Chapter 3 of Leatherface, A Tale of Old Flanders Donna Lenora De Vargas stood beside her father, whilst he, as representing the Lieutenant Governor, was receiving the homage of the burgers and patricians of Ghent. This was a great honor for so young a girl, but every one, even the women, declared that Donna Lenora was worthy of the honor, and many a man, both young and old, after he had made a besence before Sen. De Vargas paused a while before moving away in order to gaze on the perfect picture which she presented. She was dressed all in white and with extreme simplicity, but the formal mode of the time, the stiff corslet and stomacher, the rigid folds of the brocade, and high-starched collar, set off to perfection the statelyness of her finely proportioned figure, whilst the masses of her soft, fair hair crowned her as with a cask of gold. When the brilliant throng of Flemish notabilities and their wives had all filed past the Duke of Alva's representative, and had all had the honor, men and women alike, proud patricians of this ancient city, of kissing his hand, the High Bailiff respectfully asked for leave to formally present his son to the High Officers of State. All necks were immediately craned to see this presentation, for already the rumor had spread abroad of the coming interesting engagement, and there were many whispers of astonishment when Marx's tall figure, dressed in somber purple silk, with fine-starched rough of priceless Mecklen lace, came forward out of the crowd. Everyone had expected to see Lawrence van Reich as the happy bridegroom elect, and it seemed, passing strange, that it should be Mark, happy-go-lucky, easy-going Mark, the wastrel of the family, the ne'er-du-well, who had been selected for the honor of this alliance with the daughter of all powerful De Vargas. Well, perhaps Lawrence never would have stooped before a Spaniard, as Mark had done quite naturally. Perhaps Lawrence was too avowedly a partisan of the Prince of Orange to have found favor in beautiful Donna Lenora's sight. She certainly looked on Mark van Reich with cool indifference. Those who stood close by vowed that she flashed a glance of contempt upon him, as he bowed low before Senor De Vargas and the other officers of state. Your eldest son, Massur, asked one of these Senors graciously, My sons are twins, replied the High Bailiff, and this is my son, Mark.  Excitement in the gaily-dressed throng was then at its height, the vague feeling that something unusual and even mysterious was occurring caused everyone's nerves to be on tenterhooks. All this while, Donna Lenora had been quite silent, which was vastly becoming in a young girl. And now her father came up to her, and he was closely followed by Mark van Reich. The momentous presentation was about to take place, a man and a woman of different race, of different upbringing, of this same religion, but of widely different train of thought were on the point of taking a solemn engagement to live their future life together. Those who stood near declared that at that moment Donna Lenora looked up at her father with those large dark eyes of hers that had been veiled by the soft sweeping lashes up to now, and that they looked wonderfully beautiful. And were shining with unshed tears and with unspoken passion. They also say that she was on the point of speaking, that her lips were parted, and that the word father came from them as an appealing murmur. But the next moment she had encountered Vargas's stern glance, which swiftly and suddenly shot out on her from beneath his drooping lids, that cruel evil glance of his which dying men and women were want to encounter when their bodies were wrecked by torture, and which gave them a last shudder of horror ere they closed their eyes in death.  Her cheeks were wider than her gown, neither had her lips any color in them, and the kindly Flemish women who stood by felt that their motherly heart ached for this beautiful young girl who seemed so forlorn in the midst of all this pomp. The curious formalities demanded by ancient Flemish custom had now to be complied with before Monsieur van Rijk and Donna Lenora de Vargas could be publicly announced as affianced to one another. Mark having his father on his right and Monsieur Jean van Migrode, chief sheriff of the Cure on his left, advanced toward his future bride. Young Count Mansfeld and Philip de Lenoy, signored de Beauvoir, walked immediately behind him, and with them were a number of gentlemen and ladies, relatives and friends of the High Bailiff of Ghent. In like manner a cortège had been formed round the bride-elect. She was supported on either side by her father and by Don, Albert del Rio, his most intimate friend, and around her were many Spanish seniors of high rank amongst whom the Archbishop of Sorrento, who was on a visit to Brussels, and Don Gonzalo de Brachamont, commanding the governor's bodyguard, were the most noteworthy. A tense silence hung over the large and brilliant assembly, only the fro-fro of brocaded gowns, the flutter of fans, and up above in the vaulted roof the waving of banners in the breeze broke that impressive hush which invariably precedes the accomplishment of something momentous and irrevocable. And now the High Bailiff began to speak in accordance with the time-honored tradition of his people, wilfully oblivious of the sneers, the sarcastic smiles, the supercilious glances which were so conspicuous in the swarthy faces of the Spanish grandees opposite to him. It is my purpose, senor, he began solemnly and speaking directly to Don Juan de Vargas to ask that you do give your daughter in wedlock to my son. And Don Juan de Vargas gave answer with equal solemnity. Before acceding to your request, Missour, he said, I demand to know whether your son is an honourable man and possessed of goods sufficient to ensure that my daughter continue to live as she hath done hitherto in a manner befitting her rank. My son, Marx and your thereupon rejoined the High Bailiff, is possessed of ten thousand dukots in gold, of twelve horses, and of one half share in the fleet of trading vessels belonging to me, which carry the produce of Flemish farms and of Flemish silklooms to the ports of France, of Italy, and of England. Moreover, six months after my son's marriage, I will buy him a house in the Saint-Bavane quarter of this city, and some furniture to put into it so that he may live independently therein and in a manner befitting his rank. My daughter, Missour, resumed de Vargas, still with the same grave solemnity, is possessed of five thousand dukots and of the prestige attached to her name, which, next to that of the Lieutenant Governor himself, hath more power than any other name in this land. The Chief Sheriff now spoke, and on the day of the marriage of Missour Van Reich, he said, with the bride whom he hath chosen, I will give him sixteen goblets of silver and four silver tankards. And on the day of the marriage of Donna Lenora de Vargas, with the bridegroom chosen for her by her father, said Don Albert Del Rio, I will give her a girdle of gold, a necklace of pearls, and three rings set with diamonds and rubies. I will give the bridegroom two silver dishes, and four gold cellars, came in solemn fashion from young Count Mansfeld. To the bride I will give two gold bracelets, and a rosary, specially blessed by his holiness, announced the Archbishop of Sorrento. To the bridegroom I will give two gold dishes, and four silver spoons, said the signor de Beauvoir. To the bride I will give a statue of our lady, wrought in ivory, and two silken carpets from Persia, said Don Gonzalo de Bracamonte, whereupon the high bailiff spoke once more. My son Mark hath two hundred and twenty friends and kindred, each of whom will present him with a suitable wedding gift. My daughter will have a gift from our sovereign lord the king, from the governor of the provinces, and from the lieutenant governor, and from fifteen Spanish grandees, three of whom are knights of the golden fleece. Wherefore, O noble signor, continued the high bailiff, I do ask you to give your daughter to my son for wife, which request I do grant you, Missour, said De Vargas, and herewith make acceptance on my daughter's behalf of your son, Mark, to be her husband and guardian. Don Gonzalo de Bracamonte now handed him a drawn sword, a hat, a ring, and a mantle. De Vargas holding the sword upright placed the hat on the tip of the blade and hung the ring upon a projecting ornament of the hilt. This, together with the mantle and a piece of silver, he then handed over to Mark, saying, with these emblems I hereby hand over to you the custody of my daughter, and as I have been her faithful custodian in the past, so do I desire you to become her guardian and protector, henceforth taking charge of her worldly possessions and duly administering them honorably and loyally. In the meanwhile the chief sheriff had in similar manner given Mark seven gloves. These the young man now handed to Senor De Vargas in exchange for the emblems of his own marital authority and saying the while, I accept the trust and guardianship of your daughter, Lenora, which you have imposed upon me, and herewith I plight you my troth that I will henceforth administer her worldly possessions both honorably and loyally. With this the quaint ceremonial came to an end. The Spanish Senors, very obviously, drew deep sighs of relief. The Archbishop and Don Gonzalo, as well as De Vargas himself, had studied their parts carefully, for the Lieutenant Governor had expressly desired that the betrothal should be done with all the formalities and ceremonies which the custom of the Netherlands demanded. All three Senors had chafed at this irksome task. They found torrents of ridicule to pour upon the loudish Netherlandsers and their vulgar and unseemly habits. But the duke was firm and obedience was obligatory. Lenora had, of course, not been consulted on the subject. She was just the sad little bundle of goods which was being bargained for, for the furtherance of political intrigues, together with her five thousand dukots, her golden girdle, and rosary specially blessed by the Pope. She stood by, while the solemn bargaining was going on, the center of the group.  But at last it was over, and De Vargas now turned to his daughter. Lenora, he said, this is Mark, the son of the High Baeleth of Gent. The alliance which you are about to contract with him is a source of great satisfaction to me. Mark, in the meanwhile, had stood by, quite impassive and seemingly indifferent, while the ceremony of betrothal was taking place. There was nothing new to him in the solemn speeches delivered by his father and his friends, nor in those which the Spanish seniors had learned so glibly by heart. He had more than once been present at the betrothal of one or other of his friends, and these customs and ceremonials were as familiar, as sacred to him perhaps, as the divine service of his church. Now at De Vargas's last words, he advanced with backbent, nearer to his beautiful fiancée. He had refrained from looking on her while his worldly goods and hers were being thus proclaimed in loud tones by their respective friends, because he felt that she, being a total stranger, must find his country's custom either ridiculous or irksome. But now, when he straightened out his tall figure, he suddenly sought her eyes, and seemed to compel her glance by the very intentness of his own.  Everyone noticed how closely Senor De Vargas had watched his daughter all the while that the formal ceremony of betrothal was taking place, and that as soon as Donna Lenora had extended her hand to Missora van Rijk, a smile of intense satisfaction became apparent around the corners of his mouth. And now, Missora, he said solemnly, and turning once more to the bridegroom elect, it is my pleasant duty to apprise you that our sovereign Lord and King have himself desired that I should be his mouthpiece in wishing you lasting happiness. I thank you, Missora, said Mark van Rijk quietly. As you know, continued De Vargas, speaking with paternal benevolence, it is the Lieutenant Governor's earnest wish that we should hasten the wedding. He himself hath graciously fixed this day, said Knight, for the religious ceremony, the festival day of our Lady of Victory, a great and solemn occasion, Missora, he continued unctuously, which will sanctify your union with my daughter, and confer on it an additional blessing. As his highness' commands rejoined Mark, somewhat impatiently, he had made several efforts to meet his beautiful bride's glance again, but she kept her eyes steadily averted from his now. Truly so cold and unemotional a bride was enough to put any bridegroom out of patience. No doubt, had Lawrence van Rijk stood there instead of Mark, there might have been enacted a little scene of ill temper which would have disturbed Don van De Vargas' unctuous manner. But Mark took it all as a matter of course. He looked supremely indifferent, and more than a little bored, whilst his prospective father-in-law delivered himself of all these urbane speeches. He had obviously been deeply struck at first by Donna Lenora's exquisite beauty. But now the effect of this pleasing surprise had worn off. He looked down on her with cool indifference, whilst a little smile of irony became more and more accentuated round his lips. But the high bailiff appeared overjoyed. His flat, blemish face gradually broadened into a huge, complacent smile. He leaned on the arm of his son with easy familiarity, and every one felt that, had Senor De Vargas demanded such a token of gratitude and loyalty, my near Charles van Rijk would have laid down on the floor and licked the dust from Monsignor's slashed shoes. At last the interminable ceremony of betrothal was over, and Donna Lenora was given a little breathing time from the formal etiquette which surrounded her father whenever he represented the lieutenant governor, and which oppressed this poor young girl physically like the stiff corselet which she wore. She looked around her a little wistfully. Her father was busy conversing with the high bailiff, no doubt on matters connected with the respective marriage jointures all around in the magnificent hall under the high roof emblazoned and decorated with the arms of the city and the banners of the city gills, a noisy throng gaily dressed, pressed, jostled, and chattered. The ladies of Ghent, somewhat unwieldy of figure, and with none of the highly trained aesthetic taste of Spanish civilization, had decked themselves out in finery which was more remarkable for its gorgeousness than for harmony of color. The lateness of the season had proved an excuse for wearing the rich velvets and brocades imported from Italy, cloth of gold, heavily embroidered, stomachers wrought in tinsel threads and pearls, hooped petticoats, and monster farthing gills, moved before Donna Lenora's pensive eyes like a kaleidoscope of many colors, brilliant and dazzling. The deep window embrasures, each held a living picture grouped against the rich background of heavy velvet curtains or exquisite carved paneling, men and women in bright crimson or yellow or green, the gorgeous liveries of one or other of the civic corporations, the uniforms of the guild militia, the robes of the sheriffs, and the wardmasters all looked like a crowd of gaily plumaged birds, with here and there the rich trenchant note of a black velvet tunic worn by a member of one of the learned bodies, or the purple satin doublet of a Spanish grandee. The Flemish bourgeoisie and patriciate kept very much to itself the women eyeing with some disfavor the stiff demeanor and somber clothes of the Spaniards who remained grouped around the person of Don Juan de Vargas. There was also the element of fear never far distant when the Spanish officers of state were present. They personified to all these people the tyranny of Spain, the yoke of slavery which would never again be lifted from the land. The Netherlanders feared their masters and many cringed and fond before them, but they never mixed with them. They held themselves entirely aloof. There were no Spanish ladies here. The Duchess of Alva was not in Flanders. The grandees and officers of Alva's army had left their wives and daughters at home in Aragon or Castile. The stay in these dour and unsympathetic low countries was always something of a punishment to these sons and daughters of the south who hated the gray skies, the northeasterly winds, and perpetual rains. Thus Donna Lenora found herself strangely isolated. The Flemish ladies banded themselves in groups. They chatted together, whispered, and made merry. But the Spanish girl who had stood in high honor beside the Lieutenant Governor's representative was not one of themselves. She was slim and tall and graceful. She was dressed in simple white above all. She belonged to the ruling caste, and though many a kind-hearted Flemish row pitted her in her loneliness, not one of them thought of going to speak to her, Donna Lenora sighed and her eyes filled with tears, with tears not altogether of sorrow, but also of self-pity mingled with bitter resentment. Even the company of her future husband might have been acceptable at this moment when she felt so very lonely. But Mark van Rijk was no longer nigh. Then suddenly her face lit up with joy, the color rushed to her cheeks, and her lips parted in a smile. She had just aspired, in the brilliant throng, one no less brilliant figure which was slowly pushing its way through the crowd in her direction. Ramon, she whispered, as soon as the young man was quite close to her, I didn't know you were here. His highness, he replied, has given me command of the garrison here.  But where are your lodgings? At the house of those thrice-accursed van Rijk's. He muttered with an oath. The billeting was arranged without my knowledge, and, of course, I and my men leave those quarters to-morrow. Every morsel I eat in that house seems to choke me. Poor Ramon, she whispered with tender pity. I too have been unutterably wretched since I saw you in Brussels. I couldn't communicate with you again, sweetheart, and this to my great grief. But I was bundled out of Brussels, like a bale of goods, and here I am. Imagine my joy when I realized that I should see you to-night. Hush! she murmured quickly, for with a quick impulse he had seized her hand and was pressing it to his lips. My father can see us. What matter if he do, retorted Don Ramon?  Our love, Lenora, he added with passionate ardor, an ardor in which he himself believed, for the moment, since he loved Lenora, and she was so exquisite in her statelyness, her white gown, and that cask of golden hair upon her head. You must not say that, Ramon. She said with earnestness that was far more real than his. You must try and help me, and not make my sacrifice altogether unbearable. It has been terrible, she added, and a curious haunted look came into her eyes. It has been the most damnable thing that has ever been done on this earth, Lenora. When I arrived in this accursed city last night and quartered myself and some of my men in the house of the High Baleuf, I would gladly have put the whole accursed family to the sword. There is no limit to my hatred of them, and of all those who stand between me and your love. I have hated your father, Lenora, ever since he parted us. I have hated Alva. God help me. I have hated even the King. Ramon spoke in a low horse murmur inaudible to everyone, saved to the shell-like ear for which it was intended. With irresistible force he had drawn Lenora's arm through his own, and had led her, much against her will, into one of the deep window embrasures, where heavy curtains of eutracked velvet masked them both from view. He pressed her to sit on one of the low window seats, and through the soft-toned stained glass, the dim light of the moon came peeping in, and through ghost-like glimmers upon the tendrils of her hair, even whilst the ruddy lights of the candles played upon her face and her white gown. For the first time tonight, the young man realized all that he had lost, and how infinitely desirable was the woman whom he had so eerily given up without a fight. He cursed himself for his cowardice, even though he knew that he never would have the courage to dare defiance for her sake. Lenora, he said, with passionate intensity, ever since your father and the Duke of Alva made me understand that they were taking you away from me, I have been wondering if it was humanly possible for any man who has known you as I have done, who has loved you as I love you still, to give you up to another. It has to be, Ramon, she said gently. Oh, you must not think that I have not thought and thought, thought of what was my duty, thought for my happiness. Now, she added with a little sigh of weariness, I cannot fight any more. My father, the Duke of Alva, the king himself, in a personal letter to me, have told me where my duty lies. My confessor would withhold absolution from me if I refused to obey. My king and country and the church have need of me, it seems. What is my happiness worth if weighed in the balance of my country's service?  They will make of you something a little better than a spy in the house of the High Bailiff of Ghent. That is the only thing which troubles me, she said. I feel as if I were doing something mean and underhand. I shall marry a man whom I can never love, who belongs to a race that has always been inimical to Spain.  He will hate everything that I have always honored and cherished. My king, my country, the glory and grandeur of Spain. He will rebel against her laws, which I know to be beneficent even though they seem harsh and even cruel at times. A Netherlander can never have anything in common with a Spaniard. Oh, they'd murder us if they could. The young man rejoined with a careless shrug of the shoulders, but only in the dark streets or from behind a hedge. The king is very angry with them. I know he declared that he would not come to the Netherlands until there is not a single rebel or heretic within its shores. The terms are synonymous, he retorted lightly, and I fear that his Majesty will never grace this abominable country with his presence if his resolution holds good. They are a stiff-necked crowd, these Netherlanders, Catholics, and heretics. They are all rebels, but the heretics are the worst. Then, as she said nothing, but stared straight out before her at this crowd of people amongst whom she was doomed to live in the future, he continued with a tone of sullen wrath. We have burnt a goodly number of these rebels, but still they swarm. It is horrible, exclaimed the young girl with a shudder. Horrible, my dear love, he said, with a cynical laugh. It is the only way to deal with these people. Their arrogance passes belief. Their treachery knows no bounds. The king's sacred person would not be safe here among them. The Duke's life has often been threatened. The heretics have pillaged and ransacked the churches. No, you must not waste your sympathy on the people here. They are rebellious and treacherous to the core. As for me, I hate them tenfold, for it is one of them who will take you from me. He cannot take my heart from you, Ramon, for that will be yours always. Lenora, he whispered once more with that fierce earnestness which he seemed unable to control. You know what is in my mind, what I have thought and planned ever since I realized that you were being taken from me. What is it, Ramon? The Duke of Alva, the king himself, want you to work for them, to be their tool. Well, so be it. You have not the strength to resist. I have not the power to rebel. If we did, we should both be crushed, like miserable worms, by the powers which know how to force obedience. Often have I thought in the past two miserable days that I would kill you, Lenora, and myself afterwards, but the words died on his lips. His olive skin became almost livid in hue. Hastily he drew a tiny image from inside his doublet. With it in his hand he made the sign of the cross, then kissed it reverently. You would die unabsolved, my Lenora, he whispered, and the girl's cheeks became very white, too, as he spoke, and I should be committing a crime for which there is no pardon, and I could not do that, he added more firmly. I would sooner face the fires of the Inquisition than those of hell. Superstitious fear held them both in its grip, and that fanatical enthusiasm which in these times saw in the horrible excesses of that execrable Inquisition in its torture chambers and scaffolds and stakes merely the means of killing bodies that were worthless and saving immortal souls from everlasting torture and fire. Lenora was trembling from head to foot, and tears of horror and of dread gathered in her eyes. Don Ramon made a violent effort to regain his composure, and at the same time to comfort her. You must not be afraid, Lenora, he said quietly. Those demons of blind fury, of homicide and of suicide, have been laid low. I fought with them and conquered them. Their cruel temptations no longer assail me, and the holy saints themselves have shown me the way to be patient, to wait in silence until you have fulfilled your destiny, until you have accomplished the work which the king and the church will demand of you. After that I know that the man who now will claim what I would give my life to possess you, Lenora, will be removed from your path. How it will be done I do not know, but he will die, Lenora, of that I am sure.  You will be free then, and will no longer owe obedience to your father.  And, of a troth, here broke in a pleasant and good-humored voice, with a short laugh, it is lucky that I happened to be present here and now at this hour to register this exceedingly amiable vow. Don Ramon de Linnea had jumped to his feet, his hand was upon his sword-hilt. Instinctively he had placed himself in front of Donna Lenora and facing the intruder, who was standing beside the velvet curtain, with one hand holding back its heavy folds. Masaur van Rijk, he exclaimed, whilst he strove to put into his attitude all the haughtiness and dignity of which the present situation had undoubtedly robbed him. At your service, Senor, replied Mark, you were spying on Donna Lenora and on me, I see. Indeed not, Senor, I only happened upon the scene quite accidentally, I assure you, at the moment when you were prophesying my early demise and arranging to be present at my funeral. Are you trying to be insolent, Serah? Quothed on Ramon, roughly. Not I, Senor, rejoined Mark, good-humoredly, I should succeed so ill. My intention was when I saw Senor De Vargas' angry glance persistently directed against my future wife to save her from the consequences of his wrath, and, incidentally, to bear her company for a while, a proceeding for which I think you will admit, Senor, I have the fullest right. You have no rights over this gracious lady fellow, retorted the Spaniard, with characteristic arrogance. None I own, save those which she deigns to confer upon me, and if she bid me begone, I will go. Begone, then, you impudent varlet, cried Don Ramon, whose temper was not proof against the other's calm insolence, ere I run my sword through your miserable body. Hush, Ramon, here interposed Donna Lenora, with cool authority, you forget your own dignity and mine in this unseemly quarrel. Masaur van Rijk is in the right, and he desires to speak with me, I am, at his disposal. Not before he has arranged to meet me at the back of his father's house at daybreak tomorrow. Bring your witnesses, Serah, I'll condescend to fight you fairly. You could not do that, Senor, replied Mark van Rijk, with perfect equanimity.  I am good with my fists, but it would be beneath the dignity of a grandee of Spain to measure fists with a Flemish burger. Still, if it is your pleasure. Although this altercation had been carried on within the depth of a vast window embrasure, and with heavy curtains to right and left, to deaden the sound of angry voices, the fact that two men were quarreling in the presence of Donna Lenora, De Vargas, had become apparent to not a few. De Vargas himself, who, for the past quarter of an hour, had viewed with growing wrath his daughter's intimate conversation with Don Ramon de Linea, saw what was happening, and realized that within the next few moments an exceedingly unpleasant scandal would occur which would place Don Ramon de Linea, a Spanish officer of high rank, commanding the garrison in Ghent, in a false and humiliating position. In these days, however, and with the perfect organization of which De Vargas himself was a most conspicuous member, such matters were very easily put right. A scandal under the present circumstances would be prejudicial to Spanish prestige. Therefore no scandal must occur. A fight between a Spanish officer and the future husband of Donna Lenora de Vargas must have unpleasant consequences for the latter. Therefore even a provocation must be avoided. And it was done quite simply. Don Juan de Vargas whispered to a man who stood not far from him and who was dressed very quietly in a kind of livery of somber purple and black, the livery worn by servants of the Inquisition. The man, without a word, left De Vargas's side and edged his way along the paneled walls of the Great Hall till he reached the window embrasure where the little scene was taking place. He had shoes with soles of felt and made no noise as he glided unobtrusively along the polished floor. Neither Marc van Rijk nor Don Ramon de Linia saw him approach, but just as the latter, now wholly beside himself with rage, was fingering his glove with a view to flinging it in the other's face, the man in the purple and black livery touched him lightly on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Then he walked away as silently as unobtrusively as he had come. But Don Ramon de Linia's rage fell away from him like a mantle. The glove fell from his nervous hand to the floor. He bit his lip till a tiny drop of blood appeared upon it. Then he hastily turned on his heel and after a deep bow to Donna Lenora, but without another word to Marc van Rijk, he walked away and soon disappeared among the crowd. Donna Lenora was leaning back against the cushioned windowsill.   She seemed quite unaware of Marc's presence, and he remained leaning back against the angle of the embrasure, watching the girl for a while. Then as she remained quite silent and apparently desirous of ignoring him altogether, he turned to look within different gaze on the ever-changing and moving picture before him. One or two of the high officers of state had retired, and the departure of these pompous Spanish officials was the signal for greater freedom and merriment among the guests of the High Bailiff and of the sheriffs of the City of Ghent. The orchestra in the gallery up above had struck up the measure of a lively Goliard. The center of the hall had been cleared, and the young people were dancing whilst the graver folk made circle around them in order to watch the dance. As was usual, the moment that dancing began and hilarity held sway, most of the guests slipped on a velvet mask which partly hid the face and was supposed, owing to the certain air of mystery which it conveyed to confer greater freedom of speech upon the wearer and greater ease of manner. There were but few of the rich Spanish doublets to be seen now, the more garish colors beloved of the worthy burgers of Flanders held undisputed sway. But here and there a dark figure or two, clad in purple and black of a severe cut, were seen gliding in and out among the crowd, and wherever they appeared they seemed to leave a trail of silence behind them. Mark was just about to make a serious effort at conversing with his fiancée and racking his brain as to what subject of gossip would interest her most when a man in somber attire and wearing a mask came close up to his elbow. Mark looked him quietly up and down. Lawrence, he said, without the slightest show of surprise and turning well away from Donna Lenora so that she should not hear. Hush, said the other, I don't want father to know that I am here but I couldn't keep away. How did you get through? Oh, I disclosed myself to the men at arms, no one seemed astonished. Why should they be? Your escapade is not known.  I'll not hinder you. Have you been home at all? Yes, my heart ached for our dear mother, and though my resolution was just as firm, I wanted to comfort her. I slipped into the house, just after you had left, I saw our mother and she told me what you had done. I am very grateful. And did you speak to father?  She had told me the news, so I no longer tried to avoid him.   Have I not said that all is for the best? rejoined Mark dryly. Now stand aside, man, and let me speak to my bride. She is very beautiful, Mark. Nay, it is too late to think of that man, quote Mark, with his habitual good humor. We cannot play shuttlecock with the lovely Lenora, and she is no longer for you. I'll not interfere, never fear. It was only curiosity that got the better of me and belonging to get a glimpse of her. This rapid colloquy between the two brothers had been carried on in whispers, and both had drawn well away from the window-embrasure, leaving the velvet curtain between them and Donna Lenora so as to deaden the sound of their voices and screen them from her view. But now Mark turned back to his fiancée, ready for that tête-à-tête with her which he felt would be expected of him. He found her still sitting solitary and silent on the low window-seat with the cold glint of moonlight on her hair, and the red glow of the candles in the ballroom throwing weird patches of vivid light and blue shadows upon her white silk gown. Do I intrude upon your meditation, senorita? he asked. Do you wish me to go? I am entirely at your service, monsieur. She replied coldly, as you so justly remarked to Don Ramon de Linea. You have every right to my company, and you so desire. I expressed myself clumsily, I own. He retorted a little impatiently. Nothing was further from my thoughts than to force my company upon you. But he added whimsically, me seems that since we are destined to spend so much of our future together we might make an early start at mutual understanding. And you thought that conversation in a ballroom would be a good start for the desirable purpose, she asked. Why not? As you say, why not? she replied lightly. There is so little that we can say to one another that it can just as well be said in a ballroom. We know so little of one another at present, and so long as my looks have not displeased you. Your beauty, senorita, has no doubt been vaunted by more able lips than mine. I acknowledge it gratefully and without stint as an additional gift of God. Additional, she asked, with a slight raising of her brows.  Good women, he added quaintly, are so often plain and beautiful women so often unpleasant, that to find in one's future wife, goodness, allied to beauty, is proof that one of singularly blessed. Which compliment, mister, would be more acceptable if I felt that it was sincere? Your praise of my looks is flattering, as to my goodness, you have no proof of it. Nay, there you wrong yourself, senorita. Are you not marrying me entirely against your will, and because you desire to be obedient to your father and to the Duke of Alva? Are you not marrying me out of loyalty to your king, to your country, and to your church? A woman who is as loyal and submissive as that will be loyal to her husband, too. This will I strive to be, Missour rejoined Lenora, who either did not or would not perceive the slight tone of good-humored mockery which lurked in Mark Van Reich's amiable speech. I will strive to be loyal to you, since my father and the king himself, it seems, have desired that I should be your wife. But by the mass, he retorted gaily, I shall expect something more than loyalty and submission from so beautiful a wife, you know. Next to the king and to my faith, she replied coldly, you will always be first in my thoughts. And in your heart I trust, senorita, he said. We are not masters of our heart, Missour. Well, so long as that precious garden is not bestowed on another man, said Mark with a sigh, I suppose that I shall have to be satisfied. I, satisfied, broke in the girl with sudden vehemence. Satisfied, did you say, Missour? You are satisfied to take a wife, whom till today you have not even seen, who was bargained for on your behalf by your father, because it suited some political scheme of which you have not even cognizance. Satisfied, she reiterated bitterly. More satisfied, apparently, with this bargaining than if you were buying a horse for there, at least, you would have wished to see the animal ere you closed with the deal, and know something of its temper. But a wife, what matters what she thinks and feels, if she be cold or loving, gentle or shrewish, sensitive to a kind word, or callous to cruelty, a wife, well, so long as no other man hath ever kissed her lips, for that would hurt masculine vanity and wound the pride of possession. I am only a woman made to obey my father first and my husband afterwards, but you, a man who forced you to obey no one, and you did not care. This marriage was spoken of a month ago, and Segovia is not at the end of the world. Did you even take the trouble to go accorting me there? Did you even care to see me, though I have been close on a week in this country? You spoke of my heart just now. How do you hope to win it? Well, let me tell you this, monsieur, that though I must abide by the bargain which my father and yours have entered into for my body, my heart and my soul belong to my cousin, Ramon Delinia. She had thus poured forth the torrent of bitterness and resentment which had oppressed her heart all this while. She spoke with intense vehemence, but with it all retained just a sufficiency of presence of mind not to raise her voice. It came like a hoarse murmur choked at times with sobs, but never loud enough to be heard above the mingled sound of music and gaiety which echoed from wall to wall of the magnificent room. So, too, was she careful of gesture. She kept her hands pressed close against her heart, save when from time to time. She brushed away impatiently an obtrusive tear, or pushed back the tendrils of her fair hair from her moist forehead. Mark had listened quite quietly to her impassioned tirade. There was no suspicion now in his grave face of that good-humored irony and indifference which sat there so habitually. Of course, he could say nothing to justify himself. He could not explain to this beautiful, eminently desirable and sensitive woman whose self-respect had already been gravely wounded that he was not to blame for not going to woo her before, that she had originally been intended for his brother, and that all the reproaches which she was pouring upon his innocent head were really well-deserved by Lawrence, but not by him. He felt that he was cutting a sorry figure at this moment, and the sensation that was uppermost in him was a strong desire to give his elder brother a kick. He did his best with the help of the curtain and his own tall figure to screen Donna Lenora from the gaze of the crowd. He knew that Senora De Vargas was still somewhere in the room, and on no account did he want a father's interference at this moment. Whether he was really very sorry for the girl, he could not say she certainly had given him a moral slap on the face when she avowed her love for Don Ramon, and he did not feel altogether inclined at this precise moment to soothe and comfort her, or even to speak perfunctory words of love which he was far from feeling, and which, no doubt, she would reject with scorn. Thus now, when she appeared more calm, tired, no doubt, by the great emotional effort, he only spoke quite quietly, but with as much gentleness as he could. For both our sakes, Donna Lenora, he said, I could wish that you had not named Ramon de Lenia. It grieves me sorely that the bonds which your father's will are imposing upon you should prove to be so irksome. But I should be doing you an ill turn if I were to offer you at this moment that freedom for which you so obviously crave, not only your father's wrath, but that of the Duke of Alva would fall on you with far greater weight than it would on me, and your own country hath instituted methods for dealing with disobedience which I would not like to see used against you. That being the case, Signorita, he continued, with a return to his usual good-tempered carelessness, would it not be wiser, think you, to make the best of this bad bargain, and to try and live, if not in amity, at least not in open enmity, one toward the other. There is no enmity in my heart against you, Missour, she rejoined calmly, and I crave your pardon that I did so far forget myself as to speak of Don Ramon to you. I'll not transgress in that way in future that I promise you. You have no love for me, you never can have any, me seems.  Our every thoughts lie as asunder as the poles. You obey your father, and I mine. Our hands will be clasped, but our hearts can never meet. Had you not been so callous, it might have been different. I might have looked upon you as a friend, and not a mere tool for the accomplishment of my country's destiny. And now, may I beg of you not to prolong this interview, would we had not tried to understand one another, for, me seems, we have fallen into graver misunderstandings than before. When may I see you again, asked Mark Van Rijk, with coolness now quite equal to hers, every day until our wedding, Missour, in the presence of my aunt Donna Ines de Salgado, as the custom of my country allows. I shall look forward to the wild excitement of these daily meetings, he said, quite unable to suppress the laughter which danced in his gray eyes. She took no notice of the gentle railery, but dismissed him with a gracious nod. Shall I tell Senor De Vargas, he asked, that you are alone? No, no, she replied hastily. I prefer to be alone for a little while. I pray you to leave me. He bowed before her with all the stiffness and formality which Spanish etiquette demanded. Then he turned away from her, and soon she lost sight of his broad shoulders in the myths of the gayest groups in the crowd. The interview with her future husband had not left Donna Lenora any happier or more contented with her lot. The callousness which he had shown in accepting a fiancé like a bale of valueless goods was equally apparent in his attitude after this first introduction to her. The poor girl's heart was heavy. She had had so little experience of the world and none at all of men. Already at an early age, she had become motherless all the care and the tenderness which she had ever known was from the father whose pride in her beauty was far greater than his love for his child. A rigid convent education had restrained the development of her ideals and of her aspirations. At nineteen years of age, the dominating thought in her was service to her king and country, loyalty and obedience to her father and to the church. In the crowded ballroom, she saw young girls moving freely and gaily, talking and laughing, without apparently a care or sorrow, yet they belonged to a subject and rebel race. The laws of a powerful alien government dominated their lives. Fear of the inquisition restrained the very freedom of their thoughts. They were all of them rebels in the eyes of their king. The comprehensive death warrant issued by the Duke of Alva against every netherlander, man, woman and child, irrespective of rank, irrespective of creed, irrespective of political convictions, hung over every life here present, like the real sword of Damocles. Even this day all these people were dancing in the very presence of death. The thought of the torture chamber, the gibbet, or the stake, could never be wholly absent from their minds, and yet they seemed happy, whilst she, Donna Lenora de Vargas, who should have been envied of them all, was sitting solitary and sad. Her lace handkerchief was soaked through with her tears. A sudden movement of the curtain on her left roused her from her gloomy meditations. The next moment a young man, with fair and really hair, eyes glowing through the holes of the velvet mask which he wore, and sensitive mouth quivering with emotion, was kneeling beside her. He had captured one of her hands, and was kissing it with passionate fervor. Not a little frightened, she could hardly speak, but she did not feel indignant, for she had been very lonely, and this mute adoration of her, on the part of this unknown man, acted like soothing balm on her wounded pride. I pray you, sir, she murmured timorously, I pray you to leave me. He looked up into her face, and through the holes of the mask, she could see that his eyes were, like hers, full of tears.  But who are you, she asked, one who anon will stand very near to you, as a brother. A brother? Then you are Lawrence Van Rijk, he replied, henceforth your faithful servant, until death. Then as she looked very perplexed and puzzled, he continued more quietly. I stood there behind the curtain, quite close, whilst my brother spoke with you. I heard every word that you said, and my heart filled with admiration and pity for you. I came here tonight, only because I wished to see you. I looked upon you, without knowing you, as an enemy, perhaps a spy. Now that I have seen you, I feel as if my whole life must atone for the immense wrong which I had done you in my thoughts. You cannot guess. You will never know how infinite that wrong has been. But there is one thing I would wish you to know, and that is that I am a man to whom happiness in her most fulsome beauty stretched out her hands, and who in his blindness turned his back on her. If you can find it in your heart to pity and to trust me, you will always find beside you a champion to defend you, a friend to protect you, a man prepared to atone with his life for the desperate wrong which he have unwittingly done to you. He paused, and she, still a little bewildered, rejoined gently. Sir, I thank you for those kind words, the kindest I have heard since I landed in the Low Countries. I hope that I shall not need a champion, for surely my husband, your brother, Massour, will know how to protect me when necessary. But who is there who hath no need of a friend? And it is a great joy to me, in the midst of many disappointments, that in my husband's brother I shall have a true friend.  Heaven reward you for those gentle words, Senorita, said Lawrence Van Rijk fervently, as he once more took her hand and kissed it. She withdrew it quietly, and he had perforced to let it go. It might have been his for always her tiny hand and her exquisite person, but for his hot-headed action he might have stood now boldly beside her the happy bridegroom, beside this lovely bride. The feeling of gratitude which he had felt for Mark when the latter chose to unravel the skein of their family's destiny, which he, Lawrence, had hopelessly embroiled, was now changed to unreasoning bitterness. What Mark had accepted with a careless shrug of the shoulders he, Lawrence, would now give his life to possess, fate had indeed made of her threads a tangle, and in this tangle he knew that his own happiness had become inextricably involved. He could not even remain beside Donna Lenora now. He was here unbeknown to his father, a looker on at the feast, whereat he might have presided. Even at this moment, Senor De Vargas, having espied his daughter in conversation with an unknown man, was making his way toward the window-embrasure. Senorita, whispered Lawrence hurriedly, that ring upon your middle finger. If at any time you require help or protection, will you send it to me? Wherever I may be, I would come at once. Whatever you told me to do, I hereby swear that I would accomplish. Will you promise that if you need me, you will send me that ring? And she, who was lonely and had no one to love her devotedly, gave the promise which he asked. Chapter 4 Justice Don Ramon de Lenya was one of the last to leave the townhouse. He was on duty until all the Spanish officers of State had left the building, and it was long past midnight before he wended his way through the narrow streets of the city till he reached the house of the High Bailiff in the new strut, not far from the new bridge. The outward appearance of the house suggested that most of its occupants were a bed, although there was a light in one of the windows on the ground floor, and through the uncurtained casement Don Ramon caught sight of the High Bailiff and his two sons sitting together over a final cup of wine. All the pent-up wrath against Mark Van Rijk, which Ramon had been forced to keep in check under the eye of Senor De Vargas, gave itself vent now in a comprehensive curse, and forgetting every code of decency toward his host and hostess, he went up to the front door and gave the heavy oak panels a series of violent kicks with his boot. Hey there, he shouted roughly, open, you confounded louts, what manners are these to close your doors against the soldiers of the King. He had not finished swearing when the serving man's shuffling footsteps were heard crossing the tiled hall. The next moment there was a great rattle of bolts being drawn and chains being unhung, whereupon Don Ramon, still impatient and wrathful, gave a final kick to the door, and since Pierre had already lifted the latch, it flew open and nearly knocked the poor man down with its weight.  Here, fellow, he added, flinging himself into a chair, take off my boots and cloak. He held out his leg, and Pierre, dutiful and obedient, took off the long boots of untanned leather which protected the slashed shoes and silk truncos beneath against the mud of the streets. Where is your master? queried the Spaniard roughly. In the dining hall, so please you, senor, replied the man, and my men. They went to the tavern over the way about an hour ago after they had their supper, and they have not yet returned. They are making merry there, senor, added old Pierre somewhat wistfully. And as if in direct confirmation of the man's words, there came from the tavern on the opposite side of the street a deafening noise of wild hilarity. The peace of the night was broken, and made hideous by horse-shouts and laughter, a deafening crash as of broken glass, all intermixed with a bibulous song sung out of tune in a chorus of male voices and the clapping of empty mugs against wooden tables. Don Ramon cursed again, but this time under his breath the order had gone forth recently from the Lieutenant Governor himself that the Spanish troops quartered in Flemish cities were to behave themselves in a sober and becoming manner. The tavern of the three weavers being situated just opposite the house of the High Bailiff, it was more than likely that the latter would take it upon himself to complain of the ribaldry and uproar which was disturbing his rest, and as the High Bailiff was in high favor just now, a severe reprimand for Don Ramon might ensue which prospect did not appeal to him in the least. For a moment he hesitated whether he would not go back across the road and order the men to be silent, but as luck or fate would have it at that very moment the High Bailiff opened the door of the dining room and stepped out into the hall. Seeing the young Spaniard standing there, sullen and irresolute, he bade him courteously to come and join him and his two sons in a tankard of wine. Don Ramon accepted the invitation. The spirit of quarrelsome fury still brooded within him, and it was that spirit which made him wish to meet Mark van Rijk again and either provoke him into that quarrel which Signor De Vargas's timely intervention had prevented before or at any rate to annoy and humiliate him with those errors of masterfulness and superiority which the Spaniards knew so well how to wield. Mark and Lawrence greeted their father's guest with utmost politeness. The former offered him a tankard of wine which Don Ramon pushed away so roughly that the wine was spilled over the floor and over Mark van Rijk's clothes, whereupon the Spaniards swore, as was his want, and murmured something about a clumsy lout. Lawrence, sitting at the opposite side of the table, clenched his fist till the knuckles shone like ivory and the skin was so taut that it threatened to crack.  But Mark ignored the insult, his face expressed nothing but good-humored indifference and a careless indulgence for the vagaries of a guest like one would feel for those of an irresponsible child. As for the High Bailiff, he still beamed with amiability and the determination to please his Spanish masters in every way that lay in his power. We would ask you, Senor, said Lawrence, after a slight pause, during which he had made almost superhuman efforts to regain his self-control, kindly to admonish the soldiery in the tavern yonder. My mother is an invalid. The noise that the men make is robbing her of sleep. The men will not stay at the tavern much longer, said Don Ramon, haughtily. They are entitled to a little amusement after their arduous watch at the town hall. And Madame Van Rijk will exercise a little patience. She will get to sleep within the hour and can lie a bed a little longer tomorrow. It is not so much the lateness of the hour, Senor. Here interposed the High Bailiff urbanely, noting with horror that his son was about to lose his temper. Neither I nor my sons would wish to interfere with the innocent pleasures of these brave men. But then what is the father about, Serah? queried the Spaniard with well-studied insolence. Only that murmured the unfortunate High Bailiff diffidently. Only that there are only two women in charge of the tavern at this hour broke in mark quietly to young girls whose father was arrested this morning for attending a camp meeting outside the city. The girls are timid and unprotected. Therefore we entreat that you, Senor, do put a stop to the soldier's brawling and allow the tavern to be closed at this late hour of the night. Don Ramon threw back his head and burst into loud and affected laughter. By the mass, Massour, he said, I find you vastly amusing to be thus pleading for a pair of heretics. Did you, perchance, not know that to attend camp meetings is punishable by death? If people want to hear a sermon, they should go to church where the true doctrine is preached. Nothing but rebellion and high treason are preached at those meetings. We were pleading for two defenseless girls, rejoined Lawrence, whose voice shook with suppressed passion. Even he dared not say anything more on the dangerous subject of religious controversy which Don Ramon had obviously brought forward with the wish to provoke a discussion. Lest an unguarded word brought disaster upon his house, shah, retorted Don Ramon roughly, surely you would not begrudge those fine soldiers a little sport. Two pretty girls, did you not say they were pretty, are not to be found in every street of this confounded city? And by the mass, I feel the desire to go and have a look at those winches myself. Heroes yawned and stretched. Lawrence was white with passion. There was a glow of deadly hate in his eyes, of fury that was almost maniacal. With a mechanical gesture, he tore at the rough at his throat.  He shrugged his shoulders and laughed softly. Ironically to himself, the next moment Lawrence, unable to control himself, had sprung to his feet. He would have been at the other's throat, but that mark, who had been quietly watching him, was just in time to seize him round the shoulders and thus to prevent murder from being done. Don Ramon had not failed to notice Lawrence's unreasoning rage, nor the gesture which for one instant had threatened his own life, but he showed not the slightest sign of fear.  He looked on, quite unmoved, whilst Mark succeeded, if not in pacifying his brother, at least in forcing him back to his seat and regaining some semblance of control over himself.   Don Ramon said coldly, your senseless rage has done you no good, my friend. After half a century you Netherlanders have, it seems, yet to learn that it is not wise to threaten a Spanish gentleman either by word or gesture. Perhaps I would have protected the two females in the tavern yonder from the brutality of my soldiery. Perhaps I wouldn't, I don't know. But now, since you chose to raise an insolent hand against me, I certainly will not raise a finger to save them from any outrage. I'll even countenance my men's behavior by my presence in the tavern. Understand? That is what you have gained by your impotence, both you and your brother, for with him too I have a score to settle for impotence that literally passes belief. If your father were not so well accredited as a good Catholic and a loyal subject of the king, I would.  He nodded curtly to the High Bailiff, took no further notice of Mark and Lawrence, but turned on his heel and went out of the room slamming the door behind him. After he had gone the three men remained silent for a while, the High Bailiff feeling deeply resentful against his son would not trust himself to speak. Mark was leaning against the window sill and staring mootily out into the darkness.  The Spaniard's loud voice was heard giving orders to Pierre. Then there came the sound of bolts being pushed back of the heavy oaken door groaning on its hinges, then the reclosing of the door and Pierre's shuffling footsteps crossing the hall. Lawrence rose and passed the back of his hand once or twice across his eyes, and to think, he murmured dullly, that brutes such as that are allowed to live. Has God turned the light of his countenance quite away from us? He remained standing for a while, gazing out blankly before him, and with trembling fingers he traced intricate patterns upon the tabletop, then with a heavy sigh he bade father and brother good night, and quietly went out of the room. Mark said the High Bailiff quickly, keep an eye on that hot-headed young Ruffian, in his present state of mind there's no knowing what he might do, whereupon Mark, in his usual good-tempered, indolent way, also bade his father good night and followed his brother out of the room. The scene which met Don Ramon's eyes when he entered the tavern of the three weavers, which was situate, be it remembered, almost opposite the house of the High Bailiff of Ghent, was alas, not an unusual one these days, for five years now, ever since the arrival of the Duke of Alva in the Low Countries as Lieutenant Governor, and Captain General of the Forces. The Netherlander had protested with all the strength and the insistence at their command against the quartering of Spanish troops upon the inhabitants of their free cities. The practice was a flagrant violation of all the promises made to them by the king himself, and an outrage against their charters and liberties which the king had sworn to respect. But it also was a form of petty tyranny which commended itself specially to Alva and to the Spanish ministers and councillors of State, who liked, above all, to humiliate these Dutch and Flemish free men and cow them into complete submission and silent acquiescence by every means which their cruel and tortuous minds could invent. Don Ramon knew quite well that he could offer no greater insult to the High Bailiff of Ghent and to his sons, or for the matter of that, to the whole city, than to allow his soldiery to behave in a scandalous and ribald manner in one of the well accredited and well conducted taverns of the town, and to him this knowledge gave but additional zest to what otherwise would have been a tame adventure. Two women to bully and eight men to do it was not nearly as exciting as he could wish, but that fool Lawrence Van Rijk had to be punished, and incidentally Don Ramon hoped that Mark would feel that the punishment was meted out to him more than to his brother. On the whole Don Ramon Delinia felt as he entered the taproom of the three weavers that the presence of the two Van Rijks was all that he needed to make his enjoyment complete. That the Spanish provost and the six men under his command were already drunk, there was no doubt. Some of them were sitting at a long trestle table sprawling across it, lolling up against one another, some singing scraps of bibulous songs, others throwing course obscene jests across the table. Two men seemed to be on guard at the door whilst one and all were clamoring for more wine. Kershu, you, the provost, was shouting at the top of his voice when Don Ramon entered the taproom.  Two women were standing at the further end of the long low room close to the hearth. They stood hand in hand as if in an endeavour to inculcate moral strength to one another. The eldest of the two women might have been twenty-five years of age, the other some few years younger. Their white faces and round dilated eyes showed the deathly fear which held them both in its grip. Obviously the girls would have fled out of the taproom long before this, and equally obviously the two men had been posted at the door in order to cut off their retreat. At sight of their captain the men staggered to their feet. The provost passed the word of command, fearful lest the ribald attitude of his men brought severe censure and worse upon himself. He stood up as steadily as uprightly as he could, but Don Ramon took little notice of him. He called preemptorily to the two girls, who more frightened than ever now still clung desperately to one another. Here wench he said roughly, I want wine, the best you have, and a private room in which to sit. At your service, senor, murmured the elder of the two girls almost inaudibly. What's your name? He asked. Catrine, so please your magnificence, and yours? Greta, at your service, magnificence, whispered the girls one after the other, clinging one to the other, like two miserable atoms of humanity tossed about by the hard hand of fate. At my service then and quickly, too, retorted Don Ramon curtly, go down into the cellar, Catrine, and get me a fresh bottle of rind wine, the best your heretical father hath left behind.  Now then, he added harshly, must I repeat the order? He had undone the buckle of his sword belt, and was carrying his sheath sword in his hand. He found it a splendid weapon for striking further terror into the hearts of the two girls, whose shrieks of pain and fear caused great hilarity amongst the soldiers. Don Ramon felt that if only Mark Van Rijk could have been there, all the wounds which that young Malapert had dared to inflict upon the pride of a Spanish grandee would forthwith be healed. Indeed, Don Ramon enjoyed every incident of this exhilarating spectacle. For instance, when Buxom Catrine had at last toddled down the steps into the cellar, the soldiers closed the trap door upon her, whereupon the provost, who had become very hilarious, shouted lustily, what ho, what are you louts doing there? His magnificence will be wanting the wine which he has ordered. If you lock this cellar into her cellar, she'll come out presently as drunk as a Spanish lord. All right, provost, retorted one of the men, will let her out presently. His magnificence won't have to wait for long. But can we lovey a toll on her?  Whenever the wench is ready to come out of prison. Oh, I understand, quote the provost, with a laugh, and Don Ramon laughed too. He was enjoying himself even more than he had hoped. He saw the other girl, Greta, turn almost gray with terror, and he felt that he was punishing Mark Van Rijk for every insolent word that he had uttered at the town hall, and Lawrence for every threatening gesture. He gave Greta a sharp prodding with the hilt of his sword. Now then, you Flemish slut, he said harshly, show me to your best parlor and don't stand there gaping. Perforce she had to show him the way out of the public tapridge to the private room reserved for noble guests. Send one of your men to fetch the wench away in about half an hour, provost, called Don Ramon. Loudly over his shoulder I shall have got tired of her by then. Loud laughter greeted this sally and a general clapping of mugs against the table. Greta, more dead than alive, nearly fell over the threshold. The private room was on the opposite side of the narrow, tiled hall and was dimly lighted by a small iron lamp that hung from a beam of the ceiling above. The door was half open, and Greta pushed it open still further, and then stood aside to allow the senior captain to pass. Will your magnificence be pleased to walk in? she whispered. Great tears were in her eyes. Don Ramon paused under the lintel of the door, and with a rough gesture pinched her cheek and ear.  Come along, girl, let's see if your heretical father hath taught you how to pay due respect to your superiors. My humblest respect I do offer your magnificence, said Greta, who was bravely trying to suppress her tears. Come, that's better, he retorted, as he pushed the girl into the room and swaggered in behind her, closing the door after him. Now, Greta, he added, as he threw himself into a chair and stretched his legs out before him.  Come here, Greta, he reiterated more peremptorily, for the girl had retreated to a dark corner of the room and was cowering there just like a frightened dog. Come here, Greta, he called loudly for the third time. But Greta was much too frightened to move.  Greta fell on her knees. Good Lord, deliver me, she murmured. Don Ramon seized her by her two hands that were clasped together in prayer. He dragged her up from her knees and toward the table which stood in the center of the small square room. Then he let her fall backwards against the table and laughed because she continued to pray to God to help her. As if God would take any notice of heretics and rebels and netherlanders generally, he said with a sneer, stand up, girl, and go back to my men.   For if you don't, and I hear of any psalm singing or simpering nonsense, I'll hand you over to the inquisition as avowed heretics tomorrow. But truly Greta was by now almost paralyzed with fear. She was no brave heroine of romance who could stand up before a tyrant and browbeat him by the very force of her character and personality. She was but a mere wreckage of humanity whom any rough hand could send hopelessly adrift upon the sea of life. Her one refuge was her tears, her only armor of defense, her own utter helplessness. But this helplessness which would appeal to the most elementary sense of chivalry had not the power to stir a single kind instinct in Don Ramon de Linia. It must be admitted that it would not have appealed to a single Spaniard these days. They were all bred in the one school which taught them from infancy an utter contempt for this subject race and a deadly hatred against the heretics and rebels of the low countries. They were taught to look upon these people as little better than cattle without any truth, honesty or loyalty in them as being faults and treacherous, murderous and dishonest. Don Ramon, who at this moment was behaving as scurrilously as any man not absolutely born in the gutter could possibly do, was only following the traditions of his race, of his country, and its tyrannical government. Therefore when Greta wept he laughed, when she murmured the little prayers which her father had taught her, he felt nothing but irritation and unmeasured contempt. He tried to silence the girl by loud shouts and preemptory commands. When these were of no avail he threatened to call for assistance from his sergeant. Still the girl made no attempt either to move or to stem the flood of tears. Then Don Ramon called aloud, hello there Sergeant, and receiving no answer he went to the door in order to reiterate his call from there. His hand was on the latch when the door was suddenly opened from without, so violently that Don Ramon was nearly thrown off his balance and would probably have measured his length on the floor, but that he fell up against the table and remained there leaning against it with one hand in order to study himself and turning a wrathful glance on the intruder. By the mass he said preemptorily, who is this Malapur who, but the words died on his lips, the look of wrath in his eyes gave way to one of sudden terror. He stared straight out before him at the somber figure which had just crossed the threshold. It was the tall figure of a man dressed in dark, tightly fitting clothes, wearing high boots to the top of his thighs, a hood over his head, and a mask of untanned leather on his face. He was unarmed. Don Ramon, already a prey to that superstitious fear of the unknown and of the mysterious which characterized even the boldest of his country and of his race, felt all his arrogance giving way in the presence of this extraordinary apparition which by the dim and flickering light of the lamp appeared to him to be preternaturally tall and strangely menacing in its grim attitude of silence. Thus a moment or two went by. The stranger now turned and carefully closed and locked the door behind him. Key in hand he went up to the girl Greta who no less terrified than her tormentor was cowering in a corner of the room. Where is Catrine? he asked quickly. Then as the girl almost paralyzed by fear seemed quite unable to speak he added more peremptorily pull yourself together wench your life and Catrine's depend on your courage now. Where is she? In the cellar I think stammered Greta almost inaudibly and making a brave effort to conquer her terror. Can you reach her without crossing the taproom? The girl nodded. Well then run to her at once.  Then go. Go at once. Have you a friend or relative in this city to whom you could go at this late hour? Again the girl nodded and looked up more boldly this time. My father's sister she whispered. Where does she live? At the sign of the Mary beggars in Dendermond. Then go to her at once. You and Catrine you will be safe there for a while if any further danger threatens you or your kinsfolk you shall be advised in that case you would have to leave the country. I shouldn't be afraid murmured the girl. That's good, he concluded. Come, Greta. He turned back to the door, unlocked it, and let the girl slip out of the room. Then he relocked the door. While this brave colloquy had been going on, Don Ramon was making great efforts to recover his scattered wits and to steady his overstrung nerves. The superstitious fear which had gripped him by the throat yielded at first to another equally terrifying thought. The hood and mask suggested an emissary of the Inquisition, one of those silent nameless beings who seemed to have the power of omnipresence, who glided through closed doors and barred windows, appeared suddenly in tavern, church, or street corner, and were invariably the precursors of arrest, torture chamber, and death. No man or woman, however high-born, however highly placed, however influential, or however poor and humble, was immune from the watchful eye of the Inquisition, a thoughtless word, a careless jest, or the mere denunciation of an enemy, and the accusation of treason, heresy, or rebellion, was trumped up, and gibbet or fire claimed yet another victim. Don Ramon, a Spanish grandee, could not, of course, be denounced as a heretic, but he knew that the eyes of De Vargas were upon him, that he might be thought in Portun, or in the way now, that other projects had been formed for Donna Lenora, and he also knew that De Vargas would as ruthlessly sweep him out of the way, as he would a troublesome fly. Thus fear of real concrete danger had succeeded that of the supernatural, but now that the stranger moved and spoke kindly with Greta, the daughter of a heretic, it was evident that he was no spy of the Inquisition. He was either an avowed enemy who chose this theatrical manner of accomplishing a petty vengeance, or in actual fact, that extraordinary creature who professed to be the special protector of the Prince of Orange, and whom popular superstition among the soldiery had nicknamed Leatherface, the latter was by far the most likely, and as the stranger, whoever he was, was unarmed, Don Ramon felt that he had no longer any cause for fear, though his sword in its scabbard was lying on the table, his dagger was in his belt, with a quick movement he unsheathed it, and at the precise moment, when the masked man had his back to him, in order to relock the door, Don Ramon, dagger in hand, made a swift and sudden dash for him, but the stranger had felt, rather than seen or heard, the danger which threatened him, as quick as any feline creature he turned on his assailant and gripped his upraised hand by the wrist with such a vice-like grip that Don Ramon uttered a cry of rage and pain. His fingers opened out nervously, and the dagger fell with a clatter to the ground, then the two men closed with one another. It was a fight, each for the other's throat, a savage, primitive fight, man against man, with no weapons save sinewy hands, hatred, and the primeval instinct to kill. The masked man was by far the more powerful and the more cool. Within a very few moments he had Don Ramon down on his knees, his own strong hands gripping the other's throat. The Spaniard felt that he was doomed. He, of that race which was sending thousands of innocent and defenseless creatures to a hideous death, he, who had so often and so mercilessly lent a hand to outrage, to pillage, and to murder, who but a few moments ago was condemning two helpless girls to insults and outrage worse than death, was in his turn a defenseless atom in the hands of a justiciary. The breath was being squeezed out of his body, his limbs felt inert and stiff, his mind became clouded over as by a crimson mist. He tried to call for help, but the cry died in his throat, and through the mist, which gradually obscured his vision, he could still see the silhouette of that closely hooded head and a pair of eyes shining down on him through the holes of the leather mask. Let me go, miscreant, he gasped, as for one moment the grip on his throat seemed to relax. By heaven, you shall suffer for this outrage. "'Tis you will suffer,' said the other coldly, even as you would have made two helpless and innocent women suffer. "'They shall suffer yet,' cried Don Ramon, with a blasphemous oath. They and their kith and kin, I, and this accursed city which hath given you, shelter, assassin.  So make your peace with your creator now, for you are about to meet him face to face laden with the heavy burden of your infamese.' In Don Ramon now only one instinct remained paramount, the instinct of a final effort for self-defense. When he fell, his knee came in contact with the dagger which he had dropped. It cost him a terrible effort, but nevertheless he succeeded in groping for it with his right hand and in seizing it. Another moment of violent struggle for freedom, another convulsive movement, and he had lifted the dagger. He struck with ferocious vigor at his powerful opponent and inflicted a gashing wound upon his left arm. The dagger penetrated to the bone, cutting flesh and muscle through from wrist to elbow. But even as he struck, he knew that it was too late. He had not even the strength to renew the effort. The next moment the vice-like grip tightened round his throat with merciless power. He could neither cry for help nor yet for mercy, nor were his struggles heard beyond these four narrow walls. The soldiers whom he himself had bitten to be merry and to carouse were singing and shouting at the top of their voice and heard neither his struggles nor his cries. The dagger had long since slipped out of his hand and at last he fell backwards, striking his head against the leg of the table as he fell. In the taproom the soldiers had soon got tired of waiting for Catrine. At first some of them amused themselves by reopening the trapdoor, then sitting on the top step of the ladder that led to the cellar, and thence shouting ribald oaths, coarse jests, and blasphemies for the benefit of the unfortunate girl down below. But after a time this entertainment also palled and a council was held as to who should go down and fetch the girl, the cellar was vastly tempting in itself with no one to guard it save a couple of wenches, and the captain more than half inclined to be lenient toward a real bout of drunkenness. It was an opportunity not to be missed, strange that the idea had not occurred to seven thirsty men before. Now the provost declared that he would go down first, others could follow him in turn, but two must always remain in the taproom, in case the captain called. Their comrades would supply them with wine from below. The provost descended, candle in hand, so did four of the men, but Catrine was no longer in the cellar. They hunted for her for a while and discovered a window, the shaft of which sloped upwards to a yard at the back of the house. The window was open, and there was a ladder resting against the wall of the shaft. The men swore a little, then went back to investigate the casks of wine. With what happened in the cellar, after that this chronicle hath no concern, but those soldiers who remained up in the taproom had a curious experience, which their befuddled brains did not at first take in altogether. What happened was this. The door which gave on the passage was opened, and a man appeared under the lintel. He was dressed in somber, tight fitting, doublet and hose, with high boots reaching well above his knees.  The soldiers stared at him with wide open, somewhat dimmed eyes. The masked man only spoke a few words. Tell your provost, he said, that senior captain Don Ramon D'Linia lies dead in the room yonder. Then he disappeared as quietly as he had come. End of chapter 4


We've all heard the phrase no means no right like if someone isn't into you and they tell you you should back off Here's how Gaston reacted to that in Beauty and the Beast who does she think she is that girl has tangled with the wrong man No one says no to Gaston, but he's the villain you might be thinking so that works, right? Well, maybe if you're an adult who has the experience and knowledge to understand this is an exaggeration of an alpha male But if you're a kid what kind of message is that? Doesn't sound like something you'd see in a billboard rom-com. I got carol in the bedroom right now passed out cold Violate her tender for ways. I want it to do what? And we all agree it would be up if you trick someone into sleeping with you, right? Well, that's exactly what happens in revenge of the nerds. Oh He did things you've never done before You're that nerd and then there's peeping Tom's which are pretty much any woman's nightmare Except in porkies where it's apparently hilarious.  This is just your health department We're here to check out all unlicensed These are outlandish comedies that are trying to entertain people like no one's saying we're learning sex ed from freaking porkies But that doesn't mean these movies are immune to criticism What does it say when boys are raised to believe this behavior is funny and charming? What does it say when girls are raised to believe this is not only acceptable, but an expectation This pressure on women to accept they got to do what guys want is a classic staple of rom-com But no book. I'm looking at you. Oh, you got one. What? Are you leaving me know the truth? Cool, and when's the last time you actually watched American pie. Did I miss anything? No, you are just in time. Oh This is incredible Our guide did this exact same thing to a female sports reporter and he ended up in jail Then they're super bad Which is a movie based on the plot of teenage boys trying to score booze so they can lose their virginities to drunk girls Booze and girls equals. I don't know. Do you yes?  This stuff is kind of messed up considering one out of every six women has been sexually assaulted in her lifetime And yes, it goes both ways remember 40 days and 40 nights Josh Hartnett's character abstains from sex But one woman decides that she doesn't respect that decision so she breaks him. Thanks, baby It's not really funny in real life one out of every ten rape victims are male again No one's saying we got to take the original prints of these movies and burn them But it's really something to think about just look at how far we go. I could kiss you Could I mean I'd like to I may I we mean I mean may we wait what? We may