey were as much preoccupied as the younger couple, and it was notdifficult for Foy to guess that fears for his own safety upon hisperilous errand were what concerned them most, and behind them otherunnumbered fears. For the dwellers in the Netherlands in those daysmust walk from year to year through a valley of shadows so grim that ourimagination can scarcely picture them.
"Sixty hours and he is not back," Lysbeth was saying.
"Martin said we were not to trouble ourselves before they had been gonefor a hundred," answered Dirk consolingly.
Just then Foy, surveying them from the shadowed doorway, steppedforward, saying in his jovial voice:
"Sixty hours to the very minute."
Lysbeth uttered a little scream of joy and ran forward. Elsa let thebook fall on to the floor and rose to do the same, then remembered andstood still, while Dirk remained where he was till the women had donetheir greetings, betraying his delight only by a quick rubbing of hishands. Adrian alone did not look particularly pleased, not, however,because he retained any special grudge against his brother for his sharein the fracas of a few nights before, since, when once his furious gustsof temper had passed, he was no malevolently minded man. Indeed he wasglad that Foy had come back safe from his dangerous adventure, onlyhe wished that he would not blunder into the bedroom and interrupt hisdelightful occupation of listening, while the beautiful Elsa read himromance and poetry.
Since Foy was gone upon his mission, Adrian had been treated with theconsideration which he felt to be his due. Even his stepfather had takenthe opportunity to mumble some words of regret for what had happened,and to express a hope that nothing more would be said about the matter,while his mother was sympathetic and Elsa most charming and attentive.Now, as he knew well, all this would be changed. Foy, the exuberant,unrefined, plain-spoken, nerve-shaking Foy, would become the centre ofattention, and overwhelm them with long stories of very dull exploits,while Martin, that brutal bull of a man who was only fit to draw a cart,would stand behind and play the part of chorus, saying "Ja" and "Neen"at proper intervals. Well, he supposed that he must put up with it, butoh! what a weariness it was.
Another minute, and Foy was wringing him by the hand, saying in his loudvoice, "How are you, old fellow? You look as well as possible, what areyou lying in this bed for and being fed with pap by the women?"
"For the love of Heaven, Foy," interrupted Adrian, "stop crushing myfingers and shaking me as though I were a rat. You mean it kindly, Iknow, but--" and Adrian dropped back upon the pillow, coughed and lookedhectic and interesting.
Then both the women fell upon Foy, upbraiding him for his roughness,begging him to remember that if he were not careful he might kill hisbrother, whose arteries were understood to be in a most precariouscondition, till the poor man covered his ears with his hands and waitedtill he saw their lips stop moving.
"I apologise," he said. "I won't touch him, I won't speak loud near him.Adrian, do you hear?"
"Who could help it?" moaned the prostrate Adrian.
"Cousin Foy," interrupted Elsa, clasping her hands and looking up intohis face with her big brown eyes, "forgive me, but I can wait no longer.Tell me, did you see or hear anything of my father yonder at The Hague?"
"Yes, cousin, I saw him," answered Foy presently.
"And how was he--oh! and all the rest of them?"
"He was well."
"And free and in no danger?"
"And free, but I cannot say in no danger. We are all of us in dangernowadays, cousin," replied Foy in the same quiet voice.
"Oh! thank God for that," said Elsa.
"Little enough to thank God for," muttered Martin, who had entered theroom and was standing behind Foy looking like a giant at a show. Elsahad turned her face away, so Foy struck backwards with all his force,hitting Martin in the pit of the stomach with the point of his elbow.Martin doubled himself up, recoiled a step and took the hint.
"Well, son, what news?" said Dirk, speaking for the first time.
"News!" answered Foy, escaping joyfully from this treacherous ground."Oh! lots of it. Look here," and plunging his hands into his pockets heproduced first the half of the broken dagger and secondly a long skinnyfinger of unwholesome hue with a gold ring on it.
"Bah!" said Adrian. "Take that horrid thing away."
"Oh! I beg your pardon," answered Foy, shuffling the finger back intohis pocket, "you don't mind the dagger, do you? No? Well, then, mother,that mail shirt of yours is the best that was ever made; this knifebroke on it like a carrot, though, by the way, it's uncommonly stickywear when you haven't changed it for three days, and I shall be gladenough to get it off."
"Evidently Foy has a story to tell," said Adrian wearily, "and thesooner he rids his mind of it the sooner he will be able to wash. Isuggest, Foy, that you should begin at the beginning."
So Foy began at the beginning, and his tale proved sufficiently movingto interest even the soul-worn Adrian. Some portions of it he softeneddown, and some of it he suppressed for the sake of Elsa--not verysuccessfully, indeed, for Foy was no diplomatist, and her quickimagination filled the gaps. Another part--that which concerned herfuture and his own--of necessity he omitted altogether. He told themvery briefly, however, of the flight from The Hague, of the sinking ofthe Government boat, of the run through the gale to the Haarlem Merewith the dead pilot on board and the Spanish ship behind, and of thesecret midnight burying of the treasure.
"Where did you bury it?" asked Adrian.
"I have not the slightest idea," said Foy. "I believe there are aboutthree hundred islets in that part of the Mere, and all I know is thatwe dug a hole in one of them and stuck it in. However," he went on ina burst of confidence, "we made a map of the place, that is--" Here hebroke off with a howl of pain, for an accident had happened.
While this narrative was proceeding, Martin, who was standing by himsaying "Ja" and "Neen" at intervals, as Adrian foresaw he would, hadunbuckled the great sword Silence, and in an abstracted manner wasamusing himself by throwing it towards the ceiling hilt downwards, andas it fell catching it in his hand. Now, most unaccountably, he lookedthe other way and missed his catch, with the result that the handle ofthe heavy weapon fell exactly upon Foy's left foot and then clattered tothe ground.
"You awkward beast!" roared Foy, "you have crushed my toes," and hehopped towards a chair upon one leg.
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"Your pardon, master," said Martin. "I know it was careless; my motheralways told me that I was careless, but so was my father before me."
Adrian, overcome by the fearful crash, closed his eyes and sighed.
"Look," said Lysbeth in a fury, "he is fainting; I knew that would bethe end of all your noise. If you are not careful we shall have himbreaking another vessel. Go out of the room, all of you. You can finishtelling the story downstairs," and she drove them before her as afarmer's wife drives fowls.
"Martin," said Foy on the stairs, where they found themselves togetherfor a minute, for at the first signs of the storm Dirk had precededthem, "why did you drop that accursed great sword of yours upon myfoot?"
"Master," counted Martin imperturbably, "why did you hit me in the pitof the stomach with your elbow?"
"To keep your tongue quiet."
"And what is the name of my sword?"
"Silence."
"Well, then, I dropped the sword 'Silence' for the same reason. I hopeit hasn't hurt you much, but if it did I can't help it."
Foy wheeled round. "What do you mean, Martin?"
"I mean," answered the great man with energy, "that you have no right totell what became of that paper which Mother Martha gave us."
"Why not? I have faith in my brother."
"Very likely, master, but that isn't the point. We carry a great secret,and this secret is a trust, a dangerous trust; it would be wrong to layits burden upon the shoulders of other folk. What people don't know theycan't tell, master."
Foy still stared at him, half in question, half in anger, but Martinmade no further reply in words. Only he went through certain curiousmotions, motions as of a man winding slowly and laboriously at somethinglike a pump wheel. Foy's lips turned pale.
"The rack?" he whispered. Martin nodded, and answered beneath hisbreath,
"They may all of them be on it yet. You let the man in the boat escape,and that man was the Spanish spy, Ramiro; I am sure of it. If they don'tknow they can't tell, and though we know we shan't tell; we shall diefirst, master."
Now Foy trembled and leaned against the wall. "What would betray us?" heasked.
"Who knows, master? A woman's torment, a man's--" and he put a strangemeaning into his voice, "a man's--jealousy, or pride, or vengeance. Oh!bridle your tongue and trust no one, no, not your father or mother,or sweetheart, or--" and again that strange meaning came into Martin'svoice, "or brother."
"Or you?" queried Foy, looking up.
"I am not sure. Yes, I think you may trust me, though there is noknowing how the rack might change a man's mind."
"If all this be so," said Foy, with a flush of sudden passion, "I havesaid too much already."
"A great deal too much, master. If I could have managed it I should havedropped the sword Silence on your toe long before. But I couldn't, forthe Heer Adrian was watching me, and I had to wait till he closed hiseyes, which he did to hear the better without seeming to listen."
"You are unjust to Adrian, Martin, as you always have been, and I amangry with you. Say, what is to be done now?"
"Now, master," replied Martin cheerfully, "you must forget the teachingof the Pastor Arentz, and tell a lie. You must take up your tale whereyou left it off, and say that we made a map of the hiding-place, butthat--I--being a fool--managed to drop it while we were lighting thefuses, so that it was blown away with the ship. I will tell the samestory."
"Am I to say this to my father and mother?"
"Certainly, and they will quite understand why you say it. My mistresswas getting uneasy already, and that was why she drove us from the room.You will tell them that the treasure is buried but that the secret ofits hiding-place was lost."
"Even so, Martin, it is not lost; Mother Martha knows it, and they allwill guess that she does know it."
"Why, master, as it happened you were in such a hurry to get on withyour story that I think you forgot to mention that she was present atthe burying of the barrels. Her name was coming when I dropped the swordupon your foot."
"But she boarded and fired the Spanish ship--so the man Ramiro and hiscompanion would probably have seen her."
"I doubt, master, that the only person who saw her was he whose gizzardshe split, and he will tell no tales. Probably they think it was you orI who did that deed. But if she was seen, or if they know that shehas the secret, then let them get it from Mother Martha. Oh! mares cangallop and ducks can dive and snakes can hide in the grass. When theycan catch the wind and make it give up its secrets, when they can charmfrom sword Silence the tale of the blood which it has drunk throughoutthe generations, when they can call back the dead saints from heaven andstretch them anew within the torture-pit, then and not before, they willwin knowledge of the hoard's hiding-place from the lips of the witch ofHaarlem Meer. Oh! master, fear not for her, the grave is not so safe."
"Why did you not caution me before, Martin?"
"Because, master," answered Martin stolidly, "I did not think that youwould be such a fool. But I forgot that you are young--yes, I forgetthat you are young and good, too good for the days we live in. It is myfault. On my head be it."
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 35
