Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch by H. Rider Haggard
Adrian woke up that morning in an ill mood. He had, it is true,administered his love potion with singular dexterity and success, but asyet he reaped no fruit from his labours, and was desperately afraid lestthe effect of the magic draught might wear off. When he came downstairsit was to find that Foy and Martin were already departed to the factory,and that his stepfather had gone out, whither he knew not. This was somuch to the good, for it left the coast clear. Still he was none thebetter off, since either his mother and Elsa had taken their breakfastupstairs, or they had dispensed with that meal. His mother he couldspare, especially after her recent contact with a plague patient, butunder the circumstances Elsa's absence was annoying. Moreover, suddenlythe house had become uncomfortable, for every one in it seemed to berunning about carrying articles hither and thither in a fashion soaimless that it struck him as little short of insane. Once or twicealso he saw Elsa, but she, too, was carrying things, and had no time forconversation.
At length Adrian wearied of it and departed to the factory with theview of making up his books, which, to tell the truth, had been somewhatneglected of late, to find that here, too, the same confusion reigned.Instead of attending to his ordinary work, Martin was marching to andfro bearing choice pieces of brassware, which were being packed intocrates, and he noticed, for Adrian was an observant young man, that hewas not wearing his usual artisan's dress. Why, he wondered to himself,should Martin walk about a factory upon a summer's day clad in hisarmour of quilted bull's hide, and wearing his great sword Silencestrapped round his middle? Why, too, should Foy have removed the booksand be engaged in going through them with a clerk? Was he auditingthem? If so, he wished him joy of the job, since to bring them to asatisfactory balance had proved recently quite beyond his own powers.Not that there was anything wrong with the books, for he, Adrian, hadkept them quite honestly according to his very imperfect lights, onlythings must have been left out, for balance they would not. Well, on thewhole, he was glad, since a man filled with lover's hopes and fears wasin no mood for arithmetical exercises, so, after hanging about for awhile, he returned home to dinner.
The meal was late, an unusual occurrence, which annoyed him; moreover,neither his mother nor his stepfather appeared at table. At length Elsacame in looking pale and worried, and they began to eat, or rather togo through the form of eating, since neither of them seemed to have anyappetite. Nor, as the servant was continually in the room, and as Elsatook her place at one end of the long table while he was at the other,had their _tete-a-tete_ any of the usual advantages.
At last the waiting-woman went away, and, after a few moment's pause,Elsa rose to follow. By this time Adrian was desperate. He would bear itno more; things must be brought to a head.
"Elsa," he said, in an irritated voice, "everything seems to be veryuncomfortable here to-day, there is so much disturbance in the housethat one might imagine we were going to shut it up and leave Leyden."
Elsa looked at him out of the corners of her eyes; probably by this timeshe had learnt the real cause of the disturbance.
"I am sorry, Heer Adrian," she said, "but your mother is not very wellthis morning."
"Indeed; I only hope she hasn't caught the plague from the Jansen woman;but that doesn't account for everybody running about with their handsfull, like ants in a broken nest, especially as it is not the timeof year when women turn all the furniture upside down and throw thecurtains out of the windows in the pretence that they are cleaning them.However, we are quiet here for a while, so let us talk."
Elsa became suspicious. "Your mother wants me, Heer Adrian," she said,turning towards the door.
"Let her rest, Elsa, let her rest; there is no medicine like sleep forthe sick."
Elsa pretended not to hear him, so, as she still headed for the door, bya movement too active to be dignified, he placed himself in front of it,adding, "I have said that I want to speak with you."
"And I have said that I am busy, Heer Adrian, so please let me pass."
Adrian remained immovable. "Not until I have spoken to you," he said.
Now as escape was impossible Elsa drew herself up and asked in a coldvoice:
"What is your pleasure? I pray you, be brief."
Adrian cleared his throat, reflecting that she was keeping the workingsof the love potion under wonderful control; indeed to look at her noone could have guessed that she had recently absorbed this magic Easternmedicine. However, something must be done; he had gone too far to drawback.
"Elsa," he said boldly, though no hare could have been more frightened,"Elsa," and he clasped his hands and looked at the ceiling, "I love youand the time has come to say so."
"If I remember right it came some time ago, Heer Adrian," she repliedwith sarcasm. "I thought that by now you had forgotten all about it."
"Forgotten!" he sighed, "forgotten! With you ever before my eyes how canI forget?"
"I am sure I cannot say," she answered, "but I know that I wish toforget this folly."
"Folly! She calls it folly!" he mused aloud. "Oh, Heaven, folly is thename she gives to the life-long adoration of my bleeding heart!"
"You have known me exactly five weeks, Heer Adrian----"
"Which, sweet lady, makes me desire to know you for fifty years."
Elsa sighed, for she found the prospect dreary.
"Come," he went on with a gush, "forego this virgin coyness, you havedone enough and more than enough for honour, now throw aside pretence,lay down your arms and yield. No hour, I swear, of this long fight willbe so happy to you as that of your sweet surrender, for remember,dear one, that I, your conqueror, am in truth the conquered. I,abandoning----"
He got no further, for at this point the sorely tried Elsa lost controlof herself, but not in the fashion which he hoped for and expected.
"Are you crazed, Heer Adrian," she asked, "that you should insist thusin pouring this high-flown nonsense into my ears when I have told youthat it is unwelcome to me? I understand that you ask me for my love.Well, once for all I tell you that I have none to give."
This was a blow, since it was impossible for Adrian to put afavourable construction upon language so painfully straightforward. Hisself-conceit was pierced at last and collapsed like a pricked bladder.
"None to give!" he gasped, "none to give! You don't mean to tell me thatyou have given it to anybody else?"
"Yes, I do," she answered, for by now Elsa was thoroughly angry.
"Indeed," he replied loftily. "Let me see; last time it was yourlamented father who occupied your heart. Perhaps now it is thatexcellent giant, Martin, or even--no, it is too absurd"--and he laughedin his jealous rage, "even the family buffoon, my worthy brother Foy."
"Yes," she replied quietly, "it is Foy."
"Foy! Foy! Hear her, ye gods! My successful rival, mine, is theyellow-headed, muddy-brained, unlettered Foy--and they say that womenhave souls! Of your courtesy answer me one question. Tell me when didthis strange and monstrous thing happen? When did you declare yourselfvanquished by the surpassing charms of Foy?"
"Yesterday afternoon, if you want to know," she said in the same calmand ominous voice.
Adrian heard, and an inspiration took him. He dashed his hand to hisbrow and thought a moment; then he laughed loud and shrilly.
"I have it," he said. "It is the love charm which has worked perversely.Elsa, you are under a spell, poor woman; you do not know the truth. Igave you the philtre in your drinking water, and Foy, the traitorFoy, has reaped its fruits. Dear girl, shake yourself free from thisdelusion, it is I whom you really love, not that base thief of hearts,my brother Foy."
"What do you say? You gave me a philtre? You dare to doctor my drinkwith your heathen nastiness? Out of the way, sir! Stand off, and neverventure to speak to me again. Well will it be for you if I do not tellyour brother of your infamy."
What happened after this Adrian could never quite remember, but a visionremained of himself crouching to one side, and of a door flung back soviolently that it threw him against the wall;
For a while he was crushed, quite crushed; the blow had gone home.Adrian was not only a fool, he was also the vainest of fools. Thatany young woman on whom he chose to smile should actually reject hisadvances was bad and unexpected, but that the other man should beFoy--oh! this was infamous and inexplicable. He was handsomer than Foy,no one would dream of denying it. He was cleverer and better read, hadhe not mastered the contents of every known romance--high-souled workswhich Foy bluntly declared were rubbish and refused even to open? Washe not a poet? But remembering a certain sonnet he did not follow thiscomparison. In short, how was it conceivable that a woman lookingupon himself, a very type of the chivalry of Spain, silver-tongued, afollower--nay, a companion of the Muses, one to whom in every previousadventure of the heart to love had been to conquer, could still preferthat broad-faced, painfully commonplace, if worthy, young representativeof the Dutch middle classes, Foy van Goorl?
It never occurred to Adrian to ask himself another question, namely,how it comes about that eight young women out of ten are endowed withan intelligence or instinct sufficiently keen to enable them todiscriminate between an empty-headed popinjay of a man, intoxicatedwith the fumes of his own vanity, and an honest young fellow ofstable character and sterling worth? Not that Adrian was altogetherempty-headed, for in some ways he was clever; also beneath all this foamand froth the Dutch strain inherited from his mother had given a certainballast and determination to his nature. Thus, when his heart wasthoroughly set upon a thing, he could be very dogged and patient. Nowit _was_ set upon Elsa Brant, he did truly desire to win her above anyother woman, and that he had left a different impression upon hermind was owing largely to the affected air and grandiloquent style oflanguage culled from his precious romances which he thought it right toassume when addressing a lady upon matters of the affections.
For a little while he was prostrate, his heart seemed swept clean of allhope and feeling. Then his furious temper, the failing that, above everyother, was his curse and bane, came to his aid and occupied it like theseven devils of Scripture, bringing in its train his re-awakened vanity,hatred, jealousy, and other maddening passions. It could not be true,there must be an explanation, and, of course, the explanation was thatFoy had been so fortunate, or so cunning as to make advances to Elsasoon after she had swallowed the love philtre. Adrian, like most peoplein his day, was very superstitious and credulous. It never even occurredto him to doubt the almost universally accepted power and efficacy ofthis witch's medicine, though even now he understood what a fool he waswhen, in his first outburst of rage, he told Elsa that he had trusted tosuch means to win her affections, instead of letting his own virtues andgraces do their natural work.
Well, the mischief was done, the poison was swallowed, but--most poisonshave their antidotes. Why was he lingering here? He must consult hisfriend, the Master, and at once.
Ten minutes later Adrian was at Black Meg's house.