plead for her who was shamed and broken-hearted and
unfit to live. Even Dirk would think kindly of her when she was dead,
though, doubtless, now if he met her he would cover his eyes with his
hand. She was burning hot and she was thirsty. How cool the water would
be on this fevered night. What could be better than to slip into it and
slowly let it close above her poor aching head? She would go out and
look at the water; in that, at any rate, there could be no harm.

She wrapped herself in a long cloak and drew its hood over her head.
Then she slipped from the house and stole like a ghost through the
darkling streets and out of the Maren or Sea Poort, where the guard let
her pass thinking that she was a country woman returning to her village.
Now the moon was rising, and by the light of it Lysbeth recognised
the place. Here was the spot where she had stood on the day of the ice
carnival, when that woman who was called Martha the Mare, and who said
that she had known her father, had spoken to her. On that water she had
galloped in Montalvo's sledge, and up yonder canal the race was run.
She followed along its banks, remembering the reedy mere some miles
away spotted with islets that were only visited from time to time by
fishermen and wild-fowlers; the great Haarlemer Meer which covered many
thousands of acres of ground. That mere she felt must look very cool and
beautiful on such a night as this, and the wind would whisper sweetly
among the tall bulrushes which fringed its banks.

On Lysbeth went and on; it was a long, long walk, but at last she came
there, and, oh! the place was sweet and vast and lonely. For so far as
her eye could reach in the light of the low moon there was nothing but
glimmering water broken here and there by the reed-wreathed islands.
Hark! how the frogs croaked and the bitterns boomed among the rushes.
Look where the wild ducks swam leaving behind them broad trails of
silver as their breasts broke the surface of the great mere into
rippling lines.

There, on an island, not a bowshot from her, grew tufts of a daisy-like
marsh bloom, white flowers such as she remembered gathering when she was
a child. A desire came upon her to pluck some of these flowers, and the
water was shallow; surely she could wade to the island, or if not what
did it matter? Then she could turn to the bank again, or she might stay
to sleep a while in the water; what did it matter? She stepped from
the bank--how sweet and coo