We had halted behind some willows that overhung the brook beneath the Kissing Bridge. Over this bridge ran the road, which led north from the city through the length of the island to Harlem, passing on the way the manor-house and park of Patroon Van Volkenberg. We had scarcely concealed ourselves behind the bushes when the forward members of the cavalcade came in sight. Two horsemen led the way, wearing the red band upon their arms and carrying blue pennants upon staves that were thrust into their stirrups. Next came the patroon. At his side rode a slight, almost dwarflike man with pale features and snow white hair.

“That is Louis Van Ramm,” whispered Pierre as the dwarf drew near the bridge. “It was he let loose the dogs on me.”

The patroon himself, who sat his horse firm and erect, looked forty-five or fifty years of age. From time to time he would turn in the saddle and glance back with satisfaction upon his score of followers, who rode two and two behind him. He was their feudal chief. The clanking of their harness, the irregular clatter of the horses’ feet upon the hard road, the look of respect with which every eye met his—all this inspired the patroon with the feeling of satisfaction that showed so plainly in his finely modeled face. They rode by, over the hollow sounding bridge and up the long hill, till the last sharp sounds fainted in the distance. Only the rustling tree tops and the rippling brook remained to disturb the soft stillness of the autumn afternoon.

Pierre rose and I followed him; first up a steep footpath and then along the highroad till we came within sight of the town. When we arrived at Lady Marmaduke’s, Pierre led the way to the back entrance, telling me to wait in the servant’s hall while he sought admittance to my lady’s presence. He soon returned to me with the command to follow him.

“She will talk to you,” he said, as we threaded a long, dimly lighted corridor. “Do not fear. She is a good friend though a hard woman. I have let her know what I have already told you. She will tell you what else there is to be known.”

In answer to Pierre’s knock a soft voice bade me enter. It was not such a voice as would suggest the “hard woman” of Pierre’s description. It was the tender, feeling voice I had heard when Lady Marmaduke spoke to the people about her husband—when she spoke to them tremblingly, straight from the bottom of her heart. Pierre thrust aside the drapery of the door and I stepped into the room alone.

Lady Marmaduke was in the farther end of it, half leaning, half sitting upon the arm of a chair. One hand rested against her hip, the other shaded her eyes while she watched my entrance. I had not taken three steps before she rose and came forward to greet me with kindness. Even in the half light of the room I could catch the sweet expression of her face. Despite the sorrow in my heart, I noticed how tall and straight she was, and how well formed. Though her face looked sweet and soft, when she took my hand she gripped it with the strength of a man, looking me withal squarely in the face as if she would read me through and through.

“Sit down,” she said with a firm air of command. The very tone of her voice was soothing and made me want to do her will. When I had obeyed her, she seated herself by my side and took my hand again. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-five,” I answered mechanically, for I was still half dazed.

“Then I shall call you Michael, for we are to be good friends and I am old enough to be your mother. Pierre has told me about you and what it is you want. It is sad news I have to tell you, sadder news than his; yes, much sadder. But I should not hold back. You are a brave man, are you not?”

She paused and cast her eyes upon the floor. In spite of her assertion that she should not hold back, she found her task a hard one, and she was loth to begin it. “I think I have seen you before. Were you not with the dominie when I found Pierre?”

I nodded and for a while we were both silent.

“Madam,” I said at length. “Anything is better than suspense.”

“Poor child,” she murmured tenderly.

Even yet she must cross the room to adjust the curtains before she found voice to continue. She resumed her seat by my side and cleared her throat two or three times.

“It is seven or eight months since your sister entered service at the manor-house. For a while all went well enough. I heard often about her through Annetje Dorn. But things never go well there for long at a time. I saw Ruth now and then and her cheeks grew pale and her eyes hollow. I think she must have done much weeping. She found her lot a hard one, much harder perhaps because the patroon cast longing glances at her pretty, winsome face. Yet he held her only as his chattel. One morning she was found in her bed—dead, Michael Le Bourse—dead on the twelfth day of last July—I say the twelfth of July.”

Short as her narrative had been, Lady Marmaduke had worked herself into a state of excitement that I could not comprehend. It was certainly not due to me nor to her interest in my affairs, for she rose and strode up and down the room as if talking to herself and utterly oblivious of my presence, all the time snapping her long fingers in anger. A hound asleep in one corner of the room awoke and came leaping towards her. She exclaimed a sharp word of rebuke and the dog slunk back with his tail between his legs. After five minutes more of this behavior she stopped in front of me, her tall, spare figure swaying slowly like a tree trunk. I rose instinctively.

“Yes, Monsieur Le Bourse, I remember the day well. On the twelfth of July Sir Evelin Marmaduke was lost on the river. His boat drifted with the tide and was crushed to kindling wood in Hell-Gate. So runs the tale of my husband’s death. It was Kilian Van Volkenberg brought that news. Why should he be the first to know it? Before God, he shall have his reward! And the next day your sister was found dead in her bed.”

Again she fell to walking back and forth through the room, now like a moving statue between me and the window, now rustling darkly against the hangings on the wall. Soon she was master of her passion and returned to my side.

“There is no truth known of how she met her death. Without doubt she tried once to escape. She was followed and captured by the patroon, brought back and branded on the shoulder with a red hot iron.”

A cry of horror burst from my lips. She caught me by the arm.

“Hush! It was unskilfully done, says the patroon. Her weak body could not stand the torture and she died. That is his story, but it is a lie. It is a lie—for I—I stood in the dead of night and saw the grave dug up. I looked at her body with my own eyes. She had not been branded.”

We had resumed our seats. I felt like moaning but I had no voice for words. This strong woman charmed me as by a spell. Her manner showed that there was still worse to come.

“Yet she had died, and in some way that the patroon found it necessary to lie about in order to conceal the truth. Annetje has told Pierre that on the night your sister died she is sure she heard the patroon visit your sister’s room.

“Don’t,” I cried. “Anything but that. I cannot stand that. My Ruth, my little Ruth!” I fell to weeping and found great relief in tears. Lady Marmaduke became all tenderness. She stroked my hands, and then put her arm about me and walked up and down the room as if I were a girl. It was long since I had felt the need of an arm to rest on, but I turned to the strength of hers like a child to its mother.

At length she stopped short and took her supporting arm away from me. “You will have time enough to grieve,” she said. “You must be a man now.” I looked into her face and understood why Pierre had called her a hard woman. But perhaps he had never seen her other side as I had! “Yes, Michael,” she continued. “It is time you trod upon your weakness and became a man. Do you not see your duty? Are you not ready to take your right?” She held me off at arm’s length and looked sternly into my eyes as she pronounced the word “Revenge.”

“I shall kill him to-night,” I answered.

Her only response was a sharp snap of her fingers. The hound she had rebuked before bounded joyfully to her side. She stooped and parted his shaggy hair with her fingers.

“See,” she said, showing me a deep scar upon his side. “This was the work of the patroon. The dog would have torn him to pieces but I called him back. Would you have me kill him with a dog? No—I have a score of servants in my house who would do as you say you would do, servants who would kill him to-night if I lifted my hand. But you are not my servant nor shall you do it either.”

“But——” I remonstrated, and got no further before she interrupted me.

“Don’t but me! You and Pierre and I—each of us has his word to say to the patroon. But we shall say it like men. Though Van Volkenberg is a merchant he knows what war is and understands the game of life. What is death to such a man as he is if he does not know why he dies. I shall ruin him first. With the help of Earl Richard, I shall make him taste of the bitterness of life before I give him death to sweeten his woe. Before God, he shall find death sweet unless I fail. You shall not kill him till I give the word. Do you promise?”

She laid her hand upon the cross-shaped hilt of my sword.

“Will you swear upon your sword? Will you stay here, not as my servant but as my friend? Will you work with me to bring God’s judgment on this Roman Catholic?”

Her last reference wakened all my bitter thoughts. I fell on my knees before her and took one of her hands between mine as the old custom is.

“I swear to be your man,” I cried. “I will be loyal to you and to the Earl, who is your friend. My sister’s blood shall not dry unavenged, but I surrender myself to you. Henceforth I swear to be your man.”

She lifted me and kissed me on the forehead. “We have free manners here, Michael. If you have a sister whose blood cries out, I have a husband’s. The patroon brought the news of his death. I know he murdered Sir Evelin. I have seen it in my dreams. This great hate of mine could not come without some cause in nature. We shall play well together, Michael, you and I.”

She took me by the arm and led me through the passages of the house, through many turnings and up narrow stairs to a little gable room.

“This shall be your room. I will instruct the servants that you are to come and go as you please. I am setting out now to keep an appointment with the Earl. He too is engaged in a death struggle with the patroon. Methinks the three of us shall win a victory.”

With that she left me alone. I glanced about the room which contained everything for a person’s comfort. From the window I could look out beyond the Wall to the rolling hills covered with woodland. Then I threw myself upon the bed and put my face in my hands.