“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.
“Now, if only this old lady were concerned,” he reflected as he rode away, “the matter might be easy enough, and the Saints know it would be one to me, but unhappily that obstinate pig of a Hollander girl has all the money in her own right. In what labours do not the necessities of rank and station involve a man who by disposition requires only ease and quiet! Well, my young friend Lysbeth, if I do not make you pay for these exertions before you are two months older, my name is not Juan de Montalvo.”
Three days later the ladies returned to Leyden. Within an hour of their arrival the Count called, and was admitted.
“Stay with me,” said Lysbeth to her Aunt Clara as the visitor was announced, and for a while she stayed. Then, making an excuse, she vanished from the room, and Lysbeth was left face to face with her tormentor.
“Why do you come here?” she asked; “I have given you my answer.”
“I come for your own sake,” he replied, “to give you my reasons for conduct which you may think strange. You remember a certain conversation?”
“Perfectly,” broke in Lysbeth.
“A slight mistake, I think, Jufvrouw, I mean a conversation about an excellent friend of yours, whose spiritual affairs seem to interest you.”