Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XXII

  A MEETING AND A PARTING

  Lysbeth did not sleep that night, for even if her misery would have lether sleep, she could not because of the physical fire that burnt in herveins, and the strange pangs of agony which pierced her head. At firstshe thought little of them, but when at last the cold light of theautumn morning dawned she went to a mirror and examined herself, andthere upon her neck she found a hard red swelling of the size of a nut.Then Lysbeth knew that she had caught the plague from the Vrouw Jansen,and laughed aloud, a dreary little laugh, since if all she loved wereto die, it seemed to her good that she should die also. Elsa was abedprostrated with grief, and, shutting herself in her room, Lysbethsuffered none to come near her except one woman who she knew hadrecovered from the plague in past years, but even to her she saidnothing of her sickness.

  About eleven o'clock in the morning this woman rushed into her chambercrying, "They have escaped! They have escaped!"

  "Who?" gasped Lysbeth, springing from her chair.

  "Your son Foy and Red Martin," and she told the tale of how the nakedman with the naked sword, carrying the wounded Foy upon his back, bursthis way roaring from the Gevangenhuis, and, protected by the people,had run through the town and out of the Morsch poort, heading for theHaarlemer Meer.

  As she listened Lysbeth's eyes flamed up with a fire of pride.

  "Oh! good and faithful servant," she murmured, "you have saved my son,but alas! your master you could not save."

  Another hour passed, and the woman appeared again bearing a letter.

  "Who brought this?" she asked.

  "A Spanish soldier, mistress."

  Then she cut the silk and read it. It was unsigned, and ran:--

  "One in authority sends greetings to the Vrouw van Goorl. If the Vrouwvan Goorl would save the life of the man who is dearest to her, she isprayed to veil herself and follow the bearer of this letter. For her ownsafety she need have no fear; it is assured hereby."

  Lysbeth thought awhile. This might be a trick; very probably it wasa trick to take her. Well, if so, what did it matter since she wouldrather die with her husband than live on without him; moreover, whyshould she turn aside from death, she in whose veins the plague wasburning? But there was another thing worse than that. She could guesswho had penned this letter; it even seemed to her, after all these manyyears, that she recognised the writing, disguised though it was. Couldshe face him! Well, why not--for Dirk's sake?

  And if she refused and Dirk was done to death, would she not reproachherself, if she lived to remember it, because she had left a stoneunturned?

  "Give me my cloak and veil," she said to the woman, "and now go tell theman that I am coming."

  At the door she found the soldier, who saluted her, and saidrespectfully, "Follow me, lady, but at a little distance."

  So they started, and through side streets Lysbeth was led to a backentrance of the Gevangenhuis, which opened and closed behind hermysteriously, leaving her wondering whether she would ever pass thatgate again. Within a man was waiting--she did not even notice what kindof man--who also said, "Follow me, lady," and led her through gloomypassages and various doors into a little empty chamber furnished with atable and two chairs. Presently the door opened and shut; then her wholebeing shrank and sickened as though beneath the breath of poison, forthere before her, still the same, still handsome, although so marred bytime and scars and evil, stood the man who had been her husband, Juande Montalvo. But whatever she felt Lysbeth showed nothing of it in herface, which remained white and stern; moreover, even before she lookedat him she was aware that he feared her more than she feared him.

  It was true, for from this woman's eyes went out a sword of terror thatseemed to pierce Montalvo's heart. Back flew his mind to the scene oftheir betrothal, and the awful words that she had spoken then re-echoedin his ears. How strangely things had come round, for on that day, ason this, the stake at issue was the life of Dirk van Goorl. In the oldtimes she had bought it, paying as its price herself, her fortune, and,worst of all, to a woman, her lover's scorn and wonder. What would shebe prepared to pay now? Well, fortunately, he need ask but little ofher. And yet his soul mistrusted him of these bargainings with Lysbethvan Hout for the life of Dirk van Goorl. The first had ended ill with asentence of fourteen years in the galleys, most of which he had served.How would the second end?

  By way of answer there seemed to rise before the eye of Montalvo's minda measureless black gulf, and, falling, falling, falling through itsinfinite depths one miserable figure, a mere tiny point that served toshow the vastness it explored. The point turned over, and he saw itsface as in a crystal--it was his own.

  This unpleasant nightmare of the imagination came in an instant, and inan instant passed. The next Montalvo, courteous and composed, was bowingbefore his visitor and praying her to be seated.

  "It is most good of you, Vrouw van Goorl," he began, "to have respondedso promptly to my invitation."

  "Perhaps, Count de Montalvo," she replied, "you will do me the favour toset out your business in as few words as possible."

  "Most certainly; that is my desire. Let me free your mind ofapprehension. The past has mingled memories for both of us, some of thembitter, some, let me hope, sweet," and he laid his hand upon his heartand sighed. "But it is a dead past, so, dear lady, let us agree to buryit in a fitting silence."

  Lysbeth made no answer, only her mouth grew a trifle more stern.

  "Now, one word more, and I will come to the point. Let me congratulateyou upon the gallant deeds of a gallant son. Of course his courage anddexterity, with that of the red giant, Martin, have told against myself,have, in short, lost me a trick in the game. But I am an old soldier,and I can assure you that the details of their fight yesterday atthe factory, and of their marvellous escape from--from--well, painfulsurroundings this morning, have stirred my blood and made my heart beatfast."

  "I have heard the tale; do not trouble to repeat it," said Lysbeth. "Itis only what I expected of them, but I thank God that it has pleased Himto let them live on so that in due course they may fearfully avenge abeloved father and master."

  Montalvo coughed and turned his head with the idea of avoiding thatghastly nightmare of a pitiful little man falling down a fathomless gulfwhich had sprung up suddenly in his mind again.

  "Well," he went on, "a truce to compliments. They escaped, and I amglad of it, whatever murders they may contemplate in the future. Yes,notwithstanding their great crimes and manslayings in the past I amglad that they escaped, although it was my duty to keep them while Icould--and if I should catch them it will be my duty--but I needn't talkof that to you. Of course, however, you know, there is one gentleman whowas not quite so fortunate."

  "My husband?"

  "Yes, your worthy husband, who, happily for my reputation as captain ofone of His Majesty's prisons, occupies an upstairs room."

  "What of him?" asked Lysbeth.

  "Dear lady, don't be over anxious; there is nothing so wearing asanxiety. I was coming to the matter." Then, with a sudden change ofmanner, he added, "It is needful, Lysbeth, that I should set out thesituation."

  "What situation do you mean?"

  "Well, principally that of the treasure."

  "What treasure?"

  "Oh! woman, do not waste time in trying to fool me. The treasure, thevast, the incalculable treasure of Hendrik Brant which Foy van Goorland Martin, who have escaped"--and he ground his teeth together at theanguish of the thought--"disposed of somewhere in the Haarlemer Meer."

  "Well, what about this treasure?"

  "I want it, that is all."

  "Then you had best go to seek it."

  "That is my intention, and I shall begin the search--in the heart ofDirk van Goorl," he added, slowly crushing the handkerchief he held withhis long fingers as though it were a living thing that could be chokedto death.

  Lysbeth never stirred, she had expected this.

  "You will find it a poor mine to dig in," she said, "fo
r he knowsnothing of the whereabouts of this money. Nobody knows anything of itnow. Martin hid it, as I understand, and lost the paper, so it will liethere till the Haarlemer Meer is drained."

  "Dear me! Do you know I have heard that story before; yes, from theexcellent Martin himself--and, do you know, I don't quite believe it."

  "I cannot help what you believe or do not believe. You may remember thatit was always my habit to speak the truth."

  "Quite so, but others may be less conscientious. See here," and drawinga paper from his doublet, he held it before her. It was nothing lessthan the death-warrant of Dirk van Goorl, signed by the Inquisitor, dulyauthorised thereto.

  Mechanically she read it and understood.

  "You will observe," he went on, "that the method of the criminal'sexecution is left to the good wisdom of our well-beloved--etc., in plainlanguage, to me. Now might I trouble you so far as to look out of thislittle window? What do you see in front of you? A kitchen? Quite so;always a homely and pleasant sight in the eyes of an excellent housewifelike yourself. And--do you mind bending forward a little? What do yousee up there? A small barred window? Well, let us suppose, for the sakeof argument, that a hungry man, a man who grows hungrier and hungrier,sat behind that window watching the cooks at their work and seeing themeat carried into this kitchen, to come out an hour or two later as hot,steaming, savoury joints, while he wasted, wasted, wasted and starved,starved, starved. Don't you think, my dear lady, that this would be avery unpleasant experience for that man?"

  "Are you a devil?" gasped Lysbeth, springing back.

  "I have never regarded myself as such, but if you seek a definition,I should say that I am a hard-working, necessitous, and somewhatunfortunate gentleman who has been driven to rough methods in order tosecure a comfortable old age. I can assure you that _I_ do not wish tostarve anybody; I wish only to find Hendrik Brant's treasure, and ifyour worthy husband won't tell me where it is, why I must make him, thatis all. In six or eight days under my treatment I am convinced thathe will become quite fluent on the subject, for there is nothing thatshould cause a fat burgher, accustomed to good living, to open his heartmore than a total lack of the victuals which he can see and smell. Didyou ever hear the story of an ancient gentleman called Tantalus? Theseold fables have a wonderful way of adapting themselves to the needs andcircumstances of us moderns, haven't they?"

  Then Lysbeth's pride broke down, and, in the abandonment of her despair,flinging herself upon her knees before this monster, she begged for herhusband's life, begged, in the name of God, yes, and even in the nameof Montalvo's son, Adrian. So low had her misery brought her that shepleaded with the man by the son of shame whom she had borne to him.

  He prayed her to rise. "I want to save your husband's life," he said. "Igive you my word that if only he will tell me what I desire to know, Iwill save it; yes, although the risk is great, I will even manage hisescape, and I shall ask you to go upstairs presently and explain myamiable intentions to him." Then he thought a moment and added, "Butyou mentioned one Adrian. Pray do you mean the gentleman whose signatureappears here?" and he handed her another document, saying, "Read itquietly, there is no hurry. The good Dirk is not starving yet; I aminformed, indeed, that he has just made an excellent breakfast--not hislast by many thousands, let us hope."

  Lysbeth took the sheets and glanced at them. Then her intelligenceawoke, and she read on fiercely until her eye came to the well-knownsignature at the foot of the last page. She cast the roll down with acry as though a serpent had sprung from its pages and bitten her.

  "I fear that you are pained," said Montalvo sympathetically, "and nowonder, for myself I have gone through such disillusionments, and knowhow they wound a generous nature. That's why I showed you this document,because I also am generous and wish to warn you against this younggentleman, who, I understand, you allege is my son. You see the personwho would betray his brother might even go a step further and betray hismother, so, if you take my advice, you will keep an eye upon the youngman. Also I am bound to remind you that it is more or less yourown fault. It is a most unlucky thing to curse a child before it isborn--you remember the incident? That curse has come home to roost witha vengeance. What a warning against giving way to the passion of themoment!"

  Lysbeth heeded him no longer; she was thinking as she had never thoughtbefore. At that moment, as though by an inspiration, there floated intoher mind the words of the dead Vrouw Jansen: "The plague, I wish that Ihad caught it before, for then I would have taken it to him in prison,and they couldn't have treated him as they did." Dirk was in prison, andDirk was to be starved to death, for, whatever Montalvo might think, hedid not know the secret, and, therefore, could not tell it. And she--shehad the plague on her; she knew its symptoms well, and its poison wasburning in her every vein, although she still could think and speak andwalk.

  Well, why not? It would be no crime. Indeed, if it was a crime, shecared little; it would be better that he should die of the plague infive days, or perhaps in two, if it worked quickly, as it often did withthe full-blooded, than that he should linger on starving for twelve ormore, and perhaps be tormented besides.

  Swiftly, very swiftly, Lysbeth came to her dreadful decision. Then shespoke in a hoarse voice.

  "What do you wish me to do?"

  "I wish you to reason with your husband, and to persuade him tocease from his obstinacy, and to surrender to me the secret of thehiding-place of Brant's hoard. In that event, so soon as I have provedthe truth of what he tells me, I undertake that he shall be set atliberty unharmed, and that, meanwhile, he shall be well treated."

  "And if I will not, or he will not, or cannot?"

  "Then I have told you the alternative, and to show you that I am notjoking, I will now write and sign the order. Then, if you decline thismission, or if it is fruitless, I will hand it to the officer beforeyour eyes--and within the next ten days or so let you know the results,or witness them if you wish."

  "I will go," she said, "but I must see him alone."

  "It is unusual," he answered, "but provided you satisfy me that youcarry no weapon, I do not know that I need object."

  So, when Montalvo had written his order and scattered dust on it fromthe pounce-box, for he was a man of neat and methodical habits, hehimself with every possible courtesy conducted Lysbeth to her husband'sprison. Having ushered her into it, with a cheerful "Friend van Goorl, Ibring you a visitor," he locked the door upon them, and patiently waitedoutside.

  It matters not what passed within. Whether Lysbeth told her husbandof her dread yet sacred purpose, or did not tell him; whether he everlearned of the perfidy of Adrian, or did not learn it; what were theirparting words--their parting prayers, all these things matter not;indeed, the last are too holy to be written. Let us bow our heads andpass them by in silence, and let the reader imagine them as he will.