# The Silent Prince/Chapter 17

CHAPTER XVII.
The burgomaster's promise.
While events of such moment were transpiring in Antwerp, Conrad Chenoweth was busily employed in the interests of the Prince of Orange. As a panacea for a troubled mind, he had flung himself heart and soul into his work, and with a resolute hand he had put away the thought of Hilvardine Van Straalen. The young advocate had a sense of honor unusual for this age. Other young men would have considered it right to steal the girl from her father's house, but Conrad Chenoweth would never ask any woman to become his wife without honorably gaining the consent of her parents.
One evening business matters called him abroad at a late hour. The streets of Brussels were practically deserted.
When the advocate had transacted his business, he returned to his rooms by the broad thoroughfare which led him past the regent's palace and the stately cathedral. It has been said that the "flippant tread of Fate doth leave no print upon the ​sand to mark her passage, nor doth she sound a note of warning, that the waiting hand may graspher garments as she flies.” Conrad was no believer in blind fate. He believed in the providence of God. It was to this same overruling Power that he attributed a discovery which was to change the whole tenor of his life. As he neared the House of the Jesuits, the form of a priest appeared. Conrad had no difficulty in recognizing the stately tread of Monseigneur Ryder. As the priest drew his handkerchief from his pocket a slight puff of wind brought a paper and laid it directly at the feet of the advocate. The latter picked it up and thrust it into his pocket.
On reaching his room Conrad drew the slip of paper from its resting-place and read the writing thereon. A look of consternation passed over his face, succeeded by one of horror. The paper contained the following memoranda:
“The persons herein mentioned to be arrested: (Antwerp) Louis de Heer, a cloth merchant.
“Father Linden, a priest at the Church of the Nativity.
“Mary and Joanna Mander, domestics in the family of Louis Van Hutten.
“Hilvardine Van Straalen, daughter of the Burgomaster, Anthony Van Straalen.
“After nightfall. Between the hours of eight and eleven.” ​For one brief moment Conrad sat as if paralyzed. Hilvardine was in danger. The spies of the Inquisition were on her track. Then the Name, the one sacred name, which rises to all human lips in moments of supreme agony, broke from his lips in a wail of anguish.
"God in heaven, let this infamous plot fail. Let me rescue this maiden, who is as dear to me as my own soul, from these human vultures."
The young man began to make arrangements to reach Antwerp as speedily as possible. He left a note for the Prince informing him of his sudden departure, and then hastily prepared himself for the journey. He went to the Royal Sword, hired a swift horse, and several hours before daybreak found him on the road to Antwerp. He paused in his journey only long enough to secure a lunch and a fresh horse.
The day was well advanced when he reached Antwerp. He noticed the havoc which had been made by the rioters, although the streets were now quiet, but he hardly gave the matter a thought. Should he reach the Burgomaster's house in time to give them warning, or would he be too late? The young advocate rode at such a reckless pace that people stared at him. One or two myrmidons of the law ordered him to stop, but he heeded them not. The dust flew, and the smoking flanks of his horse bore evidence of mad haste. Conrad ​Chenoweth swerved not to the right hand nor the left, nor slackened his speed, but rode straight on until the Burgomaster's house was reached. He sprang from the saddle, tethered his beast hastily at the gate and rushed up the steps to the door. He rang the bell with such vigor that the butler appeared with a frightened face.
Pushing the servant aside, Conrad rushed into the Burgomaster's sitting-room unannounced. Madam Van Straalen had been weeping, and the magistrate looked old and worn.
"Where is Hilvardine?" demanded the young man.
The Burgomaster arose and eyed the advocate a moment in stern silence. Then he said: "And I ask you, Conrad Chenoweth, where is my daughter?"
"Your daughter, Heer Burgomaster? I know not where she is! Oh, am I too late?"
"My daughter disappeared mysteriously last evening," replied the Burgomaster.
"Perhaps this piece of paper will throw some on the subject," said the young man, handing the Burgomaster the memoranda which he had found in the street of Brussels.
"Holy Virgin!" cried the father in distress. "My child is in the clutches of the Inquisition." He leaned his head on his hand and sobs shook his great frame. It was an agonizing thing to witness ​this man's sorrow. A woman sheds tears easily. But a man's tears—and such a hard, cold man Anthony Van Straalen—such tears were like drops of the heart's blood.
"Is your daughter formally betrothed to Chancellor Maas?" asked the young advocate.
"No! Hilvardine was so uncivil to him that he left her in a rage, vowing vengeance. I expect her disappearance is some of his work."
"Heer Burgomaster, I will leave no stone unturned in order to rescue Hilvardine from her enemies," said the young man, in a broken voice.
"God bless you for your words! " said Madam, with streaming eyes.
"Heer Chenoweth," said the magistrate, thoroughly subdued by his sorrow, "if you will only bring my beloved daughter back to my arms, she shall be your wife. Forgive me the harsh words I have used to you in days past."
Conrad caught the outstretched hand and wrung it. "If need be," he said, "I will give my life to rescue your daughter."
" Your words are brave," said the Burgomaster in his accustomed tones, " but deeds go farther. Lose no time, I beg of you, but hasten on your mission. You will have to work slowly and cautiously, for you have wily foes to deal with, and your attachment to my daughter is known."
Conrad rode to his father's house, feeling sadly ​in need of the strength and counsel of his parents. He was surprised at the stillness and deserted appearance of the place. The door to the kitchen stood open, but the servants were gone. Only old Lysken remained, a look of terror on her usually placid face.
"What has happened?" inquired Conrad.
"Did you not notice the King's seal over the door?" answered the nurse. "The Familiars came here last night, searched the house, and removed all your father's private papers. The good doctor was betrayed into the hands of the Inquisition by that scoundrel Maurits, who has been seen prowling about the premises. My master is lodged in prison. Alas!" she wailed, "we shall never see his kind face again!"
"My mother," said the young man hoarsely. "Where is she?"
Lysken pointed to the door of Madam Chenoweth's chamber in silence.
Conrad knocked gently, and then entered the room. His mother sat with little Elizabeth clasped in her arms, her eyes closed and her lips moving as if in prayer. The lonely vigil of the night which had just gone, had in it for Agatha Chenoweth the supreme anguish of death. Love has its Gethsemane as well as its Mount of Transfiguration. But the strong faith of this woman had sustained her even in this trying hour. ​"Mother! " said Conrad. The sad eyes opened, and Madam drew her son down to her and kissed him tenderly.
"It is all right, my son," she said, with quivering lips and eyes which were dim with gathering tears. "The Lord loveth whom He chasteneth. He doeth all things well."
"It is not right, it is not just," said Conrad passionately. "Father in prison and Hilvardine in the hands of the Inquisition, and the whole body of reformed Christians throughout the Netherlands persecuted and killed! If we believe that the Protestants are indeed the Almighty's chosen ones, it is passing strange that He gives the victory to the enemies of that faith. It is enough to make one doubt God's goodness."
"Speak not thus, my son," said his mother. "Your tongue has led you perilously near to blasphemy. God's ways are indeed inscrutable, but they are always goodness and mercy to them that fear His name. Yes, I believe it," she added, "whatever the Lord of Hosts permits is right. But you are sadly in need of rest and refreshments. Go and eat the evening meal which Lysken has prepared, and then try and sleep. To-morrow things will look clearer and we can plan for the future."
Conrad obeyed, but he could not swallow food. He cast himself on a couch, thinking to rest, but not to sleep. Healthy youth knows not how to ​watch, even in moments of great stress, and soon his heavy breathing told his mother that slumber had locked his senses in a merciful oblivion.
Madam Chenoweth could not sleep. At length her forced calmness gave way, and outraged nature found its natural vent. Laying her head on the table, she burst into tears. Sobs shook her frame, and between her gasps for breath she cried aloud to Him on whom her soul leaned for support. "Lord, Lord, I am poor and needy. Hear the voice of my supplication. Out of the depths do I cry unto Thee. Hasten Thou to deliver me!"