Lysbeth, a Tale of the DutchHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Netherlands -- History -- House of Habsburg, 1477-1556 -- Fiction
“Does he, the rogue? Does he indeed? Well, it would be rude to
contradict him, wouldn’t it, so I for one unreservedly accept his
statement that he knows nothing, and I advise you to do the same. No,
no, my boy, do not trouble to explain, we all quite understand. Now, my
good dame,” he went on addressing the serving-woman who had entered the
place, “take this young lady to the best room you have above. And,
listen, both of you, she is to be treated with all kindness, do you
hear, for if any harm comes to her, either at your hands or her own, by
Heaven! you shall pay for it to the last drop of your blood. Now, no
excuses and—no mistakes.”
The two women, Meg and the other, nodded and motioned to Elsa to
accompany them. She considered a moment, looking first at Ramiro and
next at Adrian. Then her head dropped upon her breast, and turning
without a word she followed them up the creaking oaken stair that rose
from a niche near the wall of the ingle-nook.
“Father,” said Adrian when the massive door had closed behind her and
they were left alone—“father—for I suppose that I must call you so.”
“There is not the slightest necessity,” broke in Ramiro; “facts, my
dear son, need not always be paraded in the cold light of
day—fortunately. But, proceed.”
“What does all this mean?”
“I wish I could tell you. It appears to mean, however, that without any
effort upon your part, for you seem to me a young man singularly devoid
of resource, your love affairs are prospering beyond expectation.”
“I have had nothing to do with the business; I wash my hands of it.”
“That is as well. Some sensitive people might think they need a deal of
washing. You young fool,” he went on, dropping his mocking manner,
“listen to me. You are in love with this pink and white piece of goods,
and I have brought her here for you to marry.”
“And I refuse to marry her against her will.”
“As to that you can please yourself. But somebody has got to marry
her—you, or I.”
“You—_you!_” gasped Adrian.
“Quite so. The adventure is not one, to be frank, that attracts me. At
my age memories are sufficient. But material interests must be attended
to, so if you decline—well, I am still eligible and hearty. Do you see
the point?”
“No, what is it?”
“It is a sound title to the inheritance of the departed Hendrik Brant.
That wealth we might, it is true, obtain by artifice or by arms; but
how much better that it should come into the family in a regular
fashion, thereby ousting the claim of the Crown. Things in this country
are disturbed at present, but they will not always be disturbed, for in
the end somebody must give way and order will prevail. Then questions
might be asked, for persons in possession of great riches are always
the mark of envy. But if the heiress is married to a good Catholic and
loyal subject of the king, who can cavil at rights sanctified by the
laws of God and man? Think it over, my dear Adrian, think it over.
Step-mother or wife—you can take your choice.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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