After that came loneliness and silence.  No friend appeared to cheer her.  Indeed, she had no friends left, for by her husband’s command she had broken off her acquaintance with all who after the strange circumstances connected with her marriage were still inclined to know her.  He said that he would have no chattering Dutch vrouws about the house, and they said and believed that the Countess de Montalvo had become too proud to associate with those of her own class and people.

Midday came and she could eat no food; indeed, she had touched none for twenty-four hours; her gorge rose against it, although in her state she needed food.  Now the shame of her position began to come home to Lysbeth.  She was a wife and no wife; soon she must bear the burden of motherhood, and oh! what would that child be?  And what should she be, its mother?  What, too, would Dirk think of her?  Dirk, for whom she had done and suffered all these things.  Through the long afternoon hours she lay upon her bed thinking such thoughts as these till at length her mind gave and Lysbeth grew light-headed.  Her brain became a chaos, a perfect hell of distorted imaginations.

Then out of its turmoil and confusion rose a vision and a desire; a vision of peace and a desire for rest.  But what rest was there for her except the rest of death?  Well, why not die?  God would forgive her, the Mother of God would plead for her who was shamed and broken-hearted and unfit to live.  Even Dirk would think kindly of her when she was dead, though, doubtless, now if he met her he would cover his eyes with his hand.  She was burning hot and she was thirsty.  How cool the water would be on this fevered night.  What could be better than to slip into it and slowly let it close above her poor aching head?  She would go out and look at the water; in that, at any rate, there could be no harm.

She wrapped herself in a long cloak and drew its hood over her head.  Then she slipped from the house and stole like a ghost through the darkling streets and out of the Maren or Sea Poort, where the guard let her pass thinking that she was a country woman returning to her village.  Now the moon was rising, and by the light of it Lysbeth recognised the place.  Here was the spot where she had stood on the day of the ice carnival, when that woman who was called Martha the Mare, and who said that she had known her father, had spoken to her.  On that water she had galloped in Montalvo’s sledge, and up yonder canal the race was run.  She followed along its banks, remembering the reedy mere some miles away spotted with islets that were only visited from time to time by fishermen and wild-fowlers; the great Haarlemer Meer which covered many thousands of acres of ground.  That mere she felt must look very cool and beautiful on such a night as this, and the wind would whisper sweetly among the tall bulrushes which fringed its banks.