Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch by H. Rider Haggard (red white royal blue TXT) 📗

at Greta, and was convinced that she was lying. He put his hand in his pocket, to find to his disgust that he had forgotten his purse. Then he thought of giving her a kiss and trying to melt the truth out of her in this fashion, but remembering that if he did, she might tell Lysbeth, which would make matters worse than ever, refrained. So the end of it was that he merely said “Oh! indeed,” and went away.

“Great soft-head,” reflected Greta, as she watched his retreating form, “he knew I was telling lies, why didn’t he push past me, or—do anything. Ah! Mynheer Dirk, if you are not careful that Spaniard will take your wind. Well, he is more amusing, that’s certain. I am tired of these duck-footed Leydeners, who daren’t wink at a donkey lest he should bray, and among such holy folk somebody a little wicked is rather a change.” Then Greta, who, it may be remembered, came from Brussels, and had French blood in her veins, went upstairs to make a report to her mistress, telling her all that passed.

“I did not ask you to speak falsehoods as to my being out sleighing and the rest. I told you to answer that I was not at home, and mind you say the same to the Captain Montalvo if he calls,” said Lysbeth with some acerbity as she dismissed her.

In truth she was very sore and angry, and yet ashamed of herself because it was so. But things had gone so horribly wrong, and as for Dirk, he was the most exasperating person in the world. It was owing to his bad management and lack of readiness that her name was coupled with Montalvo’s at every table in Leyden. And now what did she hear in a note from the Captain himself, sent to make excuses for not having called upon her after the supper party, but that Dirk was going to dine with him that night? Very well, let him do it; she would know how to pay him back, and if necessary was ready to act up to any situation which he had chosen to create.

Thus thought Lysbeth, stamping her foot with vexation, but all the time her heart was sore. All the time she knew well enough that she loved Dirk, and, however strange might be his backwardness in speaking out his mind, that he loved her. And yet she felt as though a river was running between them. In the beginning it had been a streamlet, but now it was growing to a torrent. Worse still the Spaniard was upon her bank of the river.

After he had to some extent conquered his shyness and irritation Dirk became aware that he was really enjoying his dinner at Montalvo’s quarters. There were three guests besides himself, two Spanish officers and a young Netherlander of his own class and age, Brant by name. He was the only son of a noted and very wealthy goldsmith at The Hague, who had sent him to study certain mysteries of the metal worker’s art under a Leyden jeweller famous for the exquisite beauty of his designs. The dinner and the service were both of them perfect in style, but better than either proved the conversation, which was of a character that Dirk had never heard at the tables of his own class and people. Not that there was anything even broad about it, as might perhaps have been expected. No, it was the talk of highly accomplished and travelled men of the world, who had seen much and been actors in many moving events; men who were not overtrammelled by prejudices, religious or other, and who were above all things desirous of making themselves agreeable and instructive to the stranger within their gates. The Heer Brant also, who had but just arrived in Leyden, showed himself an able and polished man, one that had been educated more thoroughly than was usual among his class, and who, at the table of his father, the opulent Burgomaster of The Hague, from his youth had associated with all classes and conditions of men. Indeed it was there that he made the acquaintance of Montalvo, who recognising him in the street had asked him to dinner.

After the dishes were cleared, one of the Spanish officers rose and begged to be excused, pleading some military duty. When he had saluted his commandant and gone, Montalvo suggested that they should play a game of cards. This was an invitation which Dirk would have liked to decline, but when it came to the point he did not, for fear of seeming peculiar in the eyes of these brilliant men of the world.

So they began to play, and as the game was simple very soon he picked up the points of it, and what is more, found them amusing. At first the stakes were not high, but they doubled themselves in some automatic fashion, till Dirk was astonished to find that he was gambling for considerable sums and winning them. Towards the last his luck changed a little, but when the game came to an end he found himself the richer by about three hundred and fifty florins.

“What am I do to with this?” he asked colouring up, as with sighs, which in one instance were genuine enough, the losers pushed the money across to him.

“Do with it?” laughed Montalvo, “did anybody ever hear such an innocent! Why, buy your lady-love, or somebody else’s lady-love, a present. No, I’ll tell you a better use than this, you give us to-morrow night at your lodging the best dinner that Leyden can produce, and a chance of winning some of this coin back again. Is it agreed?”

“If the other gentlemen wish it,” said Dirk, modestly, “though my apartment is but a poor place for such company.”

“Of course we wish it,” replied the three as with one voice, and the hour for meeting having been fixed they parted, the Heer Brant walking with Dirk to the door of his lodging.

“I was going to call on you to-morrow,” he said, “to bring to you a letter of introduction from my father, though that should scarcely be needed as, in fact, we are cousins—second cousins only, our mothers having been first cousins.”

“Oh! yes, Brant of The Hague, of whom my mother used to speak, saying that they were kinsmen to be proud of, although she had met them but little. Well, welcome, cousin; I trust that we shall be friends.”

“I am sure of it,” answered Brant, and putting his arm through Dirk’s he pressed it in a peculiar fashion that caused him to start and look round. “Hush!” muttered Brant, “not here,” and they began to talk of their late companions and the game of cards which they had played, an amusement as to the propriety of which Dirk intimated that he had doubts.

Young Brant shrugged his shoulders. “Cousin,” he said, “we live in the world, so it is as well to understand the world. If the risking of a few pieces at play, which it will not ruin us to lose, helps us to understand it, well, for my part I am ready to risk them, especially as it puts us on good terms with those who, as things are, it is wise we should cultivate. Only, cousin, if I may venture to say it, be careful not to take more wine than you can carry with discretion. Better lose a thousand florins than let drop one word that you cannot remember.”

“I know, I know,” answered Dirk, thinking of Lysbeth’s supper, and at the door of his lodgings they parted.

Like most Netherlanders, when Dirk made up his mind to do anything he did it thoroughly. Thus, having undertaken to give a dinner party, he determined to give a good dinner. In ordinary circumstances his first idea would have been to consult his cousins, Clara and Lysbeth. After that monstrous story about the sleighing, however, which by inquiry from the coachman of the house, whom he happened to meet, he ascertained to be perfectly false, this, for the young man had some pride, he did not feel inclined to do. So in place of it he talked first to his landlady, a worthy dame, and by her advice afterwards with the first innkeeper of Leyden, a man of resource and experience. The innkeeper, well knowing that this customer would pay for anything which he ordered, threw himself into the affair heartily, with the result that by five o’clock relays of cooks and other attendants were to be seen streaming up Dirk’s staircase, carrying every variety of dish that could be supposed to tempt the appetite of high-class cavaliers.

Dirk’s apartment consisted of two rooms situated upon the first floor of an old house in a street that had ceased to be fashionable. Once, however, it had been a fine house, and, according to the ideas of the time, the rooms themselves were fine, especially the sitting chamber, which was oak-panelled, low, and spacious, with a handsome fireplace carrying the arms of its builder. Out of it opened his sleeping room—which had no other doorway—likewise oak-panelled, with tall cupboards, not unlike the canopy of a tomb in shape and general appearance.

The hour came, and with it the guests. The feast began, the cooks streamed up and down bearing relays of dishes from the inn. Above the table hung a six-armed brass chandelier, and in each of its sockets guttered a tallow candle furnishing light to the company beneath, although outside of its bright ring there was shadow more or less dense. Towards the end of dinner a portion of the rush wick of one of these candles fell into the brass saucer beneath, causing the molten grease to burn up fiercely. As it chanced, by the light of this sudden flare, Montalvo, who was sitting opposite to the door, thought that he caught sight of a tall, dark figure gliding along the wall towards the bedroom. For one instant he saw it, then it was gone.

“Caramba, my friend,” he said, addressing Dirk, whose back was turned towards the figure, “have you any ghosts in this gloomy old room of yours? Because, if so, I think I have just seen one.”

“Ghosts!” answered Dirk, “no, I never heard of any; I do not believe in ghosts. Take some more of that pasty.”

Montalvo took some more pasty, and washed it down with a glass of wine. But he said no more about ghosts—perhaps an explanation of the phenomenon had occurred to him; at any rate he decided to leave the subject alone.

After the dinner they gambled, and this evening the stakes began where those of the previous night left off. For the first hour Dirk lost, then the luck turned and he won heavily, but always from Montalvo.

“My friend,” said the captain at last, throwing down his cards, “certainly you are fated to be unfortunate in your matrimonial adventures, for the devil lives in your dice-box, and his highness does not give everything. I pass,” and he rose from the table.

“I pass also,” said Dirk following him into the window place, for he wished to take no more money. “You have been very unlucky, Count,” he said.

“Very, indeed, my young friend,” answered Montalvo, yawning, “in fact, for the next six months I must live on—well—well, nothing, except the recollection of your excellent dinner.”

“I am sorry,” muttered Dirk, confusedly, “I did not wish to take your money; it was the turn of those accursed dice. See here, let us say no more about it.”

“Sir,” said Montalvo, with a sudden sternness, “an officer and a gentleman cannot treat a debt of honour thus; but,” he added with a little laugh, “if another gentleman chances to be good enough to charge a debt of honour for a debt of honour, the affair is different. If, for instance, it would suit you to lend me four hundred florins, which, added to the six hundred which I have lost to-night, would make a thousand in all, well, it will be a convenience to me, though should it be any inconvenience to you, pray do not think of such a thing.”

“Certainly,” answered Dirk, “I have won nearly as much as that, and here at my own table. Take them, I beg of you, captain,” and emptying a roll of gold into his hand, he counted it with the skill of a merchant, and held it towards him.

Montalvo hesitated. Then he took the money, pouring it carelessly into his pocket.

“You have not checked the sum,” said Dirk.

“My friend, it is needless,” answered his guest, “your word is rather better than any bond,” and again he yawned, remarking that it was getting late.

Dirk waited a few moments, thinking in his coarse, business-like way that the noble Spaniard might wish