“Show this good woman out,” he said, adding, in a loud voice, “Mother, I will do my best for you and forward your petition to the proper quarter. Meanwhile, take this trifle in charity,” and he pressed a florin into her hand. “Now, guard, the prisoners, the prisoners. I have no time to waste—and listen—let me be troubled with no more beggars, or you will hear of it.” That afternoon Dirk, filled with a solemn purpose, and dressed in his best suit, called at the house in the Bree Straat, where the door was again opened by Greta, who looked at him expectantly. “Is your mistress in?” he stammered. “I have come to see your mistress.” “Alas! Mynheer,” answered the young woman, “you are just too late. My mistress and her aunt, the Vrouw Clara, have gone away to stay for a week or ten days as the Vrouw Clara’s health required a change.” “Indeed,” said Dirk aghast, “and where have they gone?” “Oh! Mynheer, I do not know that, they did not tell me,” and no other answer could he extract from her. So Dirk went away discomfited and pondering. An hour later the Captain Montalvo called, and strange to say proved more fortunate. By hook or by crook he obtained the address of the ladies, who were visiting, it appeared, at a seaside village within the limits of a ride. By a curious coincidence that very afternoon Montalvo, also seeking rest and change of air, appeared at the inn of this village, giving it out that he proposed to lodge there for a while. As he walked upon the beach next day, whom should he chance to meet but the Vrouw Clara van Ziel, and never did the worthy Clara spend a more pleasant morning. So at least she declared to Lysbeth when she brought her cavalier back to dinner. The reader may guess the rest. Montalvo paid his court, and in due course Montalvo was refused. He bore the blow with a tender resignation. “Confess, dear lady,” he said, “that there is some other man more fortunate.” Lysbeth did not confess, but, on the other hand, neither did she deny. “If he makes you happy I shall be more than satisfied,” the Count murmured, “but, lady, loving you as I do, I do not wish to see you married to a heretic.” “What do you mean, Señor?” asked Lysbeth, bridling. “Alas!” he answered, “I mean that, as I fear, the worthy Heer Dirk van Goorl, a friend of mine for whom I have every respect, although he has outstripped me in your regard, has fallen into that evil net.” “Such accusations should not be made,” said Lysbeth sternly, “unless they can be proved. Even then——” and she stopped. “I will inquire further,” replied the swain. “For myself I accept the position, that is until you learn to love me, if such should be my fortune. Meanwhile I beg of you at least to look upon me as a friend, a true friend who would lay down his life to serve you.” Then, with many a sigh, Montalvo departed home to Leyden upon his beautiful black horse, but not before he had enjoyed a few minutes’ earnest conversation with the worthy Tante Clara.