Perhaps she swooned, perhaps she slept and dreamed this dream; perhaps the sharp rushing air overcame her. At the least Lysbeth’s eyes closed and her mind gave way. When they opened and it returned again their sledge was rushing past the winning post. But in front of it travelled another sledge, drawn by a gaunt grey horse, which galloped so hard that its belly seemed to lie upon the ice, a horse driven by a young man whose face was set like steel and whose lips were as the lips of a trap.
Could that be the face of her cousin Pieter van de Werff, and, if so, what passion had stamped that strange seal thereon? She turned herself in her seat and looked at him who drove her.
Was this a man, or was it a spirit escaped from doom? Blessed Mother of Christ! what a countenance! The eyeballs starting and upturned, nothing but the white of them to be seen; the lips curled, and, between, two lines of shining fangs; the lifted points of the mustachios touching the high cheekbones. No—no, it was neither a spirit nor a man, she knew now what it was; it was the very type and incarnation of the Spanish Wolf.
Once more she seemed to faint, while in her ears there rang the cry—“The Hollander! Outstayed! Outstayed! Conquered is the accursed Spaniard!”
Then Lysbeth knew that it was over, and again the faintness overpowered her.
When Lysbeth’s mind recovered from its confusion she found herself still in the sledge and beyond the borders of the crowd that was engaged in rapturously congratulating the winner. Drawn up alongside of the Wolf was another sleigh of plain make, and harnessed to it a heavy Flemish horse. This vehicle was driven by a Spanish soldier, with whom sat a second soldier apparently of the rank of sergeant. There was no one else near; already people in the Netherlands had learnt to keep their distance from Spanish soldiers.
“If your Excellency would come now,” the sergeant was saying, “this little matter can be settled without any further trouble.”
“Not more than a mile or so away, near the place called Steene Veld.”
“Tie her up in the snow to wait till to-morrow morning. My horse is tired and it may save us trouble,” he began, then added, after glancing back at the crowd behind him and next at Lysbeth, “no, I will come.”