yden for its courage and staying power. What interested Lysbeth most,
however, was to discover that the charioteer was none other than Pieter
van de Werff, though now when she thought of it, she remembered he
had told her that his sledge was named the Badger. In his choice of
passenger she noted, too, not without a smile, that he showed his
cautious character, disdainful of any immediate glory, so long as the
end in view could be attained. For there in the sleigh sat no fine young
lady, decked out in brave attire, who might be supposed to look at him
with tender eyes, but a little fair-haired mate aged nine, who was in
fact his sister. As he explained afterwards, the rules provided that a
lady passenger must be carried, but said nothing of her age and weight.

Now the competitors, eight of them, were in a line, and coming forward,
the master of the course, in a voice that every one might hear, called
out the conditions of the race and the prize for which it was to be
run, a splendid glass goblet engraved with the cross-keys, the Arms of
Leyden. This done, after asking if all were ready, he dropped a little
flag, whereon the horses were loosed and away they went.

Before a minute had passed, forgetting all her doubts and annoyances,
Lysbeth was lost in the glorious excitement of the moment. Like birds
in the heavens, cleaving the keen, crisp air, they sped forward over
the smooth ice. The gay throng vanished, the dead reeds and stark bushes
seemed to fly away from them. The only sounds in their ears were the
rushing of the wind, the swish of the iron runners, and the hollow
tapping of the hooves of their galloping horses. Certain sledges drew
ahead in the first burst, but the Wolf and the Badger were not among
these. The Count de Montalvo was holding in his black stallion, and as
yet the grey Flemish gelding looped along with a constrained and awkward
stride. When, passing from the little mere, they entered the straight of
the canal, these two were respectively fourth and fifth. Up the course
they sped, through a deserted snow-clad country, past the church of the
village of Alkemaade. Now, half a mile or more away appeared the Quarkel
Mere, and in the centre of it the island which they must turn. They
reached it, they were round it, and when their faces were once more set
homewards, Lysbeth noted that the Wolf and the Badger were third and
fourth in the race, some one having dropped behind. Half a mile more and
they were