ferent to him, as yet no
word had passed between them of love or marriage. How could he who was
a Lutheran ask a Catholic to become his wife without telling her the
truth? And if he told her the truth, and she consented to take the risk,
how could he drag her into that dreadful net? Supposing even that she
kept to her own faith, which of course she would be at liberty to do,
although equally, of course, he was bound to try to convert her, their
children, if they had any, must be brought up in his beliefs. Then,
sooner or later, might come the informer, that dreadful informer whose
shadow already lay heavy upon thousands of homes in the Netherlands, and
after the informer the officer, and after the officer the priest, and
after the priest the judge, and after the judge--the executioner and the
stake.

In this case, what would happen to Lysbeth? She might prove herself
innocent of the horrible crime of heresy, if by that time she was
innocent, but what would life become to the loving young woman whose
husband and children, perhaps, had been haled off to the slaughter
chambers of the Papal Inquisition? This was the true first cause why
Dirk had remained silent, even when he was sorely tempted to speak; yes,
although his instinct told him that his silence had been misinterpreted
and set down to over-caution, or indifference, or to unnecessary
scruples.

The next to wake up that morning was Lysbeth, who, if she was not
troubled with headache resulting from indulgence--and in that day
women of her class sometimes suffered from it--had pains of her own to
overcome. When sifted and classified these pains resolved themselves
into a sense of fiery indignation against Dirk van Goorl. Dirk had been
late for his appointment, alleging some ridiculous excuse about the
cooling of a bell, as though she cared whether the bell were hot or
cold, with the result that she had been thrown into the company of that
dreadful Martha the Mare. After the Mare--aggravated by Black Meg--came
the Spaniard. Here again Dirk had shown contemptible indifference and
insufficiency, for he allowed her to be forced into the Wolf sledge
against her will. Nay, he had actually consented to the thing. Next,
in a fateful sequence followed all the other incidents of that hideous
carnival; the race, the foul, if it was a foul; the dreadful nightmare
vision called into her mind by the look upon Montalvo's face; the trial
of the Mare, her own unpremeditated but inde