The Silent Prince/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX.
A CANCELLED DEBT.
"I am sorry, Heer Chenoweth, that I can do nothing to secure your father's release," said the Prince of Orange to the young advocate after the tumult had subsided and terms of peace had been accepted. "If your father had been arrested for some civil offence, I could assist you. But unfortunately he is a prisoner of the Inquisition, and to attempt to interfere with this authority would mean angering the Catholics and renewing the strife. It would take but a spark to fan the flame of discord into a mighty conflagration. To-morrow I shall be an outlawed rebel. I have refused to take the Regent's test oath of loyalty, and leave the Netherlands to-day for my estates in Germany."
Conrad bade his friend and patron farewell with regret, and with a sad heart returned to inform his mother of the failure of his mission.
Concerning these days of darkness and anguish we will keep reverent silence. Each disciple is sooner or later called to keep vigil with his Master, by the bedside of the sick or dying, or on the battle-field or in lonely exile, or beside the prison gate. To each trembling child of sorrow has Jesus repeated the same compassionate saying: "The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."
One afternoon, as Madam Chenoweth sat with her little daughter, a shadow darkened the doorway. Glancing up, she saw a priest of the Order of Jesus. An involuntary cry escaped her lips, and her face grew a shade paler.
A bitter smile crossed the Jesuit's face as he said: "I must, indeed, be sadly changed if Madam Chenoweth shrinks from me in fear. Has not Mistress Van Cortlandt a place for me in her heart? or am I totally forgotten?"
The priest cast aside his cowl, and stood where the light from the window shone full upon his face.
"Louis Van Steen!" gasped Madam, a new and terrible fear clutching at her heart.
"Ah, Madam, I am glad your memory has not played you false. Yes, Louis Van Steen stands before you, but it is not the same wild, impetuous youth who so passionately sued for your love, and who cherished the rose which you discarded as if it had dropped straight from Paradise. It is not your playmate and your lover who stands before you now, but a man who has learned in the school of discipline to estimate feelings at their true value. How is it with you, Madam Chenoweth? Has your marriage with that penniless Protestant proved a failure?"
Madam Chenoweth arose, her queenly form drawn to its full height, and her face glowing with scorn and indignation.
"A failure, Louis Van Steen? Know you that to-day John Chenoweth is dearer to me than aught else save my love to Christ and my hope of heaven. I have been honored above women by his choice. I have tasted the sweetest cup of earthly joy by his side." Then, fearing that she had said too much, and not wishing to anger the man before her, she added, "The playmate of my childhood had ever a kind, generous heart. I cannot believe that he has come to-day simply to taunt me in my grief and loneliness."
"You are right, Madam. I have a mission to perform, which I had well-nigh forgotten, in the overwhelming tide of reminiscences which swept over me when I saw your face. You are little changed from the Mistress Van Cortlandt of other days, save as the promise of youth has been gloriously fulfilled. It is not wise for me to dwell upon the past. But there is one more circumstance which I should like to recall to your mind. When that ardent youth, Louis Van Steen, realized that he was rejected by Mistress Van Cortlandt, thinking in his blind infatuation that nothing stood in the way of his acceptance but the difference in faith, he decided to become a heretic, and to cast aside the ancient and revered faith of his fathers. Then, when he besought you on his knees to accept this impious sacrifice, and grant him favor, you utterly refused to let this rash youth perjure himself. I have to thank you to-day for saving my soul from eternal death. The day that you became the wife of Dr. Chenoweth I entered the school for novitiates in Brussels, and in process of time became a Brother of the Society of Jesus. All these years I have blessed you for your decision, and never have I omitted to remember your name in my prayers from that day to this, beseeching God to open your eyes, that you might be brought to a saving knowledge of the truth before it is forever too late."
There was no doubt as to the sincerity of the priest. His countenance showed that he was terribly in earnest. Madam Chenoweth gazed upon that noble face, almost transparent in its color, and she said to herself, "Poor Louis! And this is what the cloister has made of you!" Aloud she said, "I thank you, my friend, for your kindness, but my faith is as dear to me as yours is to you. Nothing will ever alter my convictions."
The priest sighed. Then he said, "I have long desired to cancel my obligation to you. It is now possible for me to do it. I have learned that both you and your son have been denied admittance to the prison where your husband is incarcerated. I can procure this favor for you. Come to-night to the chapel which adjoins the prison and I will conduct you to your husband."
"I thank you, Louis, more than can express—but—" Madam Chenoweth hesitated and glanced at Elizabeth. Was this not some net to ensnare her and her children? She must not accept favors from any Jesuit blindly.
"But what, Madam?" said the priest, a frown gathering between his brows. "Why do you hesitate? Do you not trust me?"
"Will my child be safe, and shall I be allowed to return when the tryst is over?" inquired the anxious mother.
The priest seemed to be aware of the child's presence for the first time. The little face under its nimbus of golden hair was almost ethereal in its delicacy.
"Father Ryder would account me guilty of mortal sin to neglect such an opportunity," muttered the priest to himself. "But no, I cannot do it. It is her baby."
Then Father Steen fixed his sad, unrestful look on Madam Chenoweth.
"Fear not," he said, "either for yourself or your child. I cannot find it in my heart to rob you of a single hair of yonder golden head. As far as I know, you are both safe for to-night. But after to-day I cannot assure you. It were better for you to leave Antwerp for the present."
Madam Chenoweth still hesitated. "You refuse to trust me!" exclaimed the priest. The color rushed to his pale cheeks, which demonstrated that the passionate spirit within was not wholly subdued. "Very well! I can do no more to satisfy your fears than to give you my simple word," and he turned to go.
"Wait, Louis, one moment, I entreat you," said Madam. "I do not distrust you, but your Order. You have just given me your word of honor. Tell me, is it the word of honor of a Jesuit, or a Flemish gentleman?"
Their eyes met. There was no hesitancy in the priest's answer.
"A Flemish gentleman addresses you, Madam."
"Thank you, Louis. My last fear is laid to rest. Most gratefully do I accept your boon."
Father Steen encountered Conrad Chenoweth as he was passing out of the house, and he stopped a moment to warn him of impending danger.
"I did not dare to let your mother know the extent of the peril she was in, but another sunrise must not find her and the little child in Antwerp."
"Our plans are all laid for an immediate departure," said the advocate. I thank you for your generous act."
"The indebtedness is still on my side," returned 
"Is it the word of honor of a Jesuit, or a Flemish gentleman?" Page 154.
the priest. "Perhaps you are not aware that your movements are closely watched. You have enemies in high places. I should advise you to leave this section at once. But if you choose to remain, see to it that you are so cleverly disguised that your mother would not recognize you. Farewell."
Promptly at the hour of eight the young advocate escorted his mother to the chapel confessional of the church of Notre Dame. There was a dim light burning, but no one was awaiting them. A sickening fear crept over Madam Chenoweth. Was her great love to be the snare which should entrap her and those she held so dear? She began to doubt Louis Van Steen's word, in spite of his pledges and solemn asseverations.
"It shall go hard with that priest if he has broken faith with us," said Conrad.
Just then the door from the church opened and Father Steen appeared. One glance at the anxious faces before him revealed to the one who was accustomed to read men's minds like a printed page their doubts.
A scornful smile curved his lips. "You see, Madam, that even a Jesuit is not destitute of honor," he said, with cutting irony. "Heer Chenoweth, it will be safer for you to wait outside the building. In precisely one hour I will bring your mother to you. I have prepared Dr. Chenoweth for this visit. Madam will be so good as to follow me."
Taking a lighted candle the priest led the way through the chapel, then down a flight of stairs, through devious dimly lighted passages until the cell of Dr. Chenoweth was reached. Unlocking the door he set the candle down on a stone table and withdrew, bolting the door after him. He paused a moment outside.
My love! My love!" sounded a woman's voice, in such sweet tones of passionate longing that it wrung his heart, not with rapture, but with the pang of unrequited affection. The priest fled precipitately, nor paused until he had reached the chapel and cast himself on his knees before the crucifix, to wrestle in bitter anguish of soul.
“Agatha, my precious wife!" said Dr. Chenoweth.
Bright grew the darkness around them, lighted by the unquenchable fire of human affection. They were together. All else for the time being was forgotten. The doctor was the first to rouse himself from this blissful reality. “The moments are flying, my wife, and I have much to say to you. God helping our endeavors, I expect to escape tonight.”
“To-night?” echoed his wife, in joyous tones.
“Yes, my love. The under-jailer, a secret follower of the Reformed religion, is going to assist me to escape, and will accompany me to Germany, where we hope to be able to assist the Prince of Orange in his preparations to defend the Netherlands. After my departure my family will be in great danger. You must leave Antwerp to-night.”
“That matter is all arranged, John. Nicholas Mander has agreed to escort us to Friesland, where Lysken's brother lives. Lysken assures me that he will gladly give us shelter for a time. You can safely trust us to the care of Nicholas Mander. He is thoroughly devoted to your interests. Conrad will try and rescue Hilvardine Van Straalen from the hands of the Inquisition, and at the same time he will be loyal to the interests of the Prince. From his post in Brussels he may be able to give the exiled William much valuable information regarding the situation of affairs.”
“A great weight is removed by your words, Agatha. Friesland is the nearest point to Germany, and I can send letters to you quite easily. There is comparatively little danger to be encountered in travelling from one end of the Netherlands to the other. Only the seaports are guarded. You must be well on your journey before sunrise. Now, my beloved wife, let us commit ourselves and our interests to God's care.” They both knelt with clasped hands, while the doctor uttered a simple but earnest petition.
A tap on the door warned them that the hour had expired.
"My love, we are in God's hands, whether for life or for death. Let us trust Him," whispered the doctor, as he kissed the lips which were quivering with anguish.
Father Steen looked at Agatha Chenoweth's face as she came out of that dungeon with astonishment and feelings akin to awe. On that grandly beautiful face was the light of love, of resignation, and of high resolve. It was as if she had had a glimpse of a beatific vision, instead of a noisome cell—perchance an open grave!
To this weary devotee of the Church, striving but never achieving, seeking peace and finding unrest; to this man, who considered love a crime and joy an unpardonable sin, this look was a revelation. It showed him heights of Christian attainment which he had never scaled.
In silence the two retraced their steps to the chapel door. In the shadow was Conrad Chenoweth. The priest took Madam's hand a moment and pressed it gently.
"I have redeemed my pledge as a Flemish gentleman," he said, placing the hand within Conrad's arms." I shall never permit myself to look upon your face again. Farewell." Nor did he pause to listen to the broken words of thanks which fell from Madam's lips.
The short summer night wore away. Upon the deep purple sky myriad stars flashed like gems. There was no sound on the perfumed air save the whispering of the trees, as they told their secrets to the night winds. The city slumbered in silence. Now and then a falling star flashed into space and then disappeared, leaving no trace behind,—a type of the lives of many of the citizens of Antwerp which the reign of Alva would eclipse. But Venus shone with a clear, steady light upon two bands of fugitives, who left the city that night in safety. They were Dr. Chenoweth and the under-jailer, who sailed swiftly down the river Scheldt, and Madam Chenoweth, her child and old Lysken, under the leadership of honest Nicholas Mander.
Conrad Chenoweth, disguised as an old peasant, was en route for Brussels, intent on finding the Burgomaster's daughter.