THE BRIDEGROOM AND THE BRIDE
The day passed, and through every hour of it the snow fell incessantly.
Night came, and it was still falling in large, soft flakes that floated
to the earth gently as thistledown, for now there was no wind. Adrian
met his father at meals only; the rest of the day he preferred to spend
out of doors in the snow, or hanging about the old sheds at the back of
the mill, rather than endure the society of this terrible man; this man
of mocking words and iron purpose, who was forcing him into the
commission of a great crime.
It was at breakfast on the following morning that Ramiro inquired of
Black Meg whether the Jufvrouw Brant had sufficiently recovered from
the fatigues of her journey to honour them with her presence. The woman
replied that she absolutely refused to leave her room, or even to speak
more than was necessary.
“Then,” said Ramiro, “as it is important that I should have a few words
with her, be so good as to tell the young lady, with my homage, that I
will do myself the honour of waiting on her in the course of the
forenoon.”
Meg departed on her errand, and Adrian looked up suspiciously.
“Calm yourself, young friend,” said his father, “although the interview
will be private, you have really no cause for jealousy. At present,
remember, I am but the second string in the bow-case, the understudy
who has learnt the part, a humble position, but one which may prove
useful.”
At all of which gibes Adrian winced. But he did not reply, for by now
he had learned that he was no match for his father’s bitter wit.
Elsa received the message as she received everything else, in silence.
Three days before, as after a fearful illness during which on several
occasions she was at the very doors of death, Lysbeth van Goorl had
been declared out of danger, Elsa, her nurse, ventured to leave her for
a few hours. That evening the town seemed to stifle her and, feeling
that she needed the air of the country, she passed the Morsch poort and
walked a little way along the banks of the canal, never noticing, poor
girl, that her footsteps were dogged. When it began to grow dusk, she
halted and stood a while gazing towards the Haarlemer Meer, letting her
heart go out to the lover who, as she thought and hoped, within a day
or two would be at her side.
Then it was that something was thrown over her head, and for a while
all was black. She awoke to find herself lying in a boat, and watching
her, two wretches, whom she recognised as those who had assailed her
when first she came to Leyden from The Hague.
“Why have you kidnapped me, and where am I going?” she asked.
“Because we are paid to do it, and you are going to Adrian van Goorl,”
was the answer.
Then she understood, and was silent.
Thus they brought her to this lonesome, murderous-looking place, where
sure enough Adrian was waiting for her, waiting with a lie upon his
lips. Now, doubtless, the end was at hand. She, who loved his brother
with all her heart and soul, was to be given forcibly in marriage to a
man whom she despised and loathed, the vain, furious-tempered traitor,
who, for revenge, jealousy, or greed, she knew not which, had not
hesitated to send his benefactor, and mother’s husband, to perish in
the fires of the Inquisition.
What was she to do? Escape seemed out of the question, imprisoned as
she was on the third story of a lofty mill standing in a lonely,
snow-shrouded wilderness, cut off from the sight of every friendly
face, and spied on hour after hour by two fierce-eyed women. No, there
was only one escape for her—through the gate of death. Even this would
be difficult, for she had no weapon, and day and night the women kept
guard over her, one standing sentinel, while the other slept. Moreover,
she had no mind to die, being young and healthy, with a love to live
for, and from her childhood up she had been taught that self-slaughter
is a sin. No, she would trust in God, and overwhelming though it was,
fight her way through this trouble as best she might. The helpless find
friends sometimes. Therefore, that her strength might be preserved,
Elsa rested and ate of her food, and drank the wine which they brought
to her, refusing to leave the room, or to speak more than she was
obliged, but watching everything that passed.
On the second morning of her imprisonment Ramiro’s message reached her,
to which, as usual, she made no answer. In due course also Ramiro
himself arrived, and stood bowing in the doorway.
“Have I your permission to enter, Jufvrouw?” he asked. Then Elsa,
knowing that the moment of trial had come, steeled herself for the
encounter.
“You are master here,” she answered, in a voice cold as the falling
snow without, “why then do you mock me?”
He motioned to the women to leave the room, and when they had gone,
replied:
“I have little thought of such a thing, lady; the matter in hand is too
serious for smart sayings,” and with another bow he sat himself down on
a chair near the hearth, where a fire was burning. Whereon Elsa rose
and stood over against him, for upon her feet she seemed to feel
stronger.
“Will you be so good as to set out this matter, Señor Ramiro? Am I
brought here to be tried for heresy?”
“Even so, for heresy against the god of love, and the sentence of the
Court is that you must expiate your sin, not at the stake, but at the
altar.”
“I do not understand.”
“Then I will explain. My son Adrian, a worthy young man on the
whole—you know that he _is_ my son, do you not?—has had the misfortune,
or I should say the good fortune, to fall earnestly in love with you,
whereas you have the bad taste—or, perhaps, the good taste—to give your
affections elsewhere. Under the circumstances, Adrian, being a youth of
spirit and resource, has fallen back upon primitive methods in order to
bring his suit to a successful conclusion. He is here, you are here,
and this evening I understand that the priest will be here. I need not
dwell upon the obvious issue; indeed, it is a private matter upon which
I have no right to intrude, except, of course, as a relative and a
well-wisher.”
Elsa made an impatient movement with her hand, as though to brush aside
all this web of words.
“Why do you take so much trouble to force an unhappy girl into a
hateful marriage?” she asked. “How can such a thing advantage you?”
“Ah!” answered Ramiro briskly, “I perceive I have to do with a woman of
business, one who has that rarest of gifts—common sense. I will be
frank. Your esteemed father died possessed of a very large fortune,
which to-day is your property as his sole issue and heiress. Under the
marriage laws, which I myself think unjust, that fortune will pass into
the power of any husband whom you choose to take. Therefore, so soon as
you are made his wife it will pass to Adrian. I am Adrian’s father,
and, as it happens, he is pecuniarily indebted to me to a considerable
amount, so that, in the upshot, as he himself has pointed out more than
once, this alliance will provide for both of us. But business details
are wearisome, so I need not enlarge.”
“The fortune you speak of, Señor Ramiro, is lost.”
“It is lost, but I have reason to hope that it will be found.”
“You mean that this is purely a matter of money?”
“So far as I am concerned, purely. For Adrian’s feelings I cannot
speak, since who knows the mystery of another’s heart?”
“Then, if the money were forthcoming—or a clue to it—there need be no
marriage?”
“So far as I am concerned, none at all.”
“And if the money is not forthcoming, and I refuse to marry the Heer
Adrian, or he to marry me—what then?”
“That is a riddle, but I think I see an answer at any rate to half of
it. Then the marriage would still take place, but with another
bridegroom.”
“Another bridegroom! Who?”
“Your humble and devoted adorer.”
Elsa shuddered and recoiled a step.
“Ah!” he said, “I should not have bowed, you saw my white hairs—to the
young a hateful sight.”
Elsa’s indignation rose, and she answered:
“It is not your white hair that I shrink from, Señor, which in some
would be a crown of honour, but——”
“In my case suggests to you other reflections. Be gentle and spare me
them. In a world of rough actions, what need to emphasise them with
rough words?”
For a few minutes there was silence, which Ramiro, glancing out of the
lattice, broke by remarking that “The snowfall was extraordinarily
heavy for the time of year.” Then followed another silence.
“I understood you just now, dear lady, to make some sort of suggestion
which might lead to an arrangement satisfactory to both of us. The
exact locality of this wealth is at present obscure—you mentioned some
clue. Are you in a position to furnish such a clue?”
“If I am in a position, what then?”
“Then, perhaps, after a few days visit to an interesting, but little
explored part of Holland, you might return to your friends as you left
them—in short as a single woman.”
A struggle shook Elsa, and do what she would some trace of it appeared
in her face.
“Do you swear that?” she whispered.
“Most certainly.”
“Do you swear before God that if you have this clue you will not force
me into a marriage with the Heer Adrian, or with yourself—that you will
let me go, unharmed?”
“I swear it—before God.”
“Knowing that God will be revenged upon you if you break the oath, you
still swear?”
“I still swear. Why these needless repetitions?”
“Then—then,” and she leant towards him, speaking in a hoarse whisper,
“believing that you, even you, will not dare to be false to such an
oath, for you, even you, must fear death, a miserable death, and
vengeance, eternal vengeance, I give you the clue: It lies in the hilt
of the sword Silence.”
“The sword Silence? What sword is that?”
“The great sword of Red Martin.”
Stirred out of his self-control, Ramiro struck his hand upon his knee.
“And to think,” he said, “that for over twelve hours I had it hanging
on the wall of the Gevangenhuis! Well, I fear that I must ask you to be
more explicit. Where is this sword?”
“Wherever Red Martin is, that is all I know. I can tell you no more;
the plan of the hiding-place is there.”
“Or was there. Well, I believe you, but to win a secret from the hilt
of the sword of the man who broke his way out of the torture-chamber of
the Gevangenhuis, is a labour that would have been not unworthy of
Hercules. First, Red Martin must be found, then his sword must be
taken, which, I think, will cost men their lives. Dear lady, I am
obliged for your information, but I fear that the marriage must still
go through.”
“You swore, you swore,” she gasped, “you swore before God!”
“Quite so, and I shall leave—the Power you refer to—to manage the
matter. Doubtless He can attend to His own affairs—I must attend to
mine. I hope that about seven o’clock this evening will suit you, by
which time the priest and—a bridegroom will be ready.”
Then Elsa broke down.
“Devil!” she cried in the torment of her despair. “To save my honour I
have betrayed my father’s trust; I have betrayed the secret for which
Martin was ready to die by torment, and given him over to be hunted
like a wild beast. Oh! God forgive me, and God help me!”
“Doubtless, dear young lady, He will do the first, for your temptations
were really considerable; I, who have more experience, outwitted you,
that was all. Possibly, also, He may do the second, though many have
uttered that cry unheard. For my own sake, I trust that He was sleeping
when you uttered yours. But it is your affair and His; I leave it to be
arranged between you. Till this evening, Jufvrouw,” and he bowed
himself from the room.
But Elsa, shamed and broken-hearted, threw herself upon the bed and
wept.
At mid-day she arose, hearing upon the stair the step of the woman who
brought her food, and to hide her tear-stained face went to the barred
lattice and looked out. The scene was dismal indeed, for the wind had
veered suddenly, the snow had ceased, and in place of it rain was
falling with a steady persistence. When the woman had gone, Elsa washed
her face, and although her appetite turned from it, ate of the food,
knowing how necessary it was that she should keep her strength.
Another hour passed, and there came a knock on the door. Elsa
shuddered, for she thought that Ramiro had returned to torment her.
Indeed it was almost a relief when, instead of him, appeared his son.
One glance at Adrian’s nervous, shaken face, yes, and even the sound of
his uncertain step brought hope to her heart. Her woman’s instinct told
her that now she had no longer to do with the merciless and terrible
Ramiro, to whose eyes she was but a pretty pawn in a game that he must
win, but with a young man who loved her, and whom she held, therefore,
at a disadvantage—with one, moreover, who was harassed and ashamed, and
upon whose conscience, therefore, she might work. She turned upon him,
drawing herself up, and although she was short and Adrian was tall, of
a sudden he felt as though she towered over him.
“Your pleasure?” asked Elsa.
In the old days Adrian would have answered with some magnificent
compliment, or far-fetched simile lifted from the pages of romancers.
In truth he had thought of several such while, like a half-starved dog
seeking a home, he wandered round and round the mill-house in the snow.
But he was now far beyond all rhetoric or gallantries.
“My father wished,” he began humbly—“I mean that I have come to speak
to you about—our marriage.”
Of a sudden Elsa’s delicate features seemed to turn to ice, while, to
his fancy at any rate, her brown eyes became fire.
“Marriage,” she said in a strange voice. “Oh! what an unutterable
coward you must be to speak that word. Call what is proposed by any
foul title which you will, but at least leave the holy name of marriage
undefiled.”
“It is not my fault,” he answered sullenly, but shrinking beneath her
words. “You know, Elsa, that I wished to wed you honourably enough.”
“Yes,” she broke in, “and because I would not listen, because you do
not please me, and you could not win me as a man wins a maid, you—you
laid a trap and kidnapped me, thinking to get by brute force that which
my heart withheld. Oh! in all the Netherlands lives there another such
an abject as Adrian called van Goorl, the base-born son of Ramiro the
galley slave?”
“I have told you that it is false,” he replied furiously. “I had
nothing to do with your capture. I knew nothing of it till I saw you
here.”
Elsa laughed a very bitter laugh. “Spare your breath,” she said, “for
if you swore it before the face of the recording Angel I would not
believe you. Remember that you are the man who betrayed your brother
and your benefactor, and then guess, if you can, what worth I put upon
your words.”
In the bitterness of his heart Adrian groaned aloud, and from that
groan Elsa, listening eagerly, gathered some kind of hope.
“Surely,” she went on, with a changed and softened manner, “surely you
will not do this wickedness. The blood of Dirk van Goorl lies on your
head; will you add mine to his? For be sure of this, I swear it by my
Maker, that before I am indeed a wife to you I shall be dead—or mayhap
you will be dead, or both of us. Do you understand?”
“I understand, but——”
“But what? Where is the use of this wickedness? For your soul’s sake,
refuse to have aught to do with such a sin.”
“But if so, my father will marry you.”
It was a chance arrow, but it went home, for of a sudden Elsa’s
strength and eloquence seemed to leave her. She ran to him with her
hands clasped, she flung herself upon her knees.
“Oh! help me to escape,” she moaned, “and I will bless you all my
life.”
“It is impossible,” he answered. “Escape from this guarded place,
through those leagues of melting snow? I tell you that it is
impossible.”
“Then,” and her eyes grew wild, “then kill him and free me. He is a
devil, he is your evil genius; it would be a righteous deed. Kill him
and free me.”
“I should like to,” answered Adrian; “I nearly did once, but, for my
soul’s sake, I can’t put a sword through my own father; it is the most
horrible of crimes. When I confessed——”
“Then,” she broke in, “if this farce, this infamy must be gone through,
swear at least that you will treat it as such, that you will respect
me.”
“It is a hard thing to ask of a husband who loves you more than any
woman in the world,” he answered turning aside his head.
“Remember,” she went on, with another flash of defiant spirit, “that if
you do not, you will soon love me better than any woman out of the
world, or perhaps we shall both settle what lies between us before the
Judgment Seat of God. Will you swear?”
He hesitated.
Oh! she reflected, what if he should answer—“Rather than this I hand
you over to Ramiro”? What if he should think of that argument? Happily
for her, at the moment he did not.
“Swear,” she implored, “swear,” clinging with her hands to the lappet
of his coat and lifting to him her white and piteous face.
“I make it an offering in expiation of my sins,” he groaned, “you shall
go free of me.”
Elsa uttered a sigh of relief. She put no faith whatever in Adrian’s
promises, but at the worst it would give her time.
“I thought that I should not appeal in vain——”
“To so amusing and egregious a donkey,” said Ramiro’s mocking voice
speaking from the gloom of the doorway, which now Elsa observed for the
first time had swung open mysteriously.
“My dear son and daughter-in-law, how can I thank you sufficiently for
the entertainment with which you have enlivened one of the most dreary
afternoons I remember. Don’t look dangerous, my boy; recall what you
have just told this young lady, that the crime of removing a parent is
one which, though agreeable, is not lightly to be indulged. Then, as to
your future arrangements, how touching! The soul of a Diana, I declare,
and the self-sacrifice of a—no, I fear that the heroes of antiquity can
furnish no suitable example. And now, adieu, I go to welcome the
gentleman you both of you so eagerly expect.”
He went, and a minute later without speaking, for the situation seemed
beyond words, Adrian crept down the stairs after him, more miserable
and crushed even than he had crept up them half an hour before.
Another two hours went by. Elsa was in her apartment with Black Meg for
company, who watched her as a cat watches a mouse in a trap. Adrian had
taken refuge in the place where he slept above. It was a dreary,
vacuous chamber, that once had held stones and other machinery of the
mill now removed, the home of spiders and half-starved rats, that a
lean black cat hunted continually. Across its ceiling ran great beams,
whereof the interlacing ends, among which sharp draughts whistled, lost
themselves in gloom, while, with an endless and exasperating sound, as
of a knuckle upon a board, the water dripped from the leaky roof.
In the round living-chamber below Ramiro was alone. No lamp had been
lit, but the glow from the great turf fire played upon his face as he
sat there, watching, waiting, and scheming in the chair of black oak.
Presently a noise from without caught his quick ear, and calling to the
serving woman to light the lamp, he went to the door, opened it, and
saw a lantern floating towards him through the thick steam of falling
rain. Another minute and the bearer of the lantern, Hague Simon,
arrived, followed by two other men.
“Here he is,” said Simon, nodding at the figure behind him, a short
round figure wrapped in a thick frieze cloak, from which water ran.
“The other is the head boatman.”
“Good,” said Ramiro. “Tell him and his companions to wait in the shed
without, where liquor will be sent to them; they may be wanted later
on.”
Then followed talk and oaths, and at length the man retreated
grumbling.
“Enter, Father Thomas,” said Ramiro; “you have had a wet journey, I
fear. Enter and give us your blessing.”
Before he answered the priest threw off his dripping, hooded cape of
Frisian cloth, revealing a coarse, wicked face, red and blear-eyed from
intemperance.
“My blessing?” he said in a raucous voice. “Here it is, Señor Ramiro,
or whatever you call yourself now. Curse you all for bringing out a
holy priest upon one of your devil’s errands in weather which is only
fit for a bald-headed coot to travel through. There is going to be a
flood; already the water is running over the banks of the dam, and it
gathers every moment as the snow melts. I tell you there is going to be
such a flood as we have not seen for years.”
“The more reason, Father, for getting through this little business
quickly; but first you will wish for something to drink.”
Father Thomas nodded, and Ramiro filling a small mug with brandy, gave
it to him. He gulped it off.
“Another,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. A chosen vessel should also be a
seasoned vessel; at any rate this one is. Ah! that’s better. Now then,
what’s the exact job?”
Ramiro took him apart and they talked together for a while.
“Very good,” said the priest at length, “I will take the risk and do
it, for where heretics are concerned such things are not too closely
inquired into nowadays. But first down with the money; no paper or
promises, if you please.”
“Ah! you churchmen,” said Ramiro, with a faint smile, “in things
spiritual or temporal how much have we poor laity to learn of you!”
With a sigh he produced the required sum, then paused and added, “No;
with your leave we will see the papers first. You have them with you?”
“Here they are,” answered the priest, drawing some documents from his
pocket. “But they haven’t been married yet; the rule is, marry first,
then certify. Until the ceremony is actually performed, anything might
happen, you know.”
“Quite so, Father. Anything might happen either before or after; but
still, with your leave, I think that in this case we may as well
certify first; you might want to be getting away, and it will save so
much trouble later. Will you be so kind as to write your certificate?”
Father Thomas hesitated, while Ramiro gently clinked the gold coins in
his hand and murmured,
“I should be sorry to think, Father, that you had taken such a rough
journey for nothing.”
“What trick are you at now?” growled the priest. “Well, after all it is
a mere form. Give me the names.”
Ramiro gave them; Father Thomas scrawled them down, adding some words
and his own signature, then said, “There you are, that will hold good
against anyone except the Pope.”
“A mere form,” repeated Ramiro, “of course. But the world attaches so
much importance to forms, so I think that we will have this one
witnessed—No, not by myself, who am an interested party—by someone
independent,” and calling Hague Simon and the waiting-woman he bade
them set their names at the foot of the documents.
“Papers signed in advance—fees paid in advance!” he went on, handing
over the money, “and now, just one more glass to drink the health of
the bride and bridegroom, also in advance. You will not refuse, nor
you, worthy Simon, nor you, most excellent Abigail. Ah! I thought not,
the night is cold.”
“And the brandy strong,” muttered the priest thickly, as this third
dose of raw spirit took effect upon him. “Now get on with the business,
for I want to be out of this hole before the flood comes.”
“Quite so. Friends, will you be so good as to summon my son and the
lady? The lady first, I think—and all three of you might go to escort
her. Brides sometimes consider it right to fain a slight reluctance—you
understand? On second thoughts, you need not trouble the Señor Adrian.
I have a new words of ante-nuptial advice to offer, so I will go to
him.”
A minute later father and son stood face to face. Adrian leaped up; he
shook his fist, he raved and stormed at the cold, impassive man before
him.
“You fool, you contemptible fool!” said Ramiro when he had done.
“Heavens! to think that such a creature should have sprung from me, a
human jackass only fit to bear the blows and burdens of others, to fill
the field with empty brayings, and wear himself out by kicking at the
air. Oh! don’t twist up your face at me, for I am your master as well
as your father, however much you may hate me. You are mine, body and
soul, don’t you understand; a bond-slave, nothing more. You lost the
only chance you ever had in the game when you got me down at Leyden.
You daren’t draw a sword on me again for your soul’s sake, dear Adrian,
for your soul’s sake; and if you dared, I would run you through. Now,
are you coming?”
“No,” answered Adrian.
“Think a minute. If you don’t marry her I shall, and before she is half
an hour older; also—” and he leant forward and whispered into his son’s
ear.
“Oh! you devil, you devil!” Adrian gasped; then he moved towards the
door.
“What? Changed your mind, have you, Mr. Weathercock? Well, it is the
prerogative of all feminine natures—but, your doublet is awry, and
allow me to suggest that you should brush your hair. There, that’s
better; now, come on. No, you go first, if you please, I’d rather have
you in front of me.”
When they reached the room below the bride was already there. Gripped
on either side by Black Meg and the other woman, white as death and
trembling, but still defiant, stood Elsa.
“Let’s get through with this,” growled the half-drunken, ruffian
priest. “I take the willingness of the parties for granted.”
“I am not willing,” cried Elsa. “I have been brought here by force. I
call everyone present to witness that whatever is done is against my
will. I appeal to God to help me.”
The priest turned upon Ramiro.
“How am I to marry them in the face of this?” he asked. “If only she
were silent it might be done——”
“The difficulty has occurred to me,” answered Ramiro. He made a sign,
whereon Simon seized Elsa’s wrists, and Black Meg, slipping behind her,
deftly fastened a handkerchief over her mouth in such fashion that she
was gagged, but could still breathe through the nostrils.
Elsa struggled a little, then was quiet, and turned her piteous eyes on
Adrian, who stepped forward and opened his lips.
“You remember the alternative,” said his father in a low voice, and he
stopped.
“I suppose,” broke in Father Thomas, “that we may at any rate reckon
upon the consent, or at least upon the silence of the Heer bridegroom.”
“You may reckon on his silence, Father Thomas,” replied Ramiro.
Then the ceremony began. They dragged Elsa to the table. Thrice she
flung herself to the ground, and thrice they lifted her to her feet,
but at length, weary of the weight of her body, suffered her to rest
upon her knees, where she remained as though in prayer, gagged like
some victim on the scaffold. It was a strange and brutal scene, and
every detail of it burned itself into Adrian’s mind. The round, rude
room, with its glowing fire of turfs and its rough, oaken furniture,
half in light and half in dense shadow, as the lamp-rays chanced to
fall; the death-like, kneeling bride, with a white cloth across her
tortured face; the red-chopped, hanging-lipped hedge priest gabbling
from a book, his back almost turned that he might not see her attitude
and struggles; the horrible, unsexed women; the flat-faced villain,
Simon, grinning by the hearth; Ramiro, cynical, mocking, triumphant,
and yet somewhat anxious, his one bright eye fixed in mingled contempt
and amusement upon him, Adrian—those were its outlines. There was
something else also that caught and oppressed his sense, a sound which
at the time Adrian thought he heard in his head alone, a soft, heavy
sound with a moan in it, not unlike that of the wind, which grew
gradually to a dull roar.
It was over. A ring had been forced on to Elsa’s unwilling hand, and,
until the thing was undone by some competent and authorised Court, she
was in name the wife of Adrian. The handkerchief was unbound, her hands
were loosed, physically, Elsa was free again, but, in that day and land
of outrage, tied, as the poor girl knew well, by a chain more terrible
than any that hemp or steel could fashion.
“Congratulations! Señora,” muttered Father Thomas, eyeing her
nervously. “I fear you felt a little faint during the service, but a
sacrament——”
“Cease your mockings, you false priest,” cried Elsa. “Oh! let the swift
vengeance of God fall upon every one of you, and first of all upon you,
false priest.”
Drawing the ring from her finger, as she spoke she cast it down upon
the oaken table, whence it sprang up to drop again and rattle itself to
silence. Then with one tragic motion of despair, Elsa turned and fled
back to her chamber.
The red face of Father Thomas went white, and his yellow teeth
chattered. “A virgin’s curse,” he muttered, crossing himself.
“Misfortune always follows, and it is sometimes death—yes, by St.
Thomas, death. And you, you brought me here to do this wickedness, you
dog, you galley slave!”
“Father,” broke in Ramiro, “you know I have warned you against it
before at The Hague; sooner or later it always breaks up the nerves,”
and he nodded towards the flagon of spirits. “Bread and water, Father,
bread and water for forty days, that is what I prescribe, and——”
As he spoke the door was burst open, and two men rushed in, their eyes
starting, their very beards bristling with terror.
“Come forth!” they cried.
“What has chanced?” screamed the priest.
“The great dyke has burst—hark, hark, hark! The floods are upon you,
the mill will be swept away.”
God in Heaven—it was true! Now through the open doorway they heard the
roar of waters, whose note Adrian had caught before, yes, and in the
gloom appeared their foaming crest as they rushed through the great and
ever-widening breach in the lofty dyke down upon the flooded lowland.
Father Thomas bounded through the door yelling, “The boat, the boat!”
For a moment Ramiro thought, considering the situation, then he said:
“Fetch the Jufvrouw. No, not you, Adrian; she would die rather than
come with you. You, Simon, and you, Meg. Swift, obey.”
They departed on their errand.
“Men,” went on Ramiro, “take this gentleman and lead him to the boat.
Hold him if he tries to escape. I will follow with the lady. Go, you
fool, go, there is not a second to be lost,” and Adrian, hanging back
and protesting, was dragged away by the boatmen.
Now Ramiro was alone, and though, as he had said, there was little time
to spare, again for a few moments he thought deeply. His face flushed
and went pale; then entered into it a great resolve. “I don’t like
doing it, for it is against my vow, but the chance is good. She is
safely married, and at best she would be very troublesome hereafter,
and might bring us to justice or to the galleys since others seek her
wealth,” he muttered with a shiver, adding, “as for the spies, we are
well rid of them and their evidence.” Then, with swift resolution,
stepping to the door at the foot of the stairs, Ramiro shut it and shot
the great iron bolt!
He ran from the mill; the raised path was already three feet deep in
water; he could scarcely make his way along it. Ah! there lay the boat.
Now he was in it, and now they were flying before the crest of a huge
wave. The dam of the cutting had given altogether, and fed from sea and
land at once, by snow, by rain, and by the inrush of the high tide, its
waters were pouring in a measureless volume over the doomed marshes.
“Where is Elsa?” screamed Adrian.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t find her,” answered Ramiro. “Row, row for
your lives! We can take her off in the morning, and the priest too, if
he won back.”
At length the cold winter sun rose over the watery waste, calm enough
now, for the floods were out, in places ten and fifteen feet deep.
Through the mists that brooded on the face of them Ramiro and his crew
groped their way back to where the Red Mill should be. It was gone!
There stood the brick walls of the bottom story rising above the flood
level, but the wooden upper part had snapped before the first great
wave when the bank went bodily, and afterwards been swept away by the
rushing current, swept away with those within.
“What is that?” said one of the boatmen, pointing to a dark object
which floated among the tangled _debris_ of sere weeds and woodwork
collected against the base of the mill.
They rowed to the thing. It was the body of Father Thomas, who must
have missed his footing as he ran along the pathway, and fallen into
deep water.
“Um!” said Ramiro, “‘a virgin’s curse.’ Observe, friends, how the
merest coincidences may give rise to superstition. Allow me,” and,
holding the dead man by one hand, he felt in his pockets with the
other, till, with a smile of satisfaction, he found the purse
containing the gold which he had paid him on the previous evening.
“Oh! Elsa, Elsa,” moaned Adrian.
“Comfort yourself, my son,” said Ramiro as the boat put about, leaving
the dead Father Thomas bobbing up and down in the ripple; “you have
indeed lost a wife whose temper gave you little prospect of happiness,
but at least I have your marriage papers duly signed and witnessed,
and—you are her heir.”
He did not add that he in turn was Adrian’s. But Adrian thought of it,
and even in the midst of his shame and misery wondered with a shiver
how long he who was Ramiro’s next of kin was likely to adorn this
world.
Till he had something that was worth inheriting, perhaps.