Lysbeth van Goorl, recovered from her illness now, but aged and grownstern with suffering, sat in an armchair in the great parlour ofher home in the Bree Straat, the room where as a girl she had cursedMontalvo; where too not a year ago, she had driven his son, the traitorAdrian, from her presence. At her side was a table on which stood asilver bell and two brass holders with candles ready to be lighted. Sherang the bell and a woman-servant entered, the same who, with Elsa, hadnursed her in the plague.
"What is that murmuring in the street?" Lysbeth asked. "I hear the soundof many voices. Is there more news from Haarlem?"
"Alas! yes," answered the woman. "A fugitive says that the executionersthere are weary, so now they tie the poor prisoners back to back andthrow them into the mere to drown."
A groan burst from Lysbeth's lips. "Foy, my son, is there," shemuttered, "and Elsa Brant his affianced wife, and Martin his servant,and many another friend. Oh! God, how long, how long?" and her head sankupon her bosom.
Soon she raised it again and said, "Light the candles, woman, this placegrows dark, and in its gloom I see the ghosts of all my dead."
They burned up--two stars of light in the great room.
"Whose feet are those upon the stairs?" asked Lysbeth, "the feet of menwho bear burdens. Open the large doors, woman, and let that enter whichit pleases God to send us."
So the doors were flung wide, and through them came people carryinga wounded man, then following him Foy and Elsa, and, lastly, toweringabove them all, Red Martin, who thrust before him another man. Lysbethrose from her chair to look.
"Do I dream?" she said, "or, son Foy, hath the Angel of the Lorddelivered you out of the hell of Haarlem?"
"We are here, mother," he answered.
"And whom," she said, pointing to the figure covered with a cloak, "doyou bring with you?"
"Adrian, mother, who is dying."
"Then, son Foy, take him hence; alive, dying, or dead, I have donewith----" Here her eyes fell upon Red Martin and the man he held,"Martin the Frisian," she muttered, "but who----"
Martin heard, and by way of answer lifted up his prisoner so that thefading light from the balcony windows fell full upon his face.
"What!" she cried. "Juan de Montalvo as well as his son Adrian, and inthis room----" Then she checked herself and added, "Foy, tell me yourstory."
In few words and brief he told it, or so much as she need know tounderstand. His last words were: "Mother, be merciful to Adrian; fromthe first he meant no ill; he saved all our lives, and he lies dying bythat man's dagger."
"Lift him up," she said.
So they lifted him up, and Adrian, who, since the knife pierced him haduttered no word, spoke for the first and last time, muttering hoarsely:
"Mother, take back your words and forgive me--before I die."
Now the sorrow-frozen heart of Lysbeth melted, and she bent over him andsaid, speaking so that all might hear:
"Welcome to your home again, Adrian. You who once were led astray, havedone bravely, and I am proud to call you son. Though you have left thefaith in which you were bred, here and hereafter may God bless you andreward you, beloved Adrian!" Then she bent down and kissed his dyinglips. Foy and Elsa kissed him also in farewell before they bore him,smiling happily to himself, to the chamber, his own chamber, wherewithin some few hours death found him.
Adrian had been borne away, and for a little while there was silence.Then, none commanding him, but as though an instinct pushed him forward,Red Martin began to move up the length of the long room, half dragging,half carrying his captive Ramiro. It was as if some automaton hadsuddenly been put in motion, some machine of gigantic strength thatnothing could stop. The man in his grip set his heels in the floor andhung back, but Martin scarcely seemed to heed his resistance. On hecame, and the victim with him, till they stood together before the oakenchair and the stern-faced, white-haired woman who sat in it, hercold countenance lit by the light of the two candles. She looked andshuddered. Then she spoke, asking:
"Why do you bring this man to me, Martin?"
"For judgment, Lysbeth van Goorl," he answered.
"Who made me a judge over him?" she asked.
"My master, Dirk van Goorl, your son, Adrian, and Hendrik Brant. Theirblood makes you judge of his blood."
"I will have none of it," Lysbeth said passionately, "let the peoplejudge him." As she spoke, from the crowd in the street below thereswelled a sudden clamour.
"Good," said Martin, "the people shall judge," and he began to turntowards the window, when suddenly, by a desperate effort, Ramirowrenched his doublet from his hand, and flung himself at Lysbeth's feetand grovelled there.
"What do you seek?" she asked, drawing back her dress so that he shouldnot touch it.
"Mercy," he gasped.
"Mercy! Look, son and daughter, this man asks for mercy who for many ayear has given none. Well, Juan de Montalvo, take your prayer to God andto the people. I have done with you."
"Mercy, mercy!" he cried again.
"Eight months ago," she said, "I uttered that prayer to you, begging ofyou in the Name of Christ to spare the life of an innocent man, and whatwas your answer, Juan de Montalvo?"
"Once you were my wife," he pleaded; "being a woman, does not that weighwith you?"
"Once he was my husband, being a man did that weigh with you? The lastword is said. Take him, Martin, to those who deal with murderers."
Then that look came upon Montalvo which twice or thrice before Lysbethhas seen written in his face--once when the race was run and lost, andonce when in after years she had petitioned for the life of her husband.Lo! it was no longer the face of a man, but such a countenance as mighthave been worn by a devil or a beast. The eyeball started, the greymoustache curled upwards, the cheek-bones grew high and sharp.
"Night after night," he gasped, "you lay at my side, and I might havekilled you, as I have killed that brat of yours--and I spared you, Ispared you."
"God spared me, Juan de Montalvo, that He might bring us to this hour;let Him spare you also if He will. I do not judge. He judges and thepeople," and Lysbeth rose from her chair.
"Stay!" he cried, gnashing his teeth.
"No, I stay not, I go to receive the last breath of him you havemurdered, my son and yours."
He raised himself upon his knees, and for a moment their eyes met forthe last time.
"Do you remember?" she said in a quiet voice, "many years ago, in thisvery room, after you had bought me at the cost of Dirk's life, certainwords I spoke to you? Now I do not think that it was I who spoke, Juande Montalvo."
And she swept past him and though the wide doorway.
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 71
