Thus it came about that the riches of Hendrik Brant, when Leyden layat her last gasp, paid the soldiers and built the fleets which, indue time, driven by a great wind sent suddenly from heaven acrossthe flooded meadows, raised the dreadful siege and signed the doom ofSpanish rule in Holland. Therefore it would seem that not in vain wasHendrik Brant stubborn and foresighted, that his blood and the bloodof Dirk van Goorl were not shed in vain; that not in vain also didElsa suffer the worst torments of a woman's fear in the Red Mill on themarshes; and Foy and Martin play their parts like men in the shot-tower,the Gevangenhuis and the siege, and Mother Martha the Sword find a graveand rest in the waters of the Haarlem Meer.
There are other morals to this story also, applicable, perhaps, to ourlife to-day, but the reader is left to guess them.
_Scene the Second_
Leyden is safe at last, and through the broken dykes Foy and Martin,with the rescuing ships, have sailed, shouting and red-handed, into herfamine-stricken streets. For the Spaniards, those that are left of them,are broken and have fled away from their forts and flooded trenches.
So the scene changes from warring, blood-stained, triumphant Holland tothe quiet city of Norwich and a quaint gabled house in Tombland almostbeneath the shadow of the tall spire of the cathedral, which now forabout a year had been the home of Lysbeth van Goorl and Elsa Brant. Hereto Norwich they had come in safety in the autumn of 1573 just beforethe first siege of Leyden was begun, and here they had dwelt for twelvelong, doubtful, anxious months. News, or rather rumours, of what waspassing in the Netherlands reached them from time to time; twice eventhere came letters from Foy himself, but the last of these had beenreceived many weeks ago just as the iron grip of the second leaguer wasclosing round the city. Then Foy and Martin, so they learned from theletter, were not in the town but with the Prince of Orange in Delft,working hard at the fleet which was being built and armed for itsrelief.
After this there was a long silence, and none could tell what hadhappened, although a horrible report reached them that Leyden had beentaken, sacked, and burnt, and all its inhabitants massacred. They livedin comfort here in Norwich, for the firm of Munt and Brown, Dirk vanGoorl's agents, were honest, and the fortune which he had sent overwhen the clouds were gathering thick, had been well invested by themand produced an ample revenue. But what comfort could there be for theirpoor hearts thus agonised by doubts and sickening fears?
One evening they sat in the parlour on the ground floor of the house, orrather Lysbeth sat, for Elsa knelt by her, her head resting upon the armof the chair, and wept.
"Oh! it is cruel," she sobbed, "it is too much to bear. How can you beso calm, mother, when perhaps Foy is dead?"
"If my son is dead, Elsa, that is God's Will, and I am calm, becausenow, as many a time before, I resign myself to the Will of God,not because I do not suffer. Mothers can feel, girl, as well assweethearts."
"Would that I had never left him," moaned Elsa.
"You asked to leave, child; for my part I should have bided the best orthe worst in Leyden."
"It is true, it is because I am a coward; also he wished it."
"He wished it, Elsa, therefore it is for the best; let us await theissue in patience. Come, our meal is set."
They sat themselves down to eat, these two lonely women, but at theirboard were laid four covers as though they expected guests. Yet nonewere bidden--only this was Elsa's fancy.
"Foy and Martin _might_ come," she said, "and be vexed if it seemed thatwe did not expect them." So for the last three months or more she hadalways set four covers at the table, and Lysbeth did not gainsay her. Inher heart she too hoped that Foy might come.
That very night Foy came, and with him Red Martin, the great swordSilence still strapped about his middle.
"Hark!" said Lysbeth suddenly, "I hear my son's footsteps at the door.It seems, Elsa, that, after all, the ears of a mother are quicker thanthose of a lover."
But Elsa never heard her, for now--now at length, she was wrapped inthe arms of Foy; the same Foy, but grown older and with a long pale scaracross his forehead.
"Yet," went on Lysbeth to herself, with a faint smile on her white andstately face, "the son's lips are for the lover first."
An hour later, or two, or three, for who reckoned time that night whenthere was so much to hear and tell, while the others knelt before her,Foy and Elsa hand in hand, and behind them Martin like a guardian giant,Lysbeth put up her evening prayer of praise and thanksgiving.
"Almighty God," she said in her slow, sonorous voice, "Thy awful Handthat by my own faithless sin took from me my husband, hath given backhis son and mine who shall be to this child a husband, and for us as forour country over sea, out of the night of desolation is arisen a dawn ofpeace. Above us throughout the years is Thy Everlasting Will, beneathus when our years are done, shall by Thy Everlasting Arms. So for thebitter and the sweet, for the evil and the good, for the past and forthe present, we, Thy servants, render Thee glory, thanks, and praise, OGod of our fathers, That fashioneth us and all according to Thy desire,remembering those things which we have forgotten and foreknowingthose things which are not yet. Therefore to Thee, Who through so manydreadful days hast led us to this hour of joy, be glory and thanks, OLord of the living and the dead. Amen."
And the others echoed "To Thee be glory and thanks, O Lord of the livingand the dead. Amen."
Then, their prayer ended, the living rose, and, with separations doneand fears appeased at last, leant towards each other in the love andhope of their beautiful youth.
But Lysbeth sat silent in the new home, far from the land where she wasborn, and turned her stricken heart towards the dead.
FINIS
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 74
