“Will not you, Vrouw Margaret, have pity on me? Will you not interfere to save me from this cruel indignity?” he exclaimed, but the Vrouw Margaret calmly watched the proceedings of the sturdy Frieslander as if she highly approved of them.
“Will you go along quietly?” asked the Frieslander, after he had subjected the Baron for some minutes to this disagreeable treatment. “Say ‘yes,’ or ‘no;’ for, if you say ‘no,’ be prepared for another mouthful of mud.”
“Yes, yes; I will go!” cried the Baron, the conduct of the fair Vrouw cutting him to the heart.
“Well, then, I will let you get up; but remember, the instant you attempt to release yourself, down you go again, and perhaps in a less pleasant place than the last.” Saying this the sturdy Frieslander placed the Baron on his legs.
“Come, you must wash the mud off your face in yonder pool,” said the Frieslander, “for you look more ridiculous than you can well imagine.”
The Baron accepted his captor’s offer, for not only his mouth and nostrils, but his very eyes were filled with mud.
“Come, you look a little less ridiculous now,” said the Frieslander with a taunting laugh, as he led the Baron past the spot where, Vrouw Margaret was standing. In vain the Baron stretched out his hands and entreated her to plead for him, but she turned aside her head, and his captor dragged him along till they met Mynheer Bunckum and the rest of his men.
“I have got one of them!” cried the Frieslander. “What is to be done with him? I have not yet examined his pockets, so cannot say whether the stolen plate is in them.”
“We will soon ascertain that,” said Mynheer Bunckum.