THE RULING CASTE
I
Donna Lenora de Vargas stood beside her father whilst he--as
representing the Lieutenant-Governor--was receiving the homage of the
burghers and patricians of Ghent. This was a great honour for so young a
girl, but every one--even the women--declared that donna Lenora was
worthy of the honour, and many a man--both young and old--after he had
made obeisance before senor de Vargas paused awhile 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
stateliness of her finely proportioned figure, whilst the masses of her
soft fair hair crowned her as with a casque 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
honour--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 rumour had spread abroad of the coming interesting engagement, and
there were many whispers of astonishment when Mark's tall
figure--dressed in sombre purple silk with fine, starched ruff of
priceless Mechlin lace--came forward out of the crowd. Every one had
expected to see Laurence van Rycke 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-do-well--who had
been selected for the honour of this alliance with the daughter of
all-powerful de Vargas.
Well! perhaps Laurence never would have stooped before a Spaniard as
Mark had done quite naturally; perhaps Laurence was too avowedly a
partisan of the Prince of Orange to have found favour in beautiful donna
Lenora's sight. She certainly looked on Mark van Rycke 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, Messire?" asked one of these seigniors graciously.
"My sons are twins," replied the High-Bailiff, "and this is my son
Mark."
"Senor del Rio," said de Vargas turning to his colleague, "I have the
honour to present to you Messire Mark van Rycke, son of a loyal subject
of our King, the High-Bailiff of Ghent."
After which he turned to speak again with the High-Bailiff, and don
Alberic del Rio drew Mark into a brief conversation. Excitement in the
gaily-dressed throng was then at its height: the vague feeling that
something unusual and even mysterious was occurring caused every one'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 Rycke.
The momentous presentation was about to take place: a man and a
woman--of different race, of different upbringing, of the 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' 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 wont
to encounter when their bodies were racked by torture and which gave
them a last shudder of horror ere they closed their eyes in death. Donna
Lenora too shivered as she turned her head away. Her cheeks were whiter
than her gown, neither had her lips any colour 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.
II
The curious formalities demanded by ancient Flemish custom had now to be
complied with, before Messire van Rycke and donna Lenora de Vargas could
be publicly announced as affianced to one another.
Mark having his father on his right and Messire Jean van Migrode,
chief-sheriff of the Keure, on his left, advanced toward his future
bride. Young Count Mansfeld and Philip de Lannoy seigneur 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 cortege had been formed round the bride-elect: she was
supported on either side by her father and by don Alberic del Rio, his
most intimate friend, and around her were many Spanish seigniors of high
rank, amongst whom the Archbishop of Sorrento, who was on a visit to
Brussels, and don Gonzalo de Bracamonte, commanding the Governor's
bodyguard, were the most noteworthy.
A tense silence hung over the large and brilliant assembly, only the
frou-frou 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-honoured 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, Messire," 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 Mark, senor," thereupon rejoined the High-Bailiff, "is possessed
of ten thousand ducats 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 silk-looms 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 St. Bavon 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, Messire," resumed de Vargas still with the same grave
solemnity, "is possessed of five thousand ducats 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 Messire van Rycke," 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 Alberic 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 salt
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 seigneur 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 seignior," continued the High-Bailiff, "I do ask you
to give your daughter to my son for wife."
"Which request I do grant you, Messire," 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 honourably
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 honourably and
loyally."
With this the quaint ceremonial came to an end. The Spanish seigniors
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 seigniors had chafed at this irksome
task--they found torrents of ridicule to pour upon the loutish
Netherlanders 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 ducats, her golden girdle and
rosary specially blessed by the Pope. She stood by while the solemn
bargaining was going on, the centre of the group--a pathetic young
figure in her white gown, a curious flush--maybe of shame--upon her
cheeks. 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-Bailiff of Ghent;
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 seigniors 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' last words he advanced, with back bent,
nearer to his beautiful fiancee. 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.
"Give Messire van Rycke your hand, Lenora," commanded de Vargas.
And the girl--obediently and mechanically--stretched out her small,
white hand and Mark van Rycke touched her finger tips with his lips.
Every one 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 Messire van
Rycke a smile of intense satisfaction became apparent round the corners
of his mouth.
"And now, Messire," 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 hath himself desired that I should be his
mouthpiece in wishing you lasting happiness.
"I thank you, Messire," said Mark van Rycke 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 sennight for the
religious ceremony--the festival day of Our Lady of Victory--a great and
solemn occasion, Messire," 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 Laurence van Rycke stood there instead of
Mark there might have been enacted a little scene of ill-temper which
would have disturbed don Juan 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, Flemish 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--Mynheer Charles van Rycke would have laid down on the floor
and licked the dust from Monseigneur's slashed shoes.
III
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
corslet 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 guilds, 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 civilisation--had
decked themselves out in finery which was more remarkable for its
gorgeousness than for harmony of colour.
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 farthingales moved before donna Lenora's pensive
eyes like a kaleidoscope of many colours, brilliant and dazzling. The
deep window embrasures each held a living picture grouped against the
rich background of heavy velvet curtains or exquisite carved panelling;
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 disfavour the stiff demeanour and sombre 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 fawned 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 Arragon 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 grey skies, the
north-easterly 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 honour 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
vrouw pitied 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 Rycke was no longer nigh.
IV
Then suddenly her face lit up with joy, the colour rushed to her cheeks,
and her lips parted in a smile.
She had just espied 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;
I arrived last night with my regiment."
"But where are your lodgings?"
"At the house of those thrice accursed van Ryckes," 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 realised 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. "He has taken you from me,
but he cannot kill my love ... our love, Lenora," he added with
passionate ardour--an ardour in which he himself believed for the
moment, since he loved Lenora and she was so exquisite, in her
stateliness, her white gown and that casque 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-Bailiff, 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, hoarse murmur, inaudible to every one save 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 Utrecht 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 threw ghostlike 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
to-night the young man realised all that he had lost and how infinitely
desirable was the woman whom he had so airily 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 fought--thought of what was my duty--fought 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?"
"You are so unfitted for that sort of work," he murmured sullenly, "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. My husband will hate all those whom I love. He will hate
everything that I have always honoured 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 realised 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. He will die before a year has gone by, and I will then come
back to you and claim you for my wife. You will be free then, and will
no longer owe obedience to your father. I will claim you, Lenora! and
even now, here and at this hour, I do solemnly plight you my troth, in
the very teeth of the man whose wife you are about to be."
"And of a truth," here broke in a pleasant and good-humoured voice with
a short laugh, "it is lucky that I happened to be present here and now
and at this hour to register this exceedingly amiable vow."
V
Don Ramon de Linea 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.
"Messire van Rycke?" 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, sirrah?" quoth don Ramon roughly.
"Not I, senor," rejoined Mark, good-humouredly, "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
awhile: 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. Messire van
Rycke is in the right. An 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 to-morrow. Bring your witnesses, sirrah! I'll condescend
to fight you fairly."
"You could not do that, senor," replied Mark van Rycke with perfect
equanimity, "I am such a poor swordsman and you so cunning a fighter. I
am good with my fists, but it would be beneath the dignity of a grandee
of Spain to measure fists with a Flemish burgher. 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 quarrelling 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 realised 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 organisation 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 might 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 sombre purple and black--the livery worn by servants of the
Inquisition. The man, without a word, left de Vargas' side and edged
his way along the panelled 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 Mark van Rycke nor don Ramon de Linea 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 Linea's rage fell away from him like a mantle; the
glove fell from his nerveless 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 Mark
van Rycke he walked away, and soon disappeared among the crowd.
VI
Donna Lenora was leaning back against the cushioned window-sill, her
hands lay in her lap, slightly quivering and twisting a tiny lace
handkerchief between the fingers: in her eyes, which obviously followed
for some time the movements of don Ramon's retreating figure, there was
a pathetic look as that of a frightened child. She seemed quite unaware
of Mark's presence, and he remained leaning back against the angle of
the embrasure, watching the girl for awhile, then, as she remained quite
silent and apparently desirous of ignoring him altogether, he turned to
look with indifferent 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 galliarde the centre 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 colours beloved of the worthy burghers 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
fiancee, and racking his brain as to what subject of gossip would
interest her most, when a man in sombre attire, and wearing a mask, came
close up to his elbow. Mark looked him quietly up and down.
"Laurence!" 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 knew 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."
"Has everything gone off well?" queried Laurence.
"Admirably," replied the other dryly. "I was just about to make myself
agreeable to my fiancee when you interrupted me."
"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?"
"Only for a moment. He came up to say 'good-night' to mother when I was
leaving her room. She had told me the news, so I no longer tried to
avoid him. Of course he is full of wrath against me for the fright I
gave him, but, on the whole, meseemed as if his anger was mostly
pretence and he right glad that things turned out as they have done. I
am truly grateful to you, Mark," reiterated Laurence earnestly.
"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!" quoth Mark with his
habitual good-humour; "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 the longing to get a glimpse of her."
VII
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 fiancee, ready for that _tete-a-tete_
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 meditations, senorita?" he asked, "do you wish
me to go?"
"I am entirely at your service, Messire," she replied coldly, "as you so
justly remarked to don Ramon de Linea, you have every right to my
company an 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, "meseems 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.
"Aye! additional!" he replied, "because my first glance of you told me
plainly that you are endowed with all the most perfect attributes of
womanhood. 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, Messire, 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, Messire," rejoined Lenora, who either did not
or would not perceive the slight tone of good-humoured mockery which
lurked in Mark van Rycke'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, Messire."
"Well, so long as that precious guerdon is not bestowed on another man,"
said Mark with a sigh, "I suppose that I shall have to be satisfied."
"Aye, satisfied," broke in the girl with sudden vehemence. "Satisfied,
did you say, Messire? You are satisfied to take a wife whom till to-day
you had 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 a-courting 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, Messire, 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 de Linea!"
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-humoured 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 Laurence 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 senor 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 Linea. 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, senorita," 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, Messire," 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,
meseems: you are a Netherlander, I a Spaniard: 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 meseems we have fallen into
graver misunderstandings than before."
"When may I see you again?" asked Mark van Rycke, with coolness now
quite equal to hers.
"Every day until our wedding, Messire, in the presence of my aunt, donna
Inez 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 grey
eyes.
She took no notice of the gentle raillery, 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 midst of the gayest groups in the
crowd.
VIII
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 fiancee 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 unruly 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 fervour.
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.
"Not," he whispered with soulful earnestness, "till I have told you that
your sorrow and your beauty have made an indelible impression on my
heart, and that I desire to be your humble servitor."
"But who are you?" she asked.
"One who anon will stand very near to you--as a brother...."
"A brother? Then you are...?"
"Laurence van Rycke," 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
became filled with admiration and pity for you. I came here to-night
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 hath 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, Messire--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. Still, methinks, that you
speak somewhat wildly. I am not conscious of any wrong that you or your
family have done to me, and if your mother is as kind as you are, why,
Messire, mine own happiness in her house is assured."
"Heaven reward you for those gentle words, Senorita," said Laurence van
Rycke fervently, as he once more took her hand and kissed it; she
withdrew it quietly, and he had perforce 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--Laurence--had hopelessly embroiled, was now
changed to unreasoning bitterness. What Mark had accepted with a
careless shrug of the shoulders he--Laurence--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 Laurence 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.