To some extent yes, but was not there more behind? Had she not been
influenced by the woman's invocation about the Spaniards, of which the
true meaning came home to her during that dreadful sledge race; at the
moment, indeed, when she saw the Satanic look upon the face of Montalvo?
It seemed to her that this was so, though at the time she had not
understood it; it seemed to her that she was not a free agent; that some
force pushed her forward which she could neither control nor understand.

Moreover--and this was the worst of it--she felt that little good could
come of her sacrifice, or that if good came, at least it would not be
to her or hers. Now she was as a fish in a net, though why it was worth
this brilliant Spaniard's while to snare her she could not understand,
for she forgot that she was beautiful and a woman of property. Well,
to save the blood of another she had bought, and in her own blood and
happiness, or in that of those dear to her, assuredly she must pay,
however cruel and unjust might be the price.

Such were the thoughts that passed through Lysbeth's mind as the strong
Flemish gelding lumbered forward, dragging the sledge at the same steady
pace over rough ice and smooth. And all the while Montalvo behind her
was chatting pleasantly about this matter and that; telling her of
the orange groves in Spain, of the Court of the Emperor Charles,
of adventures in the French wars, and many other things, to which
conversation she made such answer as courtesy demanded and no more.
What would Dirk think, she was wondering, and her cousin, Pieter van de
Werff, whose good opinion she valued, and all the gossips of Leyden? She
only prayed that they might not have missed her, or at least that they
took it for granted that she had gone home.

On this point, however, she was soon destined to be undeceived, for