“There is no need to,” replied Elsa in the same quiet voice, “because there is no other man. I have never yet thought of marriage, I have no wish that way, and if I had, I should forget it now when from hour to hour I do not know where my dear father may be, or what fate awaits him. He is my only lover, Heer Adrian,” and as Elsa spoke her soft brown eyes filled with tears.
“Ah!” said Adrian, “would that I might fly to save him from all dangers, as I rescued you, lady, from the bandits of the wood.”
“I would you might,” she replied, smiling sadly at the double meaning of the words, “but, hark, your mother is calling us. I know, Heer Adrian,” she added gently, “that you will understand and respect my dreadful anxiety, and will not trouble me again with poetry and love-talk, for if you do I shall be—angry.”
“Lady,” he answered, “your wishes are my law, and until these clouds have rolled from the blue heaven of your life I will be as silent as the watching moon. And, by the way,” he added rather nervously, “perhaps you will be silent also—about our talk, I mean, as we do not want that buffoon, Foy, thrusting his street-boy fun at us.”
Elsa bowed her head. She was inclined to resent the “we” and other things in this speech, but, above all, she did not wish to prolong this foolish and tiresome interview, so, without more words, she took her admirer by the hand and guided him down the stairs.
It was but three days after this ridiculous scene, on a certain afternoon, when Adrian had been out for the second time, that the evil tidings came. Dirk had heard them in the town, and returned home well-nigh weeping. Elsa saw his face and knew at once.
“Oh! is he dead?” she gasped.
He nodded, for he dared not trust himself to speak.
“How? Where?”
“In the Poort prison at The Hague.”