To the great surprise of his fellow-citizens, Deconinck allowed all this to proceed without opposition, and, as far as the public could discern, went quietly on his way, as though now only intent upon his own affairs. In the private assemblies of his guild, however, he was all the while encouraging, by his fervent exhortations, the hearts of his fellows, and cherishing in their hearts the warmest and noblest aspirations for the deliverance of their country.
As for Breydel, there seemed to be nothing of his former self remaining. Ever darkly musing, with knitted brows and downcast eyes, the gallant Butcher went about as if bowed under the weight of years. It was seldom, indeed, that he left his house. Bruges, enthralled and oppressed, was to him but a wider prison, whither the light and air of freedom could no more enter; upon the forehead of each brother-citizen he read only the brand of shame; in the eye of each stranger glanced the insulting taunt, ''Slave! slave!" For him there was neither joy nor comfort more. In this mood he was one day pacing his shop in the early morning, and fitfully continuing the dreams of the past night— now plunged in gloomy thoughts, now fuming with rage; at one moment grimly smiling upon his ax as he poised it in his hand, and at another wrathfuUy casting it from him as the useless plaything of a slave—when suddenly the door opened, and to his surprise the Dean of the Clothworkers stood before him.
"A good-morning to you, master," said the Butcher; "what evil tidings is it that brings you to me thus early?"
"My friend Jan," answered Deconinck, "I ask not why you are sad; the thought of slavery—"
"Silence, Deconinck! I pray you, speak not that word; the very walls of my house seem to reecho it around me in a thousand tones of insult. Oh, my friend, would that I had died that day upon the ramparts of our city! I should not then have fallen unrevenged; and, oh, what bitterness of spirit should I have been spared! But I lost that chance, and—"
Calmly, but not unmoved, Deconinck interrupted him:
"Be of good cheer, my noble-hearted friend," said he; "our day shall yet come. The embers still glow under the ashes; and the time will surely arrive, though it is not yet. Let the chains press more sorely still upon our necks, until they become too galling even for cowards to bear; and our Black Lion shall yet again float aloft, with Bruges in the van."
A smile full of confidence flitted over the countenance of Breydel; and as he seized the Dean's hand he joyfully exclaimed, "You alone, my friend, you alone know how to comfort me; you alone understand my heart."
"But now, Master Jan," proceeded the Clothworker, "to the object of my visit. You have not forgotten our promise to keep guard over the Lady Matilda?"
"What now!" cried Breydel, hastily, his cheeks flushing at once with anxiety and anticipated indignation.
"She was seized and carried off by the French last night."
The Butcher took a step forward, caught up his ax, and furiously swung it round his head. For a moment he was unable to speak; then a torrent of incoherent curses burst from his lips; at last he exclaimed:
"Deconinck, this is too much—not a word more! I listen to no put off now; to-day I must see blood if I die for it."
"Softly, my friend, softly; be reasonable. Your life belongs to your country, and you must by no means risk it uselessly."
"Not a syllable will I hear! I thank you for your good advice; but I neither can nor will follow it. Spare your words, therefore, for they are all in vain."
"But be reasonable. Master Jan," rejoined the Clothworker; "you can not drive the French out all by yourself."
"What care I for that? My thoughts carry me not so far. Vengeance and death!—"
The violence of his emotion prevented further speech. After a few instants' pause, however, he continued more calmly:
"Well, Master Deconinck, after all, I will be cool, as you tell me. What more, then, do you know about this matter?"
"Not much. This morning, before daylight, I was disturbed by an urgent message from Sir Adolf of Nieuwland's house, to the effect that the Lady Matilda had been carried off in the night by the French, and that it was the traitor Brakels who had acted as their guide."
"Brakels! There is another for my ax! He shall not play the spy for the French much longer."
"Whither they have taken her I know not," continued Deconinck; "but I suspect it may be to the Castle of Male; for the servant who brought me the message had heard this name mentioned more than once among the soldiers. You see well, Breydel, that it will be better to wait for sortie further information than to take any step hastily, especially as there is every probability that the countess is by this time already in France. It seems that the only course is to stay at home and bide our time."
“You preach to the deaf, my friend," replied the Butcher; "at all events, I must and will go out. Forgive me if I now leave you."
And with these words, concealing his ax under his garment, he moved toward the door. By a sudden side movement, however, Deconinck so placed himself as to intercept his passage.
"Have done with this childish impatience," said the Clothworker, while Breydel looked round as though seeking some other exit, and in default of that seemed ready to spring through the
