One?

The thought was comforting, still Lysbeth felt upset, and not a little
rejoiced when she saw Dirk van Goorl skating towards her accompanied by
another young man, also a cousin of her own on her mother's side who
was destined in days to come to earn himself an immortal renown--young
Pieter van de Werff. The two took off their bonnets to her, Dirk van
Goorl revealing in the act a head of fair hair beneath which his steady
blue eyes shone in a rather thick-set, self-contained face. Lysbeth's
temper, always somewhat quick, was ruffled, and she showed it in her
manner.

"I thought, cousins, that we were to meet at three, and the kirk clock
yonder has just chimed half-past," she said, addressing them both, but
looking--not too sweetly--at Dirk van Goorl.

"That's right, cousin," answered Pieter, a pleasant-faced and alert
young man, "look at _him_, scold _him_, for he is to blame. Ever since a
quarter past two have I--I who must drive a sledge in the great race and
am backed to win--been waiting outside that factory in the snow, but,
upon my honour, he did not appear until seven minutes since. Yes, we
have done the whole distance in seven minutes, and I call that very good
skating."

"I thought as much," said Lysbeth. "Dirk can only keep an appointment
with a church bell or a stadhuis chandelier."

"It was not my fault," broke in Dirk in his slow voice; "I have my
business to attend. I promised to wait until the metal had cooled
sufficiently, and hot bronze takes no account of ice-parties and sledge
races."

"So I suppose that you stopped to blow on it, cousin. Well, the result
is that, being quite unescorted, I have been obliged to listen to things
which I did not wish to hear."

"What do you mean?" asked Dirk, taking fire at once.

Then she told them something of what the woman who called herself the
Mare had said to her, adding, "Doubtless the poor creature is a heretic
and deserves all that has happened to her. But it is dreadfully sad, and
I came here to enjoy myself, not to be sad."

Between the two young men there passed a glance which was full of
meaning. But it was Dirk who spoke. The other, more cautious, remained
silent.

"Why do you say that, Cousin Lysbeth?" he asked in a new voice, a voice
thick and eager. "Why do you say that she deserves all that can happen
to her? I have heard of this poor creature who is called Mother Martha,
or the Mare, although I have never seen her myself. She was nobl