On this point, however, she was soon destined to be undeceived, for presently, trudging over the snow-covered ice and carrying his useless skates in his hand, they met a young man whom she knew as Dirk’s fellow apprentice.  On seeing them he stopped in front of the sledge in such a position that the horse, a steady and a patient animal, pulled up of its own accord.

“Is the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout there?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” she replied, but before she could say more Montalvo broke in, inquiring what might be the matter.

“Nothing,” he answered, “except that she was lost and Dirk van Goorl, my friend, send me to look for her this way while he took the other.”

“Indeed.  Then, noble sir, perhaps you will find the Heer Dirk van Goorl and tell him that the Senora, his cousin, is merely enjoying an evening drive, and that if he comes to her house in an hour’s time he will find her safe and sound, and with her myself, the Count Juan de Montalvo, whom she has honoured with an invitation to supper.”

Then, before the astonished messenger could answer; before, indeed, Lysbeth could offer any explanation of his words, Montalvo lashed up the horse and left him standing on the moat bewildered, his cap off and scratching his head.

After this they proceeded on a journey which seemed to Lysbeth almost interminable.  When the circuit of the walls was finished, Montalvo halted at one of the shut gates, and, calling to the guard within, summoned them to open.  This caused delay and investigation, for at first the sergeant of the guard would not believe that it was his acting commandant who spoke without.

“Pardon, Excellency,” he said when he had inspected him with a lantern, “but I did not think that you would be going the rounds with a lady in your sledge,” and holding up the light the man took a long look at Lysbeth, grinning visibly as he recognised her.

“Ah, he is a gay bird, the captain, a very gay bird, and it’s a pretty Dutch dickey he is teaching to pipe now,” she heard him call to a comrade as he closed the heavy gates behind their sleigh.

Then followed more visits to other military posts in the town, and with each visit a further explanation.  All this while the Count Montalvo uttered no word beyond those of ordinary compliment, and ventured on no act of familiarity; his conversation and demeanour indeed remaining perfectly courteous and respectful.  So far as it went this was satisfactory, but at length there came a moment when Lysbeth felt that she could bear the position no longer.

“Senor,” she said briefly, “take me home; I grow faint.”

“With hunger doubtless,” he interrupted; “well, by heaven! so do I. But, my dear lady, as you are aware, duty must be attended to, and, after all, you may have found some interest in accompanying me on a tour of the pickets at night.  I know your people speak roughly of us Spanish soldiers, but I hope that after this you will be able to bear testimony to their discipline.  Although it is a fete day you will be my witness that we have not found a man off duty or the worse for drink.  Here, you,” he called to a soldier who stood up to salute him, “follow me to the house of the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout, where I sup, and lead this sledge back to my quarters.”