back at the crowd behind him and next at Lysbeth, "no, I will come."

Perhaps the Count did not wish to listen to condolences on his defeat,
or perhaps he desired to prolong the _tete-a-tete_ with his fair
passenger. At any rate, without further hesitation, he struck his weary
horse with the whip, causing it to amble forward somewhat stiffly but at
a good pace.

"Where are we going, Senor?" asked Lysbeth anxiously. "The race is over
and I must seek my friends."

"Your friends are engaged in congratulating the victor, lady," he
answered in his suave and courteous voice, "and I cannot leave you alone
upon the ice. Do not trouble; this is only a little matter of business
which will scarcely take a quarter of an hour," and once more he struck
the horse urging it to a better speed.

Lysbeth thought of remonstrating, she thought even of springing from the
sledge, but in the end she did neither. To seem to continue the drive
with her cavalier would, she determined, look more natural and less
absurd than to attempt a violent escape from him. She was certain that
he would not put her down merely at her request; something in his manner
told her so, and though she had no longing for his company it was
better than being made ridiculous before half the inhabitants of Leyden.
Moreover, the position was no fault of hers; it was the fault of Dirk
van Goorl, who should have been present to take her from the sledge.

As they drove along the frozen moat Montalvo leant forward and began to
chat about the race, expressing regret at having lost it, but using no
angry or bitter words. Could this be the man, wondered Lysbeth as