The plague was on her, the plague was on her, her head and bones were racked with pain, and the swords of sorrow pierced her poor heart. But Lysbeth’s mind was still clear, and her limbs still supported her. She reached her home and walked upstairs to the sitting room, commanding the servant to find the Heer Adrian and bid him join her there.
In the room was Elsa, who ran to her crying,
“Is it true? Is it true?”
“It is true, daughter, that Foy and Martin have escaped——”
“Oh! God is good!” wept the girl.
“And that my husband is a prisoner and condemned to death.”
“Ah!” gasped Elsa, “I am selfish.”
“It is natural that a woman should think first of the man she loves. No, do not come near me; I fear that I am stricken with the pest.”
“I am not afraid of that,” answered Elsa. “Did I never tell you? As a child I had it in The Hague.”
“That, at least, is good news among much that is very ill; but be silent, here comes Adrian, to whom I wish to speak. Nay, you need not leave us; it is best that you should learn the truth.”