Lysbeth | Page 9

interpretation such as the omens and influences of the times she lived in
might well inspire. What did she seem to see?
She saw the Spaniard and the Hollander striving for victory, but not a

victory of horses. She saw the black Spanish Wolf, at first triumphant,
outmatch the Netherland Badger. Still, the Badger, the dogged Dutch
badger, held on.
Who would win? The fierce beast or the patient beast? Who would be
the master in this fight? There was death in it. Look, the whole snow
was red, the roofs of Leyden were red, and red the heavens; in the deep
hues of the sunset they seemed bathed in blood, while about her the
shouts of the backers and factions transformed themselves into a fierce
cry as of battling peoples. All voices mingled in that cry-- voices of
hope, of agony, and of despair; but she could not interpret them.
Something told her that the interpretation and the issue were in the
mind of God alone.
Perhaps she swooned, perhaps she slept and dreamed this dream;
perhaps the sharp rushing air overcame her. At the least Lysbeth's eyes
closed and her mind gave way. When they opened and it returned again
their sledge was rushing past the winning post. But in front of it
travelled another sledge, drawn by a gaunt grey horse, which galloped
so hard that its belly seemed to lie upon the ice, a horse driven by a
young man whose face was set like steel and whose lips were as the
lips of a trap.
Could that be the face of her cousin Pieter van de Werff, and, if so,
what passion had stamped that strange seal thereon? She turned herself
in her seat and looked at him who drove her.
Was this a man, or was it a spirit escaped from doom? Blessed Mother
of Christ! what a countenance! The eyeballs starting and upturned,
nothing but the white of them to be seen; the lips curled, and, between,
two lines of shining fangs; the lifted points of the mustachios touching
the high cheekbones. No--no, it was neither a spirit nor a man, she
knew now what it was; it was the very type and incarnation of the
Spanish Wolf.
Once more she seemed to faint, while in her ears there rang the cry--
"The Hollander! Outstayed! Outstayed! Conquered is the accursed
Spaniard!"

Then Lysbeth knew that it was over, and again the faintness
overpowered her.
CHAPTER II
SHE WHO BUYS--PAYS
When Lysbeth's mind recovered from its confusion she found herself
still in the sledge and beyond the borders of the crowd that was
engaged in rapturously congratulating the winner. Drawn up alongside
of the Wolf was another sleigh of plain make, and harnessed to it a
heavy Flemish horse. This vehicle was driven by a Spanish soldier,
with whom sat a second soldier apparently of the rank of sergeant.
There was no one else near; already people in the Netherlands had
learnt to keep their distance from Spanish soldiers.
"If your Excellency would come now," the sergeant was saying, "this
little matter can be settled without any further trouble."
"Where is she?" asked Montalvo.
"Not more than a mile or so away, near the place called Steene Veld."
"Tie her up in the snow to wait till to-morrow morning. My horse is
tired and it may save us trouble," he began, then added, after glancing
back at the crowd behind him and next at Lysbeth, "no, I will come."
Perhaps the Count did not wish to listen to condolences on his defeat,
or perhaps he desired to prolong the /tete-a-tete/ with his fair passenger.
At any rate, without further hesitation, he struck his weary horse with
the whip, causing it to amble forward somewhat stiffly but at a good
pace.
"Where are we going, Senor?" asked Lysbeth anxiously. "The race is
over and I must seek my friends."
"Your friends are engaged in congratulating the victor, lady," he
answered in his suave and courteous voice, "and I cannot leave you

alone upon the ice. Do not trouble; this is only a little matter of
business which will scarcely take a quarter of an hour," and once more
he struck the horse urging it to a better speed.
Lysbeth thought of remonstrating, she thought even of springing from
the sledge, but in the end she did neither. To seem to continue the drive
with her cavalier would, she determined, look more natural and less
absurd than to attempt a violent escape from him. She was certain that
he would not put her down merely at her request; something in his
manner told her so, and though she had no longing for his company it
was better than being made ridiculous before half the inhabitants of
Leyden. Moreover, the