As the day went on, therefore, I looked eagerly for Mistress Anne's return, but she appeared no more, though I maintained a close watch on the cabin-door. All the afternoon, too, the Duchess kept away from me, and I feared that I had seriously offended her; so that it was with no very pleasant anticipations that, going into that part of the deck-house which served us for a common room, to see if the evening meal was set, I found only the Duchess and Master Bertie prepared to sit down to it. I suppose that something of my feeling was expressed in my face, for while I was yet half-way between door and table, my lady gave way to a peal of merriment.

"Come, sit down, and do not be afraid!" she cried pleasantly, her gray eyes still full of laughter. "I vow the lad thinks I shall eat him. Nay, when all is said and done, I like you the better, Sir Knight Errant, for your scruples. I see that you are determined to act up to your name. But that reminds me," she added in a more serious vein. "We have been frank with you. You must be equally frank with us. What are we to call you, pray?"

I looked down at my plate and felt my face grow scarlet. The wound which the discovery of my father's treachery had dealt me had begun to heal. In the action, the movement, the adventure of the last fortnight, I had well-nigh lost sight of the blot on my escutcheon, of the shame which had driven me from home. But the question, "What are we to call you?" revived the smart, and revived it with an added pang. It had been very well, in theory, to proudly discard my old name. It was painful, in practice, to be unable to answer the Duchess, "I am a Cludde of Coton, nephew to Sir Anthony, formerly esquire of the body to King Henry. I am no unworthy follower and associate even for you," and to have instead to reply, "I have no name. I am nobody. I have all to make and win." Yet this was my ill-fortune.

Her woman's eye saw my trouble as I hesitated, confused and doubting what I should reply. "Come!" she said good-naturedly, trying to reassure me. "You are of gentle birth. Of that we feel sure."

I shook my head. "Nay, I am of no birth, madam," I answered hurriedly. "I have no name, or at any rate no name that I can be proud of. Call me--call me, if it please you, Francis Carey."

"It is a good name," quoth Master Bertie, pausing with his knife suspended in the air. "A right good Protestant name!"

"But I have no claim to it," I rejoined, mere and more hurt. "I have all to make. I am a new man. Yet do not fear!" I added quickly, as I saw what I took to be a cloud of doubt cross my lady's face. "I will follow you no less faithfully for that!"

"Well," said the Duchess, a smile again transforming her open features, "I will answer for that, Master Carey. Deeds are better than names, and as for being a new man, what with Pagets and Cavendishes and Spencers, we have nought but new men nowadays. So, cheer up!" she continued kindly. "And we will poke no questions at you, though I doubt whether you do not possess more birth and breeding than you would have us think. And if, when we return to England, as I trust we may before we are old men and women, we can advance your cause, then let us have your secret. No one can say that Katherine Willoughby ever forgot her friend."

"Or forgave her enemy over quickly," quoth her husband naÏvely.

She rapped his knuckles with the back of her knife for that; and under cover of this small diversion I had time to regain my composure. But the matter left me sore at heart, and more than a little homesick. And I sought leave to retire early.

"You are right!" said the Duchess, rising graciously. "To-night, after being out in the air, you will sleep soundly, and to-morrow you will be a new man," with a faint smile. "Believe me, I am not ungrateful, Master Francis, and I will diligently seek occasion to repay both your gallant defense of the other day and your future service." She gave me her hand to kiss, and I bent over it. "Now," she continued, "do homage to my baby, and then I shall consider that you are really one of us, and pledged to our cause."

I kissed the tiny fist held out to me, a soft pink thing looking like some dainty sea-shell. Master Bertie cordially grasped my hand. And so under the oil-lamp in the neat cabin of that old Dutch boat, somewhere on the Waal between Gorcum and Nimuegen, we plighted our troth to one another, and in a sense I became one of them.

I went to my berth cheered and encouraged by their kindness. But the interview, satisfactory as it was, had set up no little excitement in my brain, and it was long before I slept. When I did I had a strange dream. I dreamed that I was sitting in the hall at Coton, and that Petronilla was standing on the dais looking fixedly at me with gentle, sorrowful eyes. I wanted to go to her, but I could not move; every dreamer knows the sensation. I tried to call to her, to ask her what was the matter, and why she so looked at me. But I could utter no sound. And still she continued to fix me with the same sad, reproachful eyes, in which I read a warning, yet could not ask its meaning.

I struggled so hard that at last the spell was in a degree broken. Following the direction of her eyes I looked down at myself, and saw fastened to the breast of my doublet the knot of blue velvet which she had made for my sword-hilt, and which I had ever since carried in my bosom. More, I saw, with a singular feeling of anger and sorrow, that a hand which came over my shoulder was tugging hard at the ribbon in the attempt to remove it.

This gave me horrible concern, yet at the moment I could not move nor do anything to prevent it. At last, making a stupendous effort, I awoke, my last experience, dreaming, being of the strange hand working at my breast. My first waking idea was the same, so that I threw out my arms, and cried aloud, and sat up. "Ugh!" I exclaimed, trembling in the intensity of my relief, as I looked about and welcomed the now familiar surroundings. "It was only a dream. It was----"

I stopped abruptly, my eyes falling on a form lurking in the doorway. I could see it only dimly by the light of a hanging lamp, which smoked and burned redly overhead. Yet I could see it. It was real, substantial--a waking figure; nevertheless, a faint touch of superstitious terror still clung to me. "Speak, please!" I asked. "Who is it?"

"It is only I," answered a soft voice, well known to me--Mistress Anne's. "I came in to see how you were," she continued, advancing a little, "and whether you were sleeping. I am afraid I awoke you. But you seemed," she added, "to be having such painful dreams that perhaps it was as well I did."

I was fumbling in my breast while she spoke; and certainly, whether in my sleep I had undone the fastenings or had loosened them intentionally before I lay down (though I could not remember doing so), my doublet and shirt were open at the breast. The velvet knot was safe, however, in that tiny inner pocket beside the letter, and I breathed again. "I am very glad you did awake me!" I replied, looking gratefully at her. "I was having a horrible dream. But how good it was of you to think of me--and when you are not well yourself, too."

"Oh, I am better," she murmured, her eyes, which glistened in the light, fixed steadily on me. "Much better. Now go to sleep again, and happier dreams to you. After to-night," she added pleasantly, "I shall no longer consider you as an invalid, nor intrude upon you."

And she was gone before I could reiterate my thanks. The door fell to, and I was alone, full of kindly feelings toward her, and of thankfulness that my horrible vision had no foundation. "Thank Heaven!" I murmured more than once, as I lay down; "it was only a dream."

Next day we reached Nimuegen, where we stayed a short time. Leaving that place in the afternoon, twenty-four hours' journeying, partly by river, partly, if I remember rightly, by canal, brought us to the neighborhood of Arnheim on the Rhine. It was the 1st of March, but the opening month belied its reputation. There was a brightness, a softness in the air, and a consequent feeling as of spring which would better have befitted the middle of April. All day we remained on deck enjoying the kindliness of nature, which was especially grateful to me, in whom the sap of health was beginning to spring again; and we were still there when one of those gorgeous sunsets which are peculiar to that country began to fling its hues across our path. We turned a jutting promontory, the boat began to fall off, and the captain came up, his errand to tell us that our journey was done.

We went eagerly forward at the news, and saw in a kind of bay, formed by a lake-like expansion of the river, a little island green and low, its banks trimly set with a single row of poplars. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile every way, and a channel one-fourth as wide separated it from the nearer shore of the river; to which, however, a long narrow bridge of planks laid on trestles gave access. On the outer side of the island, facing the river's course, stood a low white house, before which a sloping green terrace, also bordered with poplars, led down to a tiny pier. Behind and around the house were meadows as trim and neat as a child's toys, over which the eye roved with pleasure until it reached the landward side of the island, and there detected, nestling among gardens, a tiny village of half a dozen cottages. It was a scene of enchanting peace and quietude. As we slowly plowed our way up to the landing-place, I saw the rabbits stand to gaze at us, and then with a flick of their heels dart off to their holes. I marked the cattle moving homeward in a string, and heard the wild fowl rise in creek and pool with a whir of wings. I turned with a full heart to my neighbor. "Is it not lovely?" I cried with enthusiasm. "Is it not a peaceful place--a very Garden of Eden?"

I looked to see her fall into raptures such as women are commonly more prone to than men. But all women are not the same. Mistress Anne was looking, indeed, when I turned and surprised her, at the scene which had so moved me, but the expression of her face was sad and bitter and utterly melancholy. The weariness and fatigue I had often seen lurking in her eyes had invaded all her features. She looked five years older; no longer a girl, but a gray-faced, hopeless woman whom the sight of this peaceful haven rather smote to the heart than filled with anticipations of safety and repose.

It was but for a moment I saw her so. Then she dashed her hand across her eyes--though I saw no tears in them--and with a pettish exclamation turned away. "Poor girl!" I thought. "She, too, is homesick. No doubt this reminds her of some place at home, or of some person." I thought this the more likely, as Master Bertie came from Lincolnshire, which he said had many of the features of this strange land. And it was conceivable enough that she should know Lincolnshire too, being related to his wife.

I soon forgot the matter in the excitement of landing. A few minutes of bustle and it was over. The boat put out again; and we four were left face to face with two strangers, an elderly man and a girl, who had come down to the pier to meet us. The former, stout, bluff, and red-faced, with a thick gray beard and a gold chain about his neck, had the air of a man of position. He greeted us warmly. His companion, who hung behind him, somewhat shyly, was as pretty a girl as one could find in a month. A second look assured me of something more--that she formed an excellent foil to the piquant brightness and keen vivacity, the dark hair and nervous features of Mistress Anne. For the Dutch girl was fair and plump and of perfect complexion. Her hair was very light, almost flaxen indeed, and her eyes were softly and limpidly blue; grave, innocent, wondering eyes they were, I remember. I guessed rightly that she was the elderly man's daughter. Later I learned that she was his only child, and that her name was Dymphna.

He was a Master Lindstrom, a merchant of standing in Arnheim. He had visited England and spoke English fairly, and being under some obligations, it appeared, to the Duchess Katherine, was to be our host.

We all walked up the little avenue together. Master Lindstrom talking as he went to husband or wife, while his daughter and Mistress Anne came next, gazing each at each in silence, as women when they first meet will gaze, taking stock, I suppose, of a rival's weapons. I walked last, wondering why they had nothing to say to one another.

As we entered the house the mystery was explained. "She speaks no English," said Mistress Anne, with a touch of scorn.

"And we no Dutch," I answered, smiling. "Here in Holland I am afraid that she will have somewhat the best of us. Try her with Spanish."

"Spanish! I know none."

"Well, I do, a little."

"What, you know Spanish?" Mistress Anne's tone of surprise amounted almost to incredulity, and it flattered me, boy that I was. I dare say it would have flattered many an older head than mine. "You know Spanish? Where did you learn it?" she continued sharply.

"At home."

"At home! Where is that?" And she eyed me still more closely. "Where is your home, Master Carey? You have never told me."

But I had said already more than I intended, and I shook my head. "I mean," I explained awkwardly, "that I learned it in a home I once had. Now my home is here. At any rate I have no other."

The Dutch girl, standing patiently beside us, had looked first at one face and then at the other as we talked. We were all by this time in a long, low parlor, warmed by a pretty closed fireplace covered with glazed tiles. On the shelves of a great armoire, or dresser, at one end of the room appeared a fine show of silver plate. At the other end stood a tall linen-press of walnut-wood, handsomely carved; and even the gratings of the windows and the handles of the doors were of hammered iron-work. There were no rushes on the floor, which was made of small pieces of wood delicately joined and set together and brightly polished. But everything in sight was clean and trim to a degree which would have shamed our great house at Coton, where the rushes sometimes lay for a week unchanged. With each glance round I felt a livelier satisfaction. I turned to Mistress Dymphna.

"SeÑorita!" I said, mustering my noblest accent. "Beso los pies de usted! Habla usted Castillano?"

Mistress Anne stared, while the effect on the girl whom I addressed was greater than I had looked for, but certainly of a different kind. She started and drew back, an expression of offended dignity and of something like anger ruffling her placid face. Did she not understand? Yes, for after a moment's hesitation, and with a heightened color, she answered, "Si, SeÑor."

Her constrained manner was not promising, but I was going on to open a conversation if I could--for it looked little grateful of us to stand there speechless and staring--when Mistress Anne interposed. "What did you say to her? What was it?" she asked eagerly.

"I asked her if she spoke Spanish. That was all," I replied, my eyes on Dymphna's face, which still betrayed trouble of some kind, "except that I paid her the usual formal compliment. But what is she saying to her father?"

It was like the Christmas game of cross-questions. The girl and I had spoken in Spanish. I translated what we had said into English for Mistress Anne, and Mistress Dymphna turned it into Dutch for her father; an anxious look on her face which needed no translation.

"What is it?" asked Master Bertie, observing that something was wrong.

"It is nothing--nothing!" replied the merchant apologetically, though, as he spoke, his eyes dwelt on me curiously. "It is only that I did not know that you had a Spaniard in your company."

"A Spaniard?" Master Bertie answered. "We have none. This," pointing to me, "is our very good friend and faithful follower, Master Carey--an Englishman."

"To whom," added the Duchess, smiling gravely, "I am greatly indebted."

I hurriedly explained the mistake, and brought at once a smile of relief to the Mynheer's face. "Ah! pardon me, I beseech you," he said. "My daughter was in error." And he added something in Dutch which caused Mistress Dymphna to blush. "You know," he continued--"I may speak freely to you, since our enemies are in the main the same--you know that our Spanish rulers are not very popular with us, and grow less popular every day, especially with those who are of the reformed faith. We have learned some of us to speak their language, but we love them none the better for that."

"I can sympathize with you, indeed," cried the Duchess impulsively. "God grant that our country may never be in the same plight: though it looks as if this Spanish marriage were like to put us in it. It is Spain! Spain! Spain! and nothing else nowadays!"

"Nevertheless, the Emperor is a great and puissant monarch," rejoined the Arnheimer thoughtfully; "and could he rule us himself, we might do well. But his dominions are so large, he knows little of us. And worse, he is dying, or as good as dying. He can scarcely sit his horse, and rumor says that before the year is out he will resign the throne. Then we hear little good of his successor, your queen's husband, and look to hear less. I fear that there is a dark time before us, and God only knows the issue."

"And alone will rule it," Master Bertie rejoined piously.

This saying was in a way the keynote to the life we found our host living on his island estate. Peace, but peace with constant fear for an assailant, and religion for a supporter. Several times a week Master Lindstrom would go to Arnheim to superintend his business, and always after his return he would shake his head, and speak gravely, and Dymphna would lose her color for an hour or two. Things were going badly. The reformers were being more and more hardly dealt with. The Spaniards were growing more despotic. That was his constant report. And then I would see him, as he walked with us in orchard or garden, or sat beside the stove, cast wistful glances at the comfort and plenty round him. I knew that he was asking himself how long they would last. If they escaped the clutches of a tyrannical government, would they be safe in the times that were coming from the violence of an ill-paid soldiery? The answer was doubtful, or rather it was too certain.

I sometimes wondered how he could patiently foresee such possibilities, and take no steps, whatever the risk, to prevent them. At first I thought his patience sprang from the Dutch character. Later I traced its deeper roots to a simplicity of faith and a deep religious feeling, which either did not at that time exist in England, or existed only among people with whom I had never come into contact. Here they seemed common enough and real enough. These folks' faith sustained them. It was a part of their lives; a bulwark against the fear that otherwise would have overwhelmed them. And to an extent, too, which then surprised me, I found, as time went on, that the Duchess and Master Bertie shared this enthusiasm, although with them it took a less obtrusive form.

I was led at the time to think a good deal about this; and just a word I may say of myself, and of those days spent on the Rhine inland--that whereas before I had taken but a lukewarm interest in religious questions, and, while clinging instinctively to the teaching of my childhood, had conformed with a light heart rather than annoy my uncle, I came to think somewhat differently now; differently and more seriously. And so I have continued to think since, though I have never become a bigot; a fact I owe, perhaps, to Mistress Dymphna, in whose tender heart there was room for charity as well as faith. For she was my teacher.

Of necessity, since no other of our party could communicate with her, I became more or less the Dutch girl's companion. I would often, of an evening, join her on a wooden bench which stood under an elm on a little spit of grass looking toward the city, and at some distance from the house. Here, when the weather was warm, she would watch for her father's return; and here one day, while talking with her, I had the opportunity of witnessing a sight unknown in England, but which year by year was to become more common in the Netherlands, more heavily fraught with menace in Netherland eyes.

We happened to be so deeply engaged in watching the upper end of the reach at the time in question, where we expected each moment to see Master Lindstrom's boat round the point, that we saw nothing of a boat coming the other way, until the flapping of its sails, as it tacked, drew our eyes toward it. Even then in the boat itself I saw nothing strange, but in its passengers I did. They were swarthy, mustachioed men, who in the hundred poses they assumed, as they lounged on deck or leaned over the side, never lost a peculiar air of bravado. As they drew nearer to us the sound of their loud voices, their oaths and laughter reached us plainly, and seemed to jar on the evening stillness. Their bold, fierce eyes, raking the banks unceasingly, reached us at last. The girl by my side uttered a cry of alarm, and rose as if to retreat. But she sat down again, for behind us was an open stretch of turf, and to escape unseen was impossible. Already a score of eyes had marked her beauty, and as the boat drew abreast of us, I had to listen to the ribald jests and laughter of those on board. My ears tingled and my cheeks burned. But I could do nothing. I could only glare at them, and grind my teeth.

"Who are they?" I muttered. "The cowardly knaves!'

"Oh, hush! hush!" the girl pleaded. She had retreated behind me. And indeed I need not have put my question, for though I had never seen the Spanish soldiery, I had heard enough about them to recognize them now. In the year 1555 their reputation was at its height. Their fathers had overcome the Moors after a contest of centuries, and they themselves had overrun Italy and lowered the pride of France. As a result they had many military virtues and all the military vices. Proud, bloodthirsty, and licentious everywhere, it may be imagined that in the subject Netherlands, with their pay always in arrear, they were, indeed, people to be feared. It was seldom that even their commanders dared to check their excesses.

Yet, when the first flush of my anger had subsided, I looked after them, odd as it may seem, with mingled feelings. With all their faults they were few against many, a conquering race in a foreign land. They could boast of blood and descent. They were proud to call themselves the soldiers and gentlemen of Europe. I was against them, yet I admired them with a boy's admiration for the strong and reckless.

Of course I said nothing of this to my companion. Indeed, when she spoke to me I did not hear her. My thoughts had flown far from the burgher's daughter sitting by me, and were with my grandmother's people. I saw, in imagination, the uplands of Old Castile, as I had often heard them described, hot in summer and bleak in winter. I pictured the dark, frowning walls of Toledo, with its hundred Moorish trophies, the castles that crowned the hills around, the gray olive groves, and the box-clad slopes. I saw Palencia, where my grandmother, Petronilla de Vargas, was born; Palencia, dry and brown and sun-baked, lying squat and low on its plain, the eaves of its cathedral a man's height from the ground. All this I saw. I suppose the Spanish blood in me awoke and asserted itself at sight of those other Spaniards. And then--then I forgot it all as I heard behind me an alien voice, and I turned and found Dymphna had stolen from me and was talking to a stranger.