As he spoke Foy re-entered the room, leading Elsa by the hand, and she looked as sweet a maid as ever the sun shone on.  So they told their story, and kneeling down before Dirk, received his blessing in the old fashion, and very glad were they in the after years to remember that it had been so received.  Then they turned to Lysbeth, and she also lifted up her hand to bless them, but ere it touched their heads, do what she would to check it, a cry forced its way to her lips, and she said: 

“Oh! children, doubtless you love each other well, but is this a time for marrying and giving in marriage?”

“My own words, my very words,” exclaimed Elsa, springing to her feet and turning pale.

Foy looked vexed.  Then recovering himself and trying to smile, he said: 

“And I give them the same answer—­that two are better than one; moreover, this is a betrothal, not a marriage.”

“Ay,” muttered Martin behind, thinking aloud after his fashion, “betrothal is one thing and marriage another,” but low as he spoke Elsa overheard him.

“Your mother is upset,” broke in Dirk, “and you can guess why, so do not disturb her more at present.  Let us to our business, you and Martin to the factory to make arrangements there as I have told you, and I, after I have seen the captain, to whatever God shall call me to do.  So, till we meet again, farewell, my son—­and daughter,” he added, smiling at Elsa.

They left the room, but as Martin was following them Lysbeth called him back.

“Go armed to the factory, Martin,” she said, “and see that your young master wears that steel shirt beneath his jerkin.”

Martin nodded and went.

Adrian woke up that morning in an ill mood.  He had, it is true, administered his love potion with singular dexterity and success, but as yet he reaped no fruit from his labours, and was desperately afraid lest the effect of the magic draught might wear off.  When he came downstairs it was to find that Foy and Martin were already departed to the factory, and that his stepfather had gone out, whither he knew not.  This was so much to the good, for it left the coast clear.  Still he was none the better off, since either his mother and Elsa had taken their breakfast upstairs, or they had dispensed with that meal.  His mother he could spare, especially after her recent contact with a plague patient, but under the circumstances Elsa’s absence was annoying.  Moreover, suddenly the house had become uncomfortable, for every one in it seemed to be running about carrying articles hither and thither in a fashion so aimless that it struck him as little short of insane.  Once or twice also he saw Elsa, but she, too, was carrying things, and had no time for conversation.