Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
LEATHERFACE
_A TALE OF OLD FLANDERS_
BY
BARONESS ORCZY
AUTHOR OF "THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL"
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1916,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Transcriber's note: several passages in this book
use "f" for "s" to convey the archaic long "s" as "f".]
By BARONESS ORCZY
THE BRONZE EAGLE
A BRIDE OF THE PLAINS
THE LAUGHING CAVALIER
"UNTO CAESAR"
EL DORADO
MEADOWSWEET
THE NOBLE ROGUE
THE HEART OF A WOMAN
PETTICOAT RULE
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
NEW YORK
CONTENTS
Prologue: Mons, September, 1572
BOOK ONE; BRUSSELS
CHAPTER
I. The Blood Council
II. The Subject Race
III. The Ruling Caste
IV. Justice
V. Vengeance
BOOK TWO: DENDERMONDE
VI. A Stranger in a Strange Land
VII. The Rebels
VIII. The Watcher in the Night
IX. A Divided Duty
X. Enemies
XI. Utter Loneliness
BOOK THREE: GHENT
XII. Reprisals
XIII. My Faithful Watch-dog
XIV. The Tyrants
XV. Two Pictures
XVI. The Right to Die
XVII. Truth and Perfidy
XVIII. The Last Stand
XIX. The Hour of Victory
Epilogue
PROLOGUE: MONS, SEPTEMBER, 1572
PROLOGUE
MONS: SEPTEMBER, 1572
It lacked two hours before the dawn on this sultry night early in
September. The crescent moon had long ago sunk behind a bank of clouds
in the west, and not a sound stirred the low-lying land around the
besieged city.
To the south the bivouac fires of Alva's camp had died out one by one,
and here the measured tread of the sentinels on their beat alone broke
the silence of the night. To the north, where valorous Orange with a
handful of men--undisciplined, unpaid and rebellious--vainly tried to
provoke his powerful foe into a pitched battle, relying on God for the
result, there was greater silence still. The sentinels--wearied and
indifferent--had dropped to sleep at their post: the troops, already
mutinous, only held to their duty by the powerful personality of the
Prince, slept as soundly as total indifference to the cause for which
they were paid to fight could possibly allow.
In his tent even Orange--tired out with ceaseless watching--had gone to
rest. His guards were in a profound sleep.
Then it was that from the south there came a stir, and from Alva's
entrenchments waves of something alive that breathed in the darkness of
the night were set in motion, like when the sea rolls inwards to the
shore.
Whispered words set this living mass on its way, and anon it was
crawling along--swiftly and silently--more silently than incoming waves
on a flat shore--on and on, always northwards in the direction of the
Prince of Orange's camp, like some gigantic snake that creeps with belly
close to the ground.
"Don Ramon," whispered a voice in the darkness, "let Captain Romero deal
with the sentinels and lead the surprise attack, whilst you yourself
make straight for the Prince's tent; overpower his guard first, then
seize his person. Two hundred ducats will be your reward, remember, if
you bring Orange back here--a prisoner--and a ducat for each of your
men."
These were the orders and don Ramon de Linea sped forward with six
hundred arquebusiers--all picked men--they wore their shirts over their
armour, so that in the melee which was to come they might recognise one
another in the gloom.
Less than a league of flat pasture land lay between Alva's entrenchments
at St. Florian near the gates of beleaguered Mons, and Orange's camp at
Hermigny. But at St. Florian men stirred and planned and threatened,
whilst at Hermigny even the sentinels slept. Noble-hearted Orange had
raised the standard of revolt against the most execrable oppression of
an entire people which the world has ever known--and he could not get
more than a handful of patriots to fight for their own freedom against
the tyranny and the might of Spain, whilst mercenary troops were left to
guard the precious life of the indomitable champion of religious and
civil liberties.
The moving mass of de Linea's arquebusiers had covered half a league of
the intervening ground; their white shirts only just distinguishable in
the gloom made them look like ghosts; only another half-league--less
perhaps--separated them from their goal, and still no one stirred in
Orange's camp. Then it was that something roused the sentinels from
their sleep. A rough hand shook first one then the others by the
shoulder, and out of the gloom a peremptory voice whispered hurriedly:
"Quick! awake! sound the alarm! An _encamisada_ is upon you. You will
all be murdered in your sleep."
And even before the drowsy sentinels had time to rouse themselves or to
rub their eyes, the same rough hand had shaken the Prince's guard, the
same peremptory voice had called: "Awake! the Spaniards are upon you!"
In the Prince's tent a faint light was glimmering. He himself was lying
fully dressed and armed upon a couch. At sound of the voice, of his
guards stirring, of the noise and bustle of a wakening camp, he sat up
just in time to see a tall figure in the entrance of his tent.
The feeble light threw but into a dim relief this tall figure of a man,
clad in dark, shapeless woollen clothes wearing a hood of the same dark
stuff over his head and a leather mask over his face.
"Leatherface!" exclaimed the Prince as he jumped to his feet. "What is
it?"
"A night attack," replied a muffled voice behind the mask. "Six hundred
arquebusiers--they are but half a league away!--I would have been here
sooner only the night is so infernally dark, I caught my foot in a
rabbit-hole and nearly broke my ankle--I am as lame as a Jew's horse ...
but still in time," he added as he hastily helped the Prince to adjust
his armour and straighten out his clothes.
The camp was alive now with call to arms and rattle of steel, horses
snorting and words of command flying to and fro. Don Ramon de Linea, a
quarter of a league away, heard these signs of troops well on the alert
and he knew that the surprise attack had failed. Six hundred
arquebusiers--though they be picked men--were not sufficient for a
formal attack on the Prince of Orange's entire cavalry. Even mercenary
and undisciplined troops will fight valiantly when their lives depend
upon their valour. De Linea thought it best to give the order to return
to camp.
And the waves of living men which had been set in motion an hour ago,
now swiftly and silently went back the way they came. Don Ramon when he
came once more in the camp at St. Florian and in the presence of Alva's
captain-in-chief, had to report the failure of the night attack which
had been so admirably planned.
"The whole camp at Hermigny was astir," he said as he chawed the ends of
his heavy moustache, for he was sorely disappointed. "I could not risk
an attack under those conditions. Our only chance of winning was by
surprise."
"Who gave the alarm?" queried don Frederic de Toledo, who took no pains
to smother the curses that rose to his lips.
"The devil, I suppose," growled don Ramon de Linea savagely.
And out at Hermigny--in Orange's tent--the man who was called
Leatherface was preparing to go as quietly and mysteriously as he had
come.
"They won't be on you, Monseigneur," he said, "now that they know your
troops are astir. But if I were you," he added grimly, "I would have
every one of those sentinels shot at dawn. They were all of them fast
asleep when I arrived."
He gave the military salute and would have turned to go without another
word but that the Prince caught him peremptorily by the arm:
"In the meanwhile, Messire, how shall I thank you again?" he asked.
"By guarding your precious life, Monseigneur," replied the man simply.
"The cause of freedom in the Low Countries would never survive your
loss."
"Well!" retorted the Prince of Orange with a winning smile, "if that be
so, then the cause of our freedom owes as much to you as it does to me.
Is it the tenth time--or the twelfth--that you have saved my life?"
"Since you will not let me fight with you..."
"I'll let you do anything you wish, Messire, for you would be as fine a
soldier as you are a loyal friend. But are you not content with the
splendid services which you are rendering to us now? Putting aside mine
own life--which mayhap is not worthless--how many times has your warning
saved mine and my brother's troops from surprise attacks? How many
times have Noircarmes' or don Frederic's urgent appeals for
reinforcements failed, through your intervention, to reach the Duke of
Alva until our own troops were able to rally? Ah, Messire, believe me!
God Himself has chosen you for this work!"
"The work of a spy, Monseigneur," said the other not without a touch of
bitterness.
"Nay! if you call yourself a spy, Messire, then shall the name of 'spy'
be henceforth a name of glory to its wearer, synonymous with the
loftiest patriotism and noblest self-sacrifice."
He held out his hand to the man with the mask, who bent his tall figure
over it in dutiful respect.
"You see how well I keep to my share of the compact, Messire. Never
once--even whilst we were alone--hath your name escaped my lips."
"For which act of graciousness, Monseigneur, I do offer you my humble
thanks. May God guard your Highness through every peril! The cause of
justice and of liberty rests in your hands."
After another deeply respectful bow he finally turned to go. He had
reached the entrance of the tent when once more the Prince spoke to him.
"When shall I see you again--Leatherface?" he asked cheerily.
"When your Highness' precious life or the safety of your army are in
danger," replied the man.
"God reward you!" murmured Orange fervently as the man with the mask
disappeared into the night.
BOOK ONE: BRUSSELS
CHAPTER I
THE BLOOD COUNCIL
I
Less than a month later, and tyranny is once more triumphant. Mons has
capitulated, Orange has withdrawn his handful of mutinous troops into
Holland, Valenciennes has been destroyed and Mechlin--beautiful,
gracious, august Mechlin--with her cathedrals and her trade-halls, her
ancient monuments of art and civilisation has been given over for three
days to the lust and rapine of Spanish soldiery!
Three whole days! E'en now we think on those days and shudder--shudder
at what we know, at what the chroniclers have told us, the sacking of
churches, the pillaging of monasteries, the massacre of peaceful,
harmless citizens!
Three whole days during which the worst demons that infest hell itself,
the worst demons that inspire the hideous passions of men--greed,
revenge and cruelty--were let loose upon the stately city whose sole
offence had been that she had for twenty-four hours harboured Orange and
his troops within her gates and closed them against the tyrant's
soldiery!
Less than a month and Orange is a fugitive, and all the bright hopes for
the cause of religious and civil freedom are once more dashed to the
ground. It seems as if God Himself hath set His face against the holy
cause! Mons has fallen and Mechlin is reduced to ashes, and over across
the borders the King of France has caused ten thousand of his subjects
to be massacred--one holy day, the feast of St. Bartholomew--ten
thousand of them!--just because their religious beliefs did not coincide
with his own. The appalling news drove Orange and his small army to
flight--he had reckoned on help from the King of France--instead of that
promised help the news of the massacre of ten thousand Protestants!
Catholic Europe was horror-stricken at the crime committed in the name
of religion; but in the Low Countries, Spanish tyranny had scored a
victory--the ignoble Duke of Alva triumphed and the cause of freedom in
Flanders and Hainault and Brabant received a blow from which it did not
again recover for over three hundred years!
II
Outwardly the house where the Duke of Alva lodged in Brussels was not
different to many of the same size in the city. It was built of red
brick with stone base and finely-carved cornice, and had a high slate
roof with picturesque dormer windows therein. The windows on the street
level were solidly grilled and were ornamented with richly-carved
pediments, as was the massive doorway too. The door itself was of heavy
oak, and above it there was a beautifully wrought niche which held a
statue of the Virgin.
On the whole it looked a well-constructed, solid and roomy house, and
Mme. de Jassy, its owner, had placed it at the disposal of the
Lieutenant-Governor when first he arrived in Brussels, and he had
occupied it ever since. The idler as he strolled past the house would
hardly pause to look at it, if he did not happen to know that behind
those brick walls and grilled windows a work of oppression more heinous
than this world had ever known before, was being planned and carried on
by a set of cruel and execrable tyrants against an independent country
and a freedom-loving people.
Here in the dining-hall the Duke of Alva would preside at the meetings
of the Grand Council--the Council of Blood--sitting in a high-backed
chair which had the arms of Spain emblazoned upon it. Juan de Vargas
and Alberic del Rio usually sat to right and left of him. Del
Rio--indolent and yielding--a mere tool for the carrying out of every
outrage, every infamy which the fiendish brain of those tyrants could
devise wherewith to crush the indomitable spirit of a proud nation
jealous of its honour and of its liberties: and de Vargas--Alva's double
and worthy lieutenant--no tool he, but a terrible reality, active and
resourceful in the invention of new forms of tyranny, new fetters for
the curbing of stiff-necked Flemish and Dutch burghers, new methods for
wringing rivers of gold out of a living stream of tears and blood.
De Vargas!--the very name stinks in the nostrils of honest men even
after the lapse of centuries!--It conjures up the hideous image of a
human bloodhound--lean and sallow of visage, with drooping, heavy-lidded
eyes and flaccid mouth, a mouth that sneered and jested when men, women
and children were tortured and butchered, eyes that gloated at sight of
stake and scaffold and gibbet--and within the inner man, a mind intent
on the science of murder and rapine and bloodshed.
Alva the will that commanded! Vargas the brain that devised! Del Rio
the hand that accomplished!
Men sent by Philip II. of Spain, the most fanatical tyrant the world has
ever known, to establish the abhorrent methods of the Spanish
Inquisition in the Low Countries in order to consolidate Spanish rule
there and wrest from prosperous Flanders and Brabant and Hainault, from
Holland and the Dutch provinces enough gold to irrigate the thirsty soil
of Spain. "The river of gold which will flow from the Netherlands to
Madrid shall be a yard deep!" so had Alva boasted when his infamous
master sent him to quell the revolt which had noble-hearted Orange for
its leader--a revolt born of righteous indignation and an unconquerable
love of freedom and of justice.
To mould the Netherlands into abject vassals of Spain, to break their
independence of spirit by terrorism and by outrage, to force Spanish
ideas, Spanish culture, Spanish manners, Spanish religion upon these
people of the North who loathed tyranny and worshipped their ancient
charters and privileges, that was the task which the Duke of Alva set
himself to do--a task for which he needed the help of men as tyrannical
and unscrupulous as himself.
Granvelle had begun the work, Alva was completing it! The stake, the
scaffold, the gibbet for all who had one thought of justice, one desire
for freedom. Mons razed to the ground, Valenciennes a heap of ruins and
ashes, Mechlin a hecatomb. Men, women and children outraged and
murdered! Whole families put to the torture to wring gold from
unwilling givers! churches destroyed! monasteries ransacked!
That was the work of the Grand Council--the odious Council of Blood, the
members of which have put to shame the very name of religion, for they
dared to pretend that they acted in its name.
Alva! de Vargas! del Rio! A trinity of fiends whose deeds would shame
the demons in hell! But there were others too, and, O ye gods! were
they not infinitely more vile, since their hands reeked with the blood
of their own kith and kin? Alva and his two bloodhounds were strangers
in a strange land, owing allegiance to Spain alone--but Councillor
Hessels sat on this same infamous board, and he was a patrician of
Brabant. And there was Pierre Arsens, president of Artois, there was de
Berlaymont and Viglius and Hopper--gentlemen (save the mark!) and
burghers of Flanders or Hainault or the Dutch provinces!--and who can
name such creatures without a shudder of loathing?
III
As for don Ramon de Linea, he was just the usual type of Spanish
soldier--a grandee of Spain, direct descendant of the Cid, so he
averred, yet disdained to prove it. For in him there was no sense of
chivalry--just personal bravery and no more--the same kind of bravery
you would meet in a tiger or a jaguar. In truth there was much in
common between don Ramon and the wild feline tribes that devastate the
deserts: he had the sinuous movements, the languorous gestures of those
creatures, and his eyes--dark and velvety at times, at others almost of
an orange tint--had all the cruel glitter which comes into the eyes of
the leopard when he is out to kill. Otherwise don Ramon was a
fine-looking man, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, a son of the South, with
all those cajoling ways about him which please and so often deceive the
women.
He it was who had been in command at Mechlin--entrusted by General de
Noircarmes with the hideous task of destroying the stately city--and he
had done it with a will. Overproud of his achievements he had obtained
leave to make personal report of them to the Lieutenant-Governor, and
thus it was that on this 2nd day of October, 1572, he was present at the
council board, talking with easy grace and no little satisfaction of all
that he had done: of the churches which he had razed to the ground, the
houses which he had sacked, of the men, women and children whom he had
turned out naked and starving into the streets.
"We laboured hard for three days," he said, "and the troops worked with
a will, for there were heavy arrears of pay due to them and we told them
to make up those arrears in Mechlin, since they wouldn't get any money
from headquarters. Oh! Mechlin got all that she deserved! Her accursed
citizens can now repent at leisure of their haste in harbouring Orange
and his rebel troops!"
His voice was deep and mellow and even the guttural Spanish consonants
sounded quite soft when he spoke them. Through half-closed lids his
glance swept from time to time over the eager faces around the board,
and his slender hands emphasised the hideous narrative with a few
graceful gestures. He looked just the true type of grand seigneur
telling a tale of mild adventure and of sport, and now and then he
laughed displaying his teeth, sharp and white like the fangs of a
leopard's cub.
No one interrupted him, and Councillor Hessels fell gradually--as was
his wont--into a gentle doze from which he roused himself now and again
in order to murmur drowsily: "To the gallows with them all!"
Viglius and Hopper and de Berlaymont tried hard to repress a shudder.
They were slaves of Spain, these gentlemen of the Low Countries, but not
Spanish born, and were not accustomed from earliest childhood to
listen--not only unmoved but with a certain measure of delight--to these
tales of horror. But there was nothing in what don Ramon said of which
they disapproved. They were--all of them--loyal subjects of the King,
and the very thought of rebellion was abhorrent to them.
But it was passing strange that the Duke of Alva made no comment on the
young captain's report. There he sat, at the head of the table, silent
and moody, with one bony fist clenched above a letter which lay open
beneath his hand, and which bore a large red seal with the royal arms of
Spain impressed upon it. Not a word of praise or blame did he speak.
His heavy brows were contracted in a sullen frown, and his protruding
eyes were veiled beneath the drooping lids.
De Vargas, too, was silent--de Vargas who loved to gloat over such tales
as don Ramon had to tell, de Vargas who believed that these rebellious
Low Countries could only be brought into subjection by such acts of
demoniacal outrage as the Spanish soldiery had just perpetrated in Mons
and in Mechlin. He, too, appeared moody to-day, and the story of sick
women and young children being dragged out of their beds and driven out
to perish in the streets while their homes were being pillaged and
devastated, left him taciturn and unmoved.
Don Ramon made vain pretence not to notice the Lieutenant-Governor's
moodiness, nor yet de Vargas' silence, but those who knew him best--and
de Vargas was among these--plainly saw that irritation had seized upon
his nerves. He was talking more volubly, and his voice had lost its
smoothness, whilst the languor of his gestures had given place to sharp,
febrile movements of hands and shoulders which he tried vainly to
disguise.
"Our soldiers," he was saying loudly, "did not leave a loaf of bread in
the bakeries, or a bushel of wheat in the stores of Mechlin. The rich
citizens we hanged at the rate of twenty a day, and I drew orders for
the confiscation of their estates to the benefit of our Most Gracious
King and suzerain Lord. I tell you we made quick work of all the
rebels: stone no longer stands on stone in Mechlin to-day: its
patricians are beggars, its citizens are scattered. We have put to the
torture and burned at the stake those who refused to give us their all.
A month ago Mechlin was a prosperous city: she gave of her wealth and of
her hospitality to the rebel troops of Orange. To-day she and her
children have ceased to be. Are you not satisfied?"
He brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table: surely a very
unusual loss of restraint in a grandee of Spain: but obviously he found
it more and more difficult to keep his temper under control, and those
dark eyes of his were now fixed with a kind of fierce resentment upon
the impassive face of the Duke.
Councillor Hessels, only half awake, reiterated with drowsy emphasis:
"To the gallows with them! Send them all to the gallows!"
Still the Duke of Alva was silent and de Vargas did not speak. Yet it
was the Duke himself who had given the order for the destruction of
Mechlin: "as a warning to other cities," he had said. And now he sat at
the head of the table sullen, moody and frowning, and don Ramon felt an
icy pang of fear gripping him by the throat: the thought that censure of
his conduct was brewing in the Lieutenant-Governor's mind caused him to
lose the last vestige of self-control, for he knew that censure could
have but one sequel--quick judgment and the headman's axe.
"Are you not satisfied?" he cried hoarsely. "What more did you expect?
What more ought we to have done? What other proof of zeal does King
Philip ask of me?"
Thus directly challenged the Duke raised his head and looked the young
man sternly in the face.
"What you have done, Messire," he said slowly--and the cold glitter in
his steely eyes held in it more real and calculating cruelty than the
feline savagery of the other man, "what you have done is good, but it is
not enough. What use is there in laying low an entire city, when the one
man whose personality holds the whole of this abominable rebellion
together still remains unscathed? You hanged twenty noted citizens a
day in Mechlin, you say," he added with a cynical shrug of the
shoulders, "I would gladly see every one of them spared, so long as
Orange's head fell on the scaffold."
"Orange has disbanded his army and has fled almost alone into Holland,"
said don Ramon sullenly. "My orders were to punish Mechlin and not to
run after the Prince of Orange."
"The order to bring the Prince of Orange alive or dead to Brussels and
to me takes precedence of every other order, as you well know, Messire,"
retorted Alva roughly. "We decided on that unanimously at the meeting of
the Grand Council on the day that I sent Egmont and Horn to the scaffold
and Orange refused to walk into the trap which I had set for him."
"He always escapes from the traps which are set for him," now broke in
de Vargas in his calm, even, expressionless voice. "During the siege of
Mons, according to don Frederic's report, no fewer than six surprise
night-attacks--all admirably planned--failed, because Orange appeared to
have received timely warning."
"Who should know that better than I, senor?" queried don Ramon hotly,
"seeing that I led most of those attacks myself--they were splendidly
planned, our men as silent as ghosts, the night darker than hell. Not a
word of the plan was breathed until I gave the order to start. Yet
someone gave the alarm. We found Orange's camp astir--every time we had
to retire. Who but the devil could have given the warning?"
"A spy more astute than yourselves," quoth Alva dryly.
"Nay!" here interposed del Rio blandly, "I am of the same opinion as don
Ramon de Linea; there is a subtle agency at work which appears to guard
the life of the Prince of Orange. I myself was foiled many a time when
I was on his track--with Ribeiras who wields a dagger in the dark more
deftly than any man I know. I also employed Loronzo, who graduated in
Venice in the art of poisons, but invariably the Prince slipped through
our fingers just as if he had been put on his guard by some mysterious
emissary."
"The loyalists in Flanders," quoth President Viglius under his breath,
"declare that the agency which works for the safety of the Prince of
Orange is a supernatural one. They speak of a tall, manlike figure
whose face is hidden by a mask, and who invariably appears whenever the
Prince of Orange's life is in danger. Some people call this mysterious
being 'Leatherface,' but no one seems actually to have seen him. It
sounds as if he were truly an emissary of the devil."
And as the President spoke, a strange silence fell around the council
board: every cheek had become pale, every lip quivered. De Vargas made
a quick sign of the Cross over his chest: Alva drew a small medal from
the inside of his doublet and kissed it devoutly. These men who talked
airily of rapine and of violence perpetrated against innocent people,
who gloated over torture and misery which they loved to inflict, were
held in the cold grip of superstitious fear, and their trembling lips
uttered abject prayers for mercy to the God whom they outraged by every
act of their infamous lives.
IV
When the Duke of Alva spoke again, his voice was still unsteady: "Devil
or no devil," he said with an attempt at dignified composure, "His
majesty's latest orders are quite peremptory. He desires the death of
Orange. He will have no more cities destroyed, no more wholesale
massacres until that great object is attained. Pressure has been
brought to bear upon him: the Emperor, it seems, has spoken
authoritatively, and with no uncertain voice. It seems that the
destruction of Flemish cities is abhorrent to the rest of Europe."
"Rebel cities!" ejaculated de Berlaymont hotly.
"Aye! we know well enough that they are rebel cities," quoth Alva
fiercely, "but what can we do, when a milk-livered weakling wears the
Imperial crown? Our gracious King himself dares not disregard the
Emperor's protests--and in his last letter to me he commands that we
should hold our hand and neither massacre a population nor destroy a
town unless we have proof positive that both are seething with
rebellion."
"Seething with rebellion!" exclaimed don Ramon, "then what of
Ghent--which is a very nest of rebels?"
"Ah!" retorted Alva, "Ghent by the Mass! Seigniors, all of you who know
that accursed city, bring me proof that she harbours Orange or his
troops! Bring me proof that she gives him money! Bring me proof that
plots against our Government are hatched within her walls! I have moral
proofs that Orange has been in Ghent lately, that he is levying troops
within her very walls--I know that he has received promises of support
from some of her most influential citizens..."
"Nay, then, let your Highness but give the order," broke in don Ramon
once more, "my soldiers would spend three fruitful days in Ghent."
"As I pointed out to His Highness yesterday," rejoined de Vargas in
mellifluous tones, "we should reduce Ghent to ashes before she hatches
further mischief against us. Once a city hath ceased to be, it can no
longer be a source of danger to the State ... and," he added blandly,
"there is more money in Ghent than in any other city of Flanders."
"And more rebellion in one family there than in the whole of the
population of Brabant," assented Councillor Arsens. "I have lived in
that accursed city all my life," he continued savagely, "and I say that
Ghent ought not to be allowed to exist a day longer than is necessary
for massing together two or three regiments of unpaid soldiery and
turning them loose into the town--just as we did in Mechlin!"
The others nodded approval
"And by the Mass..." resumed don Ramon.
"Enough, Messire," broke in the Duke peremptorily, "who are you, I pray,
who are you all to be thus discussing the orders of His Majesty the
King? I have transmitted to you His Majesty's orders just as I received
them from Madrid yesterday. It is for you--for us all--to show our zeal
and devotion at this critical moment in our nation's history, by obeying
blindly, whole-heartedly, those gracious commands. Do we want our King
to be further embarrassed by a quarrel with the Emperor? And what are
those orders, I ask you? Wise and Christianlike as usual. His Majesty
doth not forbid the punishment of rebel cities--No!--all that he asks is
that we deliver Orange unto him--Orange, the arch-traitor--and that in
future we prove conclusively to Europe and to Maximilian that when we
punish a Flemish city we do so with unquestioned justice."
He paused, and his prominent, heavy-lidded eyes wandered somewhat
contemptuously on the sullen faces around the board.
"Proofs, seigniors," he said with a light shrug of the shoulders,
"proofs are not difficult to obtain. All you want is a good friend
inside a city to keep you well informed. The paid spy is not
sufficient--oft-times he is clumsy and himself an object of suspicion.
Orange has been in Ghent, seigniors; he will go again! He has disbanded
his army, but at his call another will spring up ... in Ghent mayhap ...
where he has so many friends ... where money is plentiful and rebellion
rife.... We must strike at Ghent before she becomes an open menace..."
"You'll never strike at Orange," broke in Councillor Arsens obstinately,
"while that creature Leatherface is at large."
"He is said to hail from Ghent," added Viglius with conviction.
"Then by the Mass, seigniors," interposed Alva fiercely, "the matter is
even more simple than I had supposed, and all this talk and these
murmurings savour of treason, meseems. Are you fools and dolts to
imagine that when His Majesty's orders were known to me, I did not at
once set to work to fulfil them? We want to strike at Ghent, seigniors,
and want proofs of her rebellion--His Majesty wants those proofs and he
wants the death of Orange. We all desire to raze Ghent to the ground!
Then will you give me your close attention, and I will e'en tell you my
plans for attaining all these objects and earning the approval of our
gracious King and recognition from the rest of Europe."
"Then should not don Ramon de Linea retire?" queried President Viglius,
"surely His Highness's decision can only be disclosed to members of his
council."
"Let don Ramon stay," interposed de Vargas with unanswerable authority,
even as the young man was preparing to take his leave. "The matter is
one that in a measure will concern him, seeing that it involves the
destinies of the city of Ghent and that His Highness is pleased to give
him the command of our troops stationed in that city."
V
Don Ramon de Linea glanced up at de Vargas with a look of agreeable
surprise. The command of the troops in Ghent! Of a truth this was news
to him, and happy news indeed. Rumour was current that the Duke of
Alva--Lieutenant-Governor of the Low Countries and Captain-General of
the forces--was about to visit Ghent, and the captain in command there
would thus be in a position of doing useful work, mayhap of rendering
valuable services, and in any case, of being well before the eyes of the
Captain-General.
All the young man's elegant, languid manner had come back to him. He
had had a fright, but nothing more, and commendation--in the shape of
this important promotion--had allayed all his fears: his being allowed
to be present at a deliberation of the Grand Council was also a signal
mark of favour granted to him, no doubt in recognition of his zeal and
loyalty whilst destroying the noble city of Mechlin for the glory of
King Philip of Spain.
He now resumed his seat at the board, selecting with becoming modesty a
place at the bottom of the table and feeling not the least disconcerted
by the wrathful, envious looks which President Viglius and one or two
other Netherlanders directed against him.
"The plan, seigniors, which I have in my mind," resumed the Duke after a
slight pause, "could never have come to maturity but for the loyal
co-operation of senor Juan de Vargas and of his equally loyal daughter.
Let me explain," he continued, seeing the look of astonishment which
spread over most of the faces around the board. "It is necessary, in
view of all that we said just now, that I should have a means--a tool I
might say--for the working out of a project which has both the death of
Orange and the punishment of Ghent for its aim. I have told you that I
am morally certain that Orange is operating in Ghent at the present
moment. Is it likely that he would leave such a storehouse of wealth
and rebellion untouched?--heresy is rampant in Ghent and treachery goes
hand in hand with it. Our spies unfortunately have been unable to
obtain very reliable information: the inhabitants are astute and
wary--they hatch their plots with devilish cunning and secrecy.
Obviously, therefore, what we want is a loyal worker, an efficient and
devoted servant of the King in the very heart of the civic life of the
town: if only we can get to know what goes on in the intimate family
circles of those townsfolk, I feel sure that we shall get all the proofs
that the King desires of the treachery of Ghent."
He paused a moment in order to draw breath; absolute silence--the
silence of tense expectation--hung around the council-board. The
Netherlanders hung obsequiously on the tyrant's lips, del Rio leaned
back in his chair--seemingly indifferent--and de Vargas was closely
watching don Ramon de Linea; the young man was trying to appear calmly
interested, but the restless look in his eyes and a slight tremor of his
hand betrayed inward agitation.
"Some of you reverend seigniors," continued the Duke of Alva after
awhile, in powerful, compelling tones, "will perhaps have guessed by
now, what connection there is in my mind between that vast project which
I have just put before you and the daughter of my loyal coadjutor don
Juan de Vargas. I have arranged that she shall marry a man of influence
and position in Ghent, so that she can not only keep me informed of all
the intrigues which are brewing in that city against the Government of
our gracious King, but also become the means whereby we can lure Orange
to his doom, capture that mysterious Leatherface, and then deliver Ghent
over to don Ramon's soldiery."
He struck the table repeatedly with his fist as he spoke: there was no
doubting the power of the man to accomplish what he wanted, as well as
the cruelty and vindictiveness wherewith he would pursue anyone who
dared to attempt to thwart him in his projects. No one thought of
interrupting him. Don Ramon kept his agitation under control as best he
could, for he felt that de Vargas's eyes still watched him closely.
"A very admirable idea," now murmured Viglius obsequiously.
As usual on these occasions, it was obvious that he and the other
Netherlanders were mere figureheads at the council-board. Alva was
directing, planning, commanding, de Vargas had been the confidant, and
del Rio would always be the ready tool when needed: but Viglius, de
Berlaymont, Hessels, and the others, were mere servile listeners, ready
to give the approbation which was expected of them and withholding every
word of criticism.
VI
"And doth donna Lenora de Vargas enter into all these far-reaching
schemes?" now asked don Ramon coldly. "Meseems, they are above a woman's
comprehension."
De Vargas' persistent glance was irritating his nerves; he threw a
challenging look--wholly defiant--across the table at the older man.
"My daughter, Messire," said the latter loftily, "is above all a true
Spaniard. She has been brought up to obey and not to discuss. She is
old enough now to forget all past youthful follies," he added, answering
don Ramon's defiant glance with one that conveyed a threat. "Her
devotion to her Church, her King and her country, and her hatred of
Orange and all rebels will influence her actions in the way the
Lieutenant-Governor desires."
Don Ramon was silent. He had understood the threat which de Vargas'
glance had expressed, and he knew what the other meant when he spoke of
"past youthful follies"--it meant the breaking off of a pleasing
romance, a farewell to many an ambitious dream. Don Ramon suppressed a
sigh of anger and of disappointment: donna Lenora de Vargas was
beautiful and wealthy, but it were not wise to let her father see how
hard he--Ramon--had been hit. He took no further part in the
discussion, and after awhile he succeeded in appearing wholly
indifferent to its sentimental side; but he listened attentively to all
that was said, and when he met de Vargas' glance, which now and then was
fixed mockingly upon him, he answered it with a careless shrug of the
shoulders.
"And," now rejoined Pierre Arsens, who was president of Artois and a
patrician of Hainault, "may we ask if His Highness has already chosen
the happy man who is to become the husband of such a pattern of
womanhood?"
"My choice has naturally fallen on the son of Mynheer Charles van Rycke,
the High-Bailiff of Ghent," replied Alva curtly.
"A family of traitors if ever there was one," growled Alberic del Rio
savagely. "I know them. The father is all right, so is the younger son
Mark--younger, I believe, by only a couple of hours--a wastrel and
something of a drunkard, so I understand; but the mother and the other
son are impudent adherents of Orange: they have more than once drawn the
attention of the Chief Inquisitor on themselves, and if I had my way
with such cattle, I would have had the men hanged and the woman burned
long before this."
"Van Rycke," said Alva coldly, "is High-Bailiff of Ghent. He is a good
Catholic and so is his wife: he is a man of great consideration in the
city and his sons are popular. It has not been thought expedient to
interfere with them up to now. But--bearing my schemes in mind--I have
caused the man to be severely warned once or twice. These warnings have
reduced him to a state of panic, and lately when my scheme had matured I
told him that my desire was that one of his sons should wed don Juan de
Vargas' daughter. He had no thought of refusal. In fact his acceptance
was positively abject."
"And on what grounds was the marriage suggested to him?" questioned
President Arsens.
"Grounds, Messire?" retorted the Duke; "we give no grounds or reasons
for our commands to our Flemish subjects. We give an order and they
obey. I told Mynheer van Rycke that I desired the marriage and that was
enough."
"Then," interposed President Viglius with an attempt at jocularity, "we
shall soon be able to congratulate two young people on a happy event!"
"You will be able to do that to-morrow, Messire," quoth the Duke.
"Senor de Vargas goes to Ghent for the purpose of affiancing the two
young people together; the marriage ceremony will take place within the
week. His Majesty hath approved of my scheme: he desires that we should
expedite the marriage. Senor de Vargas is willing, Messire van Rycke
would not think of objecting, donna Lenora is heart free. Why should we
delay?"
"Why, indeed?" murmured don Ramon under his breath.
"Donna Lenora," resumed Alva sententiously, "is indeed lucky in
that--unlike most women--she will be able to work personally for the
glory of her King and country. If through her instrumentality we can
bring Orange to the block and Ghent to her knees, there is no favour
which her father could not ask of us."
As he said this, he turned to de Vargas and stretched out his hand to
him. De Vargas took the hand respectfully and bent over it in dutiful
obedience.
"Now, seigniors," resumed the Duke more gaily, and once more addressing
the full council-board, "you know the full reason of my projected
journey to Ghent. I go ostensibly in order to inaugurate the statue of
our Sovereign King erected by my orders in the market place, but also in
order to ascertain how our loyal worker will have progressed in the
time. Donna Lenora de Vargas will have been the wife of Messire van
Rycke for over a sennight by then: she will--and I mistake not--have
much to tell us. In the meanwhile senor de Vargas will take up his
residence in the city as _vicarius criminalis_: he will begin his
functions to-morrow by presiding over the engagement of his daughter to
the son of the High-Bailiff: there will be much public rejoicing and
many entertainments during the week and on the day of the wedding
ceremony: to these, seigniors, ye are graciously bidden. I pray you go
and mingle as far as you can with that crowd of uncouth and vulgar
burghers whose treachery seems to pierce even through their ill-fitting
doublets. I pray you also to keep your eyes and ears open ... an my
conjectures are correct, much goes on in Ghent of which the Holy
Inquisition should have cognisance. We are out on a special campaign
against cunning traitors, and Ghent is our first objective. When we
turn our soldiery loose into the city, yours, seigniors, will be the
first spoils.... Ghent is rich in treasure and money ... those first
spoils will be worth the winning. Until that happy day, I bid you _au
revoir_, gentle Sirs, and let your toast be at every banquet: 'To the
destruction of Ghent, and to the death of Orange!'"
After which long peroration the Lieutenant-Governor intimated with a
casual wave of his be-ringed hand that the sitting of the Grand Council
was at an end. The illustrious councillors rose with alacrity: they
were now in rare good humour. The parting speech of His Highness
tickled their cupidity. The first spoils at the sacking of Ghent should
mean a fortune for every member of the board. General de Noircarmes had
made a huge one at the sacking of Mons, and even younger officers like
don Ramon de Linea had vastly enriched themselves when Mechlin was given
over to the soldiers.
One by one now the grave seigniors withdrew, having taken respectful
leave of His Highness. To the salute of the Netherlanders--of Viglius
and Hessels, of Berlaymont and the others, the Duke responded with a
curt bow--to de Vargas and del Rio, and also to don Ramon, he nodded
with easy familiarity. However obsequious the Netherlanders might
be--however proven their zeal, their Spanish masters never allowed them
to forget that there was a world of social distinction between a grandee
of Spain and the uncouth burghers and even patricians of this
semi-civilised land.
VII
Having made his last obeisance before the Duke of Alva and taken leave
of the grave seigniors of the Grand Council, don Ramon de Linea bowed
himself out of the room with all the ceremony which Spanish etiquette
prescribed. As he did so he noticed that at a significant sign from
Alva, de Vargas and Alberic del Rio remained behind in the
council-chamber, even while all the Netherlanders were being dismissed.
He watched these latter gentlemen as one by one they filed quickly out
of the house--loath even to exchange a few friendly words with one
another on the doorstep in this place where every wall had ears and
every nook and cranny concealed a spy. He watched them with an air of
supercilious contempt, oblivious of the fact that he himself had been
not a little scared by the black looks cast on him by the all-powerful
tyrant and merciless autocrat.
The scare had been unpleasant, but it was all over now: Fate--that ever
fickle jade--seemed inclined to smile on him. The penniless scion of a
noble race, he seemed at last on the high road to fortune--the command
of the troops in Ghent was an unexpected gift of the goddess, whilst the
sacking and looting of Mechlin had amply filled his pockets.
But it was a pity about donna Lenora!
Don Ramon paused in the vast panelled hall and instinctively his eyes
wandered to the mirror, framed in rich Flemish carved wood, which hung
upon the wall. By our Lady! he had well-nigh lost his self-control just
now under de Vargas' mocking gaze, and also that air of high-breeding
and sang-froid which became him so well: the thought of donna Lenora
even in connection with her approaching marriage caused him to readjust
the set of his doublet and the stiff folds of his ruffle, and his
well-shaped hand wandered lovingly up to his silky moustache.
A sound immediately behind him caused him to start and to turn. An
elderly woman wrapped in a dark shawl and wearing a black veil right
over her face and head was standing close to his elbow.
"Inez?" he exclaimed, "what is it?"
"Hist! I beg of you, senor," whispered the woman, "I am well-nigh dead
with terror at thought that I might be seen. The senorita knew that you
would be here to-day: she saw you from the gallery above, and sent me
down to ask you to come to her at once."
"The senorita?" broke in don Ramon impatiently, and with a puzzled
frown, "is she here?"
"Senor de Vargas won't let her out of his sight now. When he hath
audience of the Lieutenant-Governor or business with the council he
makes the senorita come with him. The Duke of Alva hath given her a
room in this house, where she can sit while her father is at the
Council."
"But Heavens above, why all this mystery?"
"The senorita will tell your Graciousness," said the woman, "I beg of
you to come at once. If I stay longer down here I shall die of fright."
And like a scared hen, old Inez trotted across the hall, without waiting
to see if don Ramon followed her. The young man seemed to hesitate for
a moment: the call was a peremptory one, coming as it did from a
beautiful woman whom he loved: at the same time all that he had heard in
the council-chamber was a warning to him to keep out of de Vargas' way;
the latter--if Inez spoke the truth--was keeping his daughter almost a
prisoner, and it was never good at any time to run counter to senor de
Vargas.
The house was very still. The Netherlanders had all gone: two serving
men appeared to be asleep in the porch, otherwise there came no sign of
life from any part of the building: the heavy oak doors which gave on
the anteroom of the council-chamber effectually deadened every sound
which might have come from there.
Don Ramon smiled to himself and shrugged his shoulders. After all he
was a fool to be so easily scared: a beautiful woman beckoned, and he
had not been forbidden to see her--so--after that one brief moment of
hesitation he turned to follow Inez up the stairs.
The woman led the way round the gallery, then up another flight of
stairs and along a narrow corridor, till she came to a low door, beside
which she stopped.
"Go in, I pray you, senor," she said, "the senorita expects you."
The young man walked unannounced into the small room beyond.
There came a little cry of happy surprise out of the recess of a wide
dormer window, and the next moment don Ramon held Lenora de Vargas in
his arms.
VIII
Lenora with the golden hair and the dark velvety eyes! Thus do the
chroniclers of the time speak of her (notably the Sieur de Vaernewyck
who knew her intimately), thus too did Velasquez paint her, a few years
after these notable events--all in white, for she seldom wore coloured
gowns--very stately, with the small head slightly thrown back, the
fringe of dark lashes veiling the lustre of her luminous eyes.
But just at this moment there was no stateliness about donna Lenora: she
clung to don Ramon, just like a loving child that has been rather scared
and knows where to find protection; and he accepted her caress with an
easy, somewhat supercilious air of condescension--the child was so
pretty and so very much in love! He patted her hair with gentle,
soothing gesture and thanked kind Fate for this pleasing gift of a
beautiful woman's love.
"I did not know that you were in Brussels," he said after awhile, and
when he had led her to a seat in the window, and sat down beside her.
"All this while I thought you still in Segovia."
His glance was searching hers and his vanity was pleasantly stirred by
the fact that she was pale and thin, and that those wonderful, luminous
eyes of hers looked as if they had shed many tears of late.
"Ramon," she whispered, "you know?"
"The Duke of Alva," he replied dryly, "gave me official information."
Then seeing that she remained silent and dejected he added peremptorily:
"Lenora! how long is it since you have known of this proposed marriage?"
"Only three days," she replied tonelessly. "My father sent for me about
a month ago. The Duchess of Medina Coeli was coming over to the
Netherlands on a visit to her lord, and I was told that I must accompany
her. We started from Laredo in the _Esperansa_ on the 10th of last
month and we landed at Flushing a week ago. Oh! at first I was so happy
to come ... it is nine months and more since you left Spain and my heart
was aching for a sight of you."
"Then ... when did you first hear?"
"Three days since, when we arrived in Brussels. The Duchess herself
took me to my father's house, and then he told me ... that he had bade
me come because the Lieutenant-Governor had arranged a marriage for me
... with a Netherlander."
Don Ramon muttered an angry oath.
"Did he--your father I mean--never hint at it before?" he asked.
"Never. A month ago he still spoke of you in his letters to me. Had
you no suspicions, Ramon?"
"None," he replied.
"It was he of course who obtained for you that command under don
Frederic, which took you out of Spain."
"It was a fine position and I accepted it gladly ... and
unsuspectingly."
"It must have been the beginning: he wanted you out of my way already
then, though he went on pretending all this while that he favoured your
attentions to me. He thought that I would soon forget you. How little
he knows me! And now he has forbidden me to think of you again. Since
I am in Brussels he hardly lets me out of his sight. He only leaves the
house in order to attend on the Duke, and when he does, he brings me
here with him. Inez and I are sent up to this room and I am virtually a
prisoner."
"It all seems like an ugly dream, Lenora," he murmured sullenly.
"Aye! an ugly dream," she sighed. "Ofttimes, since my father told me
this awful thing, I have thought that it could not be true. God could
not allow anything so monstrous and so wicked. I thought that I must be
dreaming and must presently wake up and find myself in the dear old
convent at Segovia with your farewell letter to me under my pillow."
She was gazing straight out before her--not at him, for she felt that if
she looked on him, all her fortitude would give way and she would cry
like a child. This she would not do, for her woman's instinct had
already told her that all the courage in this terrible emergency must
come from her.
He sat there, moody and taciturn, all the while that she longed for him
to take her in his arms and to swear to her that never would he give her
up, never would he allow reasons of State to come between him and his
love.
"There are political reasons it seems," she continued, and the utter
wretchedness and hopelessness with which she spoke were a pathetic
contrast to his own mere sullen resentment. "My father has not
condescended to say much. He sent for me and I came. As soon as I
arrived in Brussels he told me that I must no longer think of you: that
childish folly, he said, must now come to an end. Then he advised me
that the Lieutenant-Governor had arranged a marriage for me with the son
of Messire van Rycke, High-Bailiff of Ghent ... that we are to be
affianced to-morrow and married within the week. I cried--I implored--I
knelt to my father and begged him not to break my heart, my life.... I
told him that to part me from you was to condemn me to worse than
death...."
"Well? and--?" he queried.
"You know my father, Ramon," she said with a slight shudder, "almost as
well as I do. Do you believe that any tears would move him?"
He made no reply. Indeed, what could he say? He did know Juan de
Vargas, knew that such a man would sacrifice without pity or remorse
everything that stood in the way of his schemes or of his ambition.
"I was not even told that you would be in Brussels to-day--Inez only
heard of it through the Duke of Alva's serving man--then she and I
watched for you, because I felt that I must at least be the first to
tell you the awful--awful news! Oh!" she exclaimed with sudden
vehemence, "the misery of it all! ... Ramon, cannot you think of
something?--cannot you think? Are we going to be parted like this? as
if our love had never been, as if our love were not sweet and sacred and
holy, the blessing of God which no man should have the power to take
away from us!"
She was on the point of breaking down, and don Ramon with one ear alert
to every sound outside had much ado to soothe and calm her. This he
tried to do, for selfish as he was, he loved this beautiful woman with
that passionate if shallow ardour which is characteristic in men of his
temperament.
"Lenora," he said after awhile, "it is impossible for me to say anything
for the moment. Fate and your father's cruelty have dealt me a blow
which has half-stunned me. As you say, I must think--I am not going to
give up hope quite as readily as your father seems to think. By our
Lady! I am not just an old glove that can so lightly be cast aside. I
must think ... I must devise.... But in the meanwhile...."
He paused and something of that same look of fear came into his eyes
which had been there when in the Council Chamber he had dreaded the Duke
of Alva'a censure.
"In the meanwhile, my sweet," he added hastily, "you must pretend to
obey. You cannot openly defy your father! ... nor yet the Duke of Alva.
You know them both! They are men who know neither pity nor mercy! Your
father would punish you if you disobeyed him ... he has the means of
compelling you to obey. But the Duke's wrath would fall with deathly
violence upon me. You know as well as I do that he would sacrifice me
ruthlessly if he felt that I was likely to interfere with any of his
projects: and your marriage with the Netherlander is part of one of his
vast schemes."
The look of terror became more marked upon his face, his dark skin had
become almost livid in hue: and Lenora clung to him, trembling, for she
knew that everything he said was true. They were like two birds caught
in the net of a remorseless fowler: to struggle for freedom were worse
than useless. De Vargas was a man who had attained supreme power beside
the most absolute tyrant the world had ever known. Every human being
around him--even his only child--was a mere pawn in his hands for the
great political game in which the Duke of Alva was the chief player--a
mere tool for the fashioning of that monstrous chain which was destined
to bind the Low Countries to the chariot-wheels of Spain. A useless
tool, a superfluous pawn he would throw away without a pang of remorse:
this don Ramon knew and so did Lenora--but in Ramon that knowledge
reigned supreme and went hand in hand with terror, whilst in the young
girl there was all the desire to defy that knowledge and to make a
supreme fight for love and happiness.
"I must not stay any longer now, my sweet," he said after awhile, "if
your father has so absolutely forbidden you to see me, then I have
tarried here too long already."
He rose and gently disengaged himself from the tender hands which clung
so pathetically to him.
"I can't let you go, Ramon," she implored, "it seems as if you were
going right out of my life--and that my life would go with you if you
went."
"Sweetheart," he said a little impatiently, "it is dangerous for me to
stay a moment longer. Try and be brave--I'll not say farewell--We'll
meet again...."
"How?"
"Let Inez be at the corner of the Broodhuis this evening. I'll give her
a letter for you. In the meanwhile I shall have seen your father. Who
knows his decision may not be irrevocable--after all you are the one
being in the world he has to love and to care for; he cannot wilfully
break your heart and destroy your happiness."
She shook her head dejectedly. But the next moment she looked up trying
to seem hopeful. She believed that he suffered just as acutely as she
did, and, womanlike, did not want to add to his sorrow by letting him
guess too much of her own. She contrived to keep back her tears; she
had shed so many of late that their well-spring had mayhap run dry: he
folded her in his arms, for she was exquisitely beautiful and he really
loved her. Marriage with her would have been both blissful and
advantageous, and his pride was sorely wounded at the casual treatment
meted out to him by de Vargas: at the same time the thought of defiance
never once entered his head--for defiance could only end in death, and
don Ramon felt quite sure that even if he lost his beautiful fiancee,
life still held many compensations for him in the future.
Therefore he was able to part from Lenora with a light heart, whilst
hers was overweighted with sorrow. He kissed her eyes, her hair, her
lips, and murmured protestations of deathless love which only enhanced
her grief and enflamed all that selfless ardour of which her passionate
nature was capable. Never had she loved don Ramon de Linea as she loved
him at this hour of parting--never perhaps would she love as fondly
again.
And he with a last, tender kiss, airily bade her to be brave and
trustful, and finally waved her a cheery farewell.