Lysbeth | Page 8

course, in a voice that every one might hear, called
out the conditions of the race and the prize for which it was to be run, a
splendid glass goblet engraved with the cross-keys, the Arms of
Leyden. This done, after asking if all were ready, he dropped a little
flag, whereon the horses were loosed and away they went.
Before a minute had passed, forgetting all her doubts and annoyances,
Lysbeth was lost in the glorious excitement of the moment. Like birds

in the heavens, cleaving the keen, crisp air, they sped forward over the
smooth ice. The gay throng vanished, the dead reeds and stark bushes
seemed to fly away from them. The only sounds in their ears were the
rushing of the wind, the swish of the iron runners, and the hollow
tapping of the hooves of their galloping horses. Certain sledges drew
ahead in the first burst, but the Wolf and the Badger were not among
these. The Count de Montalvo was holding in his black stallion, and as
yet the grey Flemish gelding looped along with a constrained and
awkward stride. When, passing from the little mere, they entered the
straight of the canal, these two were respectively fourth and fifth. Up
the course they sped, through a deserted snow- clad country, past the
church of the village of Alkemaade. Now, half a mile or more away
appeared the Quarkel Mere, and in the centre of it the island which they
must turn. They reached it, they were round it, and when their faces
were once more set homewards, Lysbeth noted that the Wolf and the
Badger were third and fourth in the race, some one having dropped
behind. Half a mile more and they were second and third; another half
mile and they were first and second with perhaps a mile to go. Then the
fight began.
Yard by yard the speed increased, and yard by yard the black stallion
drew ahead. Now in front of them lay a furlong or more of bad ice
encumbered with lumps of frozen snow that had not been cleared away,
which caused the sleigh to shake and jump as it struck. Lysbeth looked
round.
"The Badger is coming up," she said.
Montalvo heard, and for the first time laid his whip upon the haunches
of his horse, which answered gallantly. But still the Badger came up.
The grey was the stronger beast, and had begun to put out his strength.
Presently his ugly head was behind them, for Lysbeth felt the breath
from his nostrils blowing on her, and saw their steam. Then it was past,
for the steam blew back into her face; yes, and she could see the eager
eyes of the child in the grey sledge. Now they were neck and neck, and
the rough ice was done with. Six hundred yards away, not more, lay the
goal, and all about them, outside the line of the course, were swift

skaters travelling so fast that their heads were bent forward and down
to within three feet of the ice.
Van de Werff called to his horse, and the grey began to gain. Montalvo
lashed the stallion, and once more they passed him. But the black was
failing, and he saw it, for Lysbeth heard him curse in Spanish. Then of
a sudden, after a cunning glance at his adversary, the Count pulled
upon the right rein, and a shrill voice rose upon the air, the voice of the
little girl in the other sledge.
"Take care, brother," it cried, "he will overthrow us."
True enough, in another moment the black would have struck the grey
sideways. Lysbeth saw Van de Werff rise from his seat and throw his
weight backward, dragging the grey on to his haunches. By an
inch--not more--the Wolf sleigh missed the gelding. Indeed, one runner
of it struck his hoof, and the high wood work of the side brushed and
cut his nostril.
"A foul, a foul!" yelled the skaters, and it was over. Once more they
were speeding forward, but now the black had a lead of at least ten
yards, for the grey must find his stride again. They were in the straight;
the course was lined with hundreds of witnesses, and from the throats
of every one of them arose a great cry, or rather two cries.
"The Spaniard, the Spaniard wins!" said the first cry that was answered
by another and a deeper roar.
"No, Hollander, the Hollander! The Hollander comes up!"
Then in the midst of the fierce excitement--bred of the excitement
perhaps--some curious spell fell upon the mind of Lysbeth. The race,
its details, its objects, its surroundings faded away; these physical
things were gone, and in place of them was present a dream, a spiritual