Hyde was an excellent swordsman, and had fought several duels; but he was quite disconcerted by the deadly reality of Neil's attack. In the second thrust, his foot got entangled in a tuft of gra.s.s; and, in evading a lunge aimed at his heart, he fell on his right side.

Supporting himself, however, on his sword hand, he sprang backwards with great dexterity, and thus escaped the probable death-blow. But, as he was bleeding from a wound in the throat, his second interfered, and proposed a reconciliation. Neil angrily refused to listen. He declared that he "had not come to enact a farce;" and then, happening to glance at the ribbon on Hyde's breast, he swore furiously, "He would make his way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just anger."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The swords of both men sprung from their hands]

Up to this point, there had been in Hyde's mind a latent disinclination to slay Neil. After it, he flung away every kind memory; and the fight was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until there ensued one of those close locks which it was evident nothing but "the key of the body could open." In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of both men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with the force. Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both, bleeding and exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that moment Van Heemskirk and Semple, with their attendants, reached the spot.

Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men,--Van Heemskirk facing Hyde, and the elder his son. "Neil, you dear lad, you born fool, gie me your weapon instanter, sir!" But there was no need to say another word. Neil fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Hyde's breast; for Hyde had also dropped fainting to the ground, bleeding from at least half a dozen wounds. Then one of Semple's young men, who had probably defined the cause of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made as if he would pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson in Hyde's blood.

But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away. "To touch it would be the vilest theft," he said. "His own it is. With his life he has bought it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tail-piece]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Chapter heading]

VII.

"_I know I felt Love's face Pressed on my neck, with moan of pity and grace, Till both our heads were in his aureole_."

The news of the duel spread with the proverbial rapidity of evil news.

At the doors of all the public houses, in every open shop, on every private stoop, and at the street-corners, people were soon discussing the event, with such additions and comments as their imaginations and prejudices suggested. One party insisted that lawyer Semple was dead; another, that it was the English officer; a third, that both died as they were being carried from the ground.

Batavius, who had lingered to the last moment at the house which he was building, heard the story from many a lip as he went home. He was bitterly indignant at Katherine. He felt, indeed, as if his own character for morality of every kind had been smirched by his intended connection with her. And his Joanna! How wicked Katherine had been not to remember that she had a sister whose spotless name would be tarnished by her kinship! He was hot with haste and anger when he reached Van Heemskirk's house.

Madam stood with Joanna on the front-stoop, looking anxiously down the road. She was aware that Bram had called for his father, and she had heard them leave the house together in unexplained haste. At first, the incident did not trouble her much. Perhaps one of the valuable Norman horses was sick, or there was an unexpected ship in, or an unusually large order. Bram was a young man who relied greatly on his father. She only worried because supper must be delayed an hour, and that delay would also keep back the completion of that exquisite order in which it was her habit to leave the house for the sabbath rest.

After some time had elapsed, she went upstairs, and began to lay out the clean linen and the kirk clothes. Suddenly she noticed that it was nearly dark; and, with a feeling of hurry and anxiety, she remembered the delayed meal. Joanna was on the front-stoop watching for Batavius, who was also unusually late; and, like many other loving women, she could think of nothing good which might have detained him, but her heart was full only of evil apprehensions.

"Where is Katherine?" That was the mother's first question, and she called her through the house. From the closed best parlour, Katherine came, white and weeping.

"What is the matter, then, that you are crying? And why into the dark room go you?"

"Full of sorrow I am, mother, and I went to the room to pray to G.o.d; but I cannot pray."

"'Full of sorrow.' Yes, for that Englishman you are full of sorrow. And how can you pray when you are disobeying your good father? G.o.d will not hear you."

The mother was not pitiless; but she was anxious and troubled, and Katherine's grief irritated her at the moment. "Go and tell Dinorah to bring in the tea. The work of the house must go on," she muttered. "And I think, that it was Sat.u.r.day night Joris might have remembered."

Then she went back to Joanna, and stood with her, looking through the gray mist down the road, and feeling even the croaking of the frogs and the hum of the insects to be an unusual provocation. Just as Dinorah said, "The tea is served, madam," the large figure of Batavius loomed through the gathering grayness; and the women waited for him. He came up the steps without his usual greeting; and his face was so injured and portentous that Joanna, with a little cry, put her arms around his neck.

He gently removed them.

"No time is this, Joanna, for embracing. A great disgrace has come to the family; and I, who have always stood up for morality, must bear it too."

"Disgrace! The word goes not with our name, Batavius; and what mean you, then? In one word, speak."

But Batavius loved too well any story that was to be wondered over, to give it in a word; though madam's manner snubbed him a little, and he said, with less of the air of a wronged man,--

"Well, then, Neil Semple and Captain Hyde have fought a duel. That is what comes of giving way to pa.s.sion. I never fought a duel. No one should make me. It is a fixed principle with me."

"But what? And how?"

"With swords they fought. Like two devils they fought, as if to pieces they would cut each other."

"Poor Neil! His fault I am sure it was not."

"Joanna! Neil is nearly dead. If he had been in the right, he would not be nearly dead. The Lord does not forsake a person who is in the right way."

In the hall behind them Katherine stood. The pallor of her face, the hopeless droop of her white shoulders and arms, were visible in its gloomy shadows. Softly as a spirit she walked as she drew nearer to them.

"And the Englishman? Is he hurt?"

"Killed. He has at least twenty wounds. Till morning he will not live.

It was the councillor himself who separated the men."

"My good Joris, it was like him."

For a moment Katherine's consciousness reeled. The roar of the ocean which girds our life round was in her ears, the feeling of chill and collapse at her heart. But with a supreme will she took possession of herself. "Weak I will not be. All I will know. All I will suffer." And with these thoughts she went back to the room, and took her place at the table. In a few minutes the rest followed. Batavius did not speak to her. It was also something of a cross to him that madam would not talk of the event. He did not think that Katherine deserved to have her ill-regulated feelings so far considered, and he had almost a sense of personal injury in the restraint of the whole household.

He had antic.i.p.ated madam's amazement and shock. He had felt a just satisfaction in the suffering he was bringing to Katherine. He had determined to point out to Joanna the difference between herself and her sister, and the blessedness of her own lot in loving so respectably and prudently as she had done. But nothing had happened as he expected. The meal, instead of being pleasantly lengthened over such dreadful intelligence, was hurried and silent. Katherine, instead of making herself an image of wailing or unconscious remorse, sat like other people at the table, and pretended to drink her tea.

It was some comfort that after it Joanna and he could walk in the garden, and talk the affair thoroughly over. Katherine watched them away, and then she fled to her room. For a few minutes she could let her sorrow have way, and it would help her to bear the rest. And oh, how she wept! She took from their hiding-place the few letters her lover had written her, and she mourned over them as women mourn in such extremities. She kissed the words with pa.s.sionate love; she vowed, amid her broken e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of tenderness, to be faithful to him if he lived, to be faithful to his memory if he died. She never thought of Neil; or, if she did, it was with an anger that frightened her. In the full tide of her anguish, Lysbet stood at the door. She heard the inarticulate words of woe, and her heart ached for her child. She had followed her to give her comfort, to weep with her; but she felt that hour that Katherine was no more a child to be soothed with her mother's kiss. She had become a woman, and a woman's sorrow had found her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Oh, how she wept!]

It was near ten o'clock when Joris came home. His face was troubled, his clothing disarranged and blood-stained; and Lysbet never remembered to have seen him so completely exhausted. "Bram is with Neil," he said; "he will not be home."

"And thou?"

"I helped them carry--the other. To the 'King's Arms' we took him. A strong man was needed until their work the surgeons had done. I stayed; that is all."

"Live will he?"

"His right lung is pierced clean through. A bad wound in the throat he has. At death's door is he, from loss of the blood. But then, youth he has, and a great spirit, and hope. I wish not for his death, my G.o.d knows."

"Neil, what of him?"

"Unconscious he was when I left him at his home. I stayed not there. His father and his mother were by his side; Bram also. Does Katherine know?"

"She knows."

"How then?"

"O Joris, if in her room thou could have heard her crying! My heart for her aches, the sorrowful one!"

"See, then, that this lesson she miss not. It is a hard one, but learn it she must. If thy love would pa.s.s it by, think this, for her good it is. Many bitter things are in it. What unkind words will now be said!

Also, my share in the matter I must tell in the kirk session; and Dominie de Ronde is not one slack in giving the reproof. With our own people a disgrace it will be counted. Can I not hear Van Vleek grumble, 'Well, now, I hope Joris Van Heemskirk has had enough of his fine English company;' and Elder Brouwer will say, 'He must marry his daughter to an Englishman; and, see, what has come of it;' and that evil old woman, Madam Van Corlaer, will shake her head and whisper, 'Yes, neighbours, and depend upon it, the girl is of a light mind and bad morals, and it is her fault; and I shall take care my nieces to her speak no more.' So it will be; Katherine herself will find it so."