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Updated: June 12, 2025
Lysbeth van Goorl could no longer boast the beauty which was hers when first we met her, but she was still a sweet and graceful woman, her figure remaining almost as slim as it had been in girlhood. The grey eyes also retained their depth and fire, only the face was worn, though more by care and the burden of memories than with years.
When at length the task was finished, which was not till well after midnight, Dirk read the translation aloud to Lysbeth and his son. It ran thus: "Well-beloved cousin and old friend, you will be astonished to see my dear child Elsa, who brings you this paper sewn in her saddle, where I trust none will seek it, and wonder why she comes to you without warning. I will tell you.
"Admit him," answered Lysbeth, and going to a chair almost in the centre of the room, she seated herself. Presently Dirk's step sounded on the stair, that known, beloved step for which so often she had listened eagerly. Again the door opened and Greta announced the Heer van Goorl.
"Marrying?" broke in the first, "it was the best that she could do. She couldn't stop to ask questions. Some corpses must be buried quickly." Glancing behind her, Lysbeth saw the creature nip her nostrils with her fingers, as though to shut out an evil smell. Then she could bear it no longer, and turned upon them.
What interested Lysbeth most, however, was to discover that the charioteer was none other than Pieter van de Werff, though now when she thought of it, she remembered he had told her that his sledge was named the Badger.
Somewhat slowly, lying there in the island hut, Lysbeth won back her strength. The Mare, or Mother Martha, as Lysbeth had now learned to call her, tended her as few midwives would have done.
Presently he would see them again, for the news had been brought to him that Lysbeth was out of danger and Elsa must still be nursing her. Lysbeth he found indeed, turned into an old woman by grief and sore sickness, but Elsa he did not find. She had vanished. On the previous night she had gone out to take the air, and returned no more. What had become of her none could say.
At present Elsa's share was to nurse to Adrian, who showed so much temper at every attempt which was made to replace her by any other woman, that, in face of the doctor's instructions, Lysbeth did not dare to cross his whim.
So the doors were flung wide, and through them came people carrying a wounded man, then following him Foy and Elsa, and, lastly, towering above them all, Red Martin, who thrust before him another man. Lysbeth rose from her chair to look. "Do I dream?" she said, "or, son Foy, hath the Angel of the Lord delivered you out of the hell of Haarlem?" "We are here, mother," he answered.
Well, my young friend Lysbeth, if I do not make you pay for these exertions before you are two months older, my name is not Juan de Montalvo." Three days later the ladies returned to Leyden. Within an hour of their arrival the Count called, and was admitted. "Stay with me," said Lysbeth to her Aunt Clara as the visitor was announced, and for a while she stayed.
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