The grey light of the summer morning began to grow on the surface of thegreat inland sea. Far behind them they beheld the sun's rays breakingupon the gilt crown that is set above the tower of St. Bavon's Church,soaring over the lost city of Haarlem and the doomed patriots who laythere presently to meet their death at the murderer's sword. They lookedand shuddered. Had it not been for Adrian they would be prisoners now,and what that meant they knew. If they had been in any doubt, what theysaw around must have enlightened them, for here and there upon the mistysurface of the lake, or stranded in its shallows, were the half-burntout hulls of ships, the remains of the conquered fleet of Williamthe Silent; a poor record of the last desperate effort to relieve thestarving city. Now and again, too, something limp and soft would cumbertheir oars, the corpse of a drowned or slaughtered man still cladperchance in its armour.
At length they passed out of these dismal remains of lost men, and Elsacould look about her without shuddering. Now they were in fleet water,and in among the islands whereon the lush summer growth of weeds and thebeautiful marsh flowers grew as greenly and bloomed as bright as thoughno Spaniard had trampled their roots under foot during all those wintermonths of siege and death. These islets, scores and hundreds of them,appeared on every side, but between them all Martha steered an unerringpath. As the sun rose she stood up in the boat, and shading her eyeswith her hand to shut out its level rays, looked before her.
"There is the place," she said, pointing to a little bulrush-clad isle,from which a kind of natural causeway, not more than six feet wide,projected like a tongue among muddy shallows peopled by coots andwater-hens with their red-beaked young.
Martin rose too. Then he looked back behind him and said;
"I see the cap of a sail upon the skyline. It is Ramiro."
"Without doubt," answered Martha calmly. "Well, we have the half of anhour to work in. Pull, bow oar, pull, we will go round the island andbeach her in the mud on the further side. They will be less likely tosee us there, and I know a place whence we can push off in a hurry."
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 67
