She met Grete"s eyes fixed so fearfully upon hers--she met them at the moment when she was about to give herself over to the transient happiness of a brief day-dream ... dreams of two unforgettable hours when he sat beside her with his hand shading his face ... his eyes resting upon her ... dreams of his voice when he said: "When I look at you, Madonna, I invariably think of happiness."
IV
But Grete recalled her to herself, and to the awful present. Despite her great respect for the n.o.ble Spanish lady, she suddenly put her arms round her shoulders, and tried to draw her away from the open window.
"His Highness!" she whispered hurriedly, "he will see us."
"What matters, child," murmured Lenora, "he will not harm us."
Instinctively, however, she did yield to Grete"s insistence and drew back slightly from the window. From the balcony down below there came the sound of measured tramping. Two or three men were walking there slowly up and down and talking confidentially together while they walked. Whenever they were close to the window their voices came up quite distinctly, but it was impossible to hear all that they said, but one or two disjointed sentences gave a faint clue to the subject of their conversation. Lenora now leaned closer to the window-frame trying to hear, for she had recognised her father"s voice as well as that of the Duke of Alva, and they were speaking of their future plans against the rebels and against the city, and Lenora felt that she would give her life to know what those plans were.
After a moment or two she heard the voice of Captain de Avila; he was apparently coming up the iron stairs from the yard and was speaking hurriedly:
"A runner, your Highness," he said, "straight from Dendermonde."
"What news?" queried the Duke, and his voice sounded almost choked as if with fierce impatience.
"One of Captain Lodrono"s messengers reached Dendermonde last night,"
replied de Avila, "he was lucky enough to get a horse almost at once."
"Well...? and...?"
"This man came running straight back to bring us the news! Captain Bracamonte started at break of day: he should be well on his way with the reinforcements by now."
There was a hoa.r.s.e exclamation of satisfaction and a confused murmur of voices for a moment or two. Then de Vargas spoke:
"It was a bold venture, Monseigneur," he said.
"This truce, you mean?" retorted Alva. "Well! not quite so bold as it appeared. Those Netherlanders are such mighty fools that it is always easy to make them believe anything that we choose to tell them: do they not always fall into our traps? I had only to swear by my immortal soul that we had not sent for reinforcements and the last of their resistance was overcome."
Lenora could hear her father"s harsh laugh after this and then del Rio said blandly:
"Van Rycke did not believe in that oath."
"Perhaps not at first," Alva said, "but it was so finely worded and spoken with such solemnity, it was bound to carry conviction in the end."
"You were not afraid, Monseigneur," queried de Vargas, "this morning ...
in the crowd ... after Ma.s.s ... that the rebels would break the truce and fall upon our men?"
"No," replied the Duke curtly, "were you?"
There came no answer from de Vargas, and to the listeners it seemed as if by his silence he was admitting that he did not believe the Orangists capable of such abominable treachery. A fine tribute that--Lenora thought--from her father who hated and despised the Netherlanders! But he and Alva would even now call such loyalty and truth the mere stupidity of uncultured clowns.
"Anyhow it was worth the risk," de Vargas resumed after awhile, with that cold cynicism which will sacrifice friends, adherents, kindred for the furtherance of political aims.
"Well worth the risk," a.s.serted Alva, "we have gained the whole of to-day. If these rebels had rushed the Kasteel this morning, I verily believe that we could not have held it: I might have fallen into their hands and--with me as their hostage--they would by now have been in a position to dictate their own terms before reinforcements reached us--always supposing that they did not murder us all. Yes," he reiterated with obvious satisfaction, "even if treachery had been in the air it was still well worth the risk."
"And in the meanwhile..." suggested del Rio.
"In the meanwhile Bracamonte is on his way here.... He must have started well before noon ... he might be here before nightfall...."
"With at least five thousand men, I hope," added de Vargas.
"Night may see us masters of this city once more, seigniors," rejoined Alva, "and by G.o.d we"ll punish those rebels for the fright they have given us. Ghent will be envying Mons and Mechlin...."
The three men walked slowly away after that, and their voices were lost in the distance. The listeners could no longer distinguish what was said, but anon a harsh laugh struck their ear, and leaning out of the window Lenora could see the Duke and her father standing just outside the council-chamber. The Duke had thrown back his head and was laughing heartily, de Vargas too looked highly amused. Not one single word of remorse or regret had been spoken by either of them for the blasphemous oath which had finally overcome the resistance of the Orangists: of a truth it did not weigh on the conscience of the man who had so wantonly outraged his Maker less than an hour before he knelt at the foot of His Altar, and de Vargas and his kind were only too ready to benefit by the perjury.
The sack of Ghent--jeopardised for a few hours--was once more looming ahead as a coveted prize. What was a false oath or so--one crime the more--when weighed in the balance with all the money and treasure which the unexpected resistance of a few Flemish clowns had so nearly wrenched from these n.o.ble Spaniards" grasp?
V
"Didst hear?" came in a smothered whisper from Lenora. She had turned suddenly and now faced Grete, who stood wide-eyed and terrified in the centre of the room. Her arms were behind her, and she clung to the window-ledge: her fair hair--all loose--streamed round her shoulders; pale, with glowing eyes and quivering lips, she looked like some beautiful feline creature at bay.
"Didst hear?" she reiterated hoa.r.s.ely.
"Every word, most n.o.ble lady," came the whispered response.
"What didst make of it?"
"That His Highness sent to Dendermonde for help, and that troops are on their way."
"But His Highness swore most solemnly that he would respect the truce which he himself asked for, and that both sides would resume the fight ... this evening ... just as they were before ... without fresh help or reinforcements."
"I heard the men say last night, n.o.ble lady, that reinforcements had already been sent for from Dendermonde ... the Duke feared that the Netherlanders were getting the upper hand ... he asked for the truce only to gain time...."
"Then ... if Captain Bracamonte arrives from Dendermonde with fresh troops the Netherlanders are lost!"
"G.o.d guard them," said Grete fervently. "He alone can save them now."
"Oh!" cried Lenora with sudden pa.s.sionate bitterness, "how can men conceive such abominable treachery? How can G.o.d allow them to triumph?"
Grete said nothing. Her eyes were full of tears. Lenora stared straight out before her into the dark corner of the room: there was a frown of deep thought between her brows, and her fresh young mouth became hard and set.
"Grete," she said abruptly, "is it not horrible to think that those we care for are liars and traitors?"
Then, as Grete made no reply, she continued with the same pa.s.sionate vehemence: "Is it not horrible to think that brave men must be butchered like cattle, because they trusted in the oath of a perjurer? ... Oh!
that all the baseness, all the lying should be on one side and all the heroism on the other! and that G.o.d should allow those monsters to triumph!..."
She paused and suddenly her whole expression changed--the vehemence, the pa.s.sion went out of it ... her lips ceased to quiver, a curious pallor overspread her cheeks and the lines of her mouth became hard and set.
"Grete," she said abruptly, "art afraid?"
"Of what, n.o.ble lady?" asked the child.