Lysbeth looked a question.

“I see you are wondering how I should know what you do or do not do.  It is simple.  I shall be the harmless but observant witness of your interview.  Over this doorway hangs a tapestry; you will grant me the privilege—­not a great one for a future husband—­of stepping behind it.”

“Never, never,” said Lysbeth, “I cannot be put to such a shame.  I defy you.”

As she spoke came the sound of knocking at the street door.  Glancing up at Montalvo, for the second time she saw that look which he had worn at the crisis of the sledge race.  All its urbanity, its careless bonhomie, had vanished.  Instead of these appeared a reflection of the last and innermost nature of the man, the rock foundation, as it were, upon which was built the false and decorated superstructure that he showed to the world.  There were the glaring eyes, there the grinning teeth of the Spanish wolf; a ravening brute ready to rend and tear, if so he might satisfy himself with the meat his soul desired.

“Don’t play tricks with me,” he muttered, “and don’t argue, for there is no time.  Do as I bid you, girl, or on your head will be this psalm-singing fellow’s blood.  And, look you, don’t try setting him on me, for I have my sword and he is unarmed.  If need be a heretic may be killed at sight, you know, that is by one clothed with authority.  When the servant announces him go to the door and order that he is to be admitted,” and picking up his plumed hat, which might have betrayed him, Montalvo stepped behind the arras.

For a moment Lysbeth stood thinking.  Alas! she could see no possible escape, she was in the toils, the rope was about her throat.  Either she must obey or, so she thought, she must give the man she loved to a dreadful death.  For his sake she would do it, for his sake and might God forgive her!  Might God avenge her and him!

Another instant and there came a knock upon the door.  She opened it.

“The Heer van Goorl stands below,” said the voice of Greta, “wishing to see you, madam.”

“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.  That she could not see the Captain Montalvo evidently surprised the woman, for her eyes roamed round the room wonderingly, but she was too well trained, or too well bribed, to show her astonishment.  Gentlemen of this kidney, as Greta had from time to time remarked, have a faculty for vanishing upon occasion.

So Dirk walked into the fateful chamber as some innocent and unsuspecting creature walks into a bitter snare, little knowing that the lady whom he loved and whom he came to win was set as a bait to ruin him.

“Be seated, cousin,” said Lysbeth, in a voice so forced and strained that it caused him to look up.  But he saw nothing, for her head was turned away from him, and for the rest his mind was too preoccupied to be observant.  By nature simple and open, it would have taken much to wake Dirk into suspicion in the home and presence of his love and cousin, Lysbeth.