Thus she might elect to refuse to marry or decide to mourn him for four or five years, which for all practical purposes would be just as bad.

And yet while Dirk lived how could he possibly persuade her to transfer her affections to himself?
It seemed, therefore, that Dirk ought to decease.
For quite a quarter of an hour Montalvo thought the matter over, and then, just as he had given it up and determined to leave things to chance, for a while at least, inspiration came, a splendid, a heaven-sent inspiration.
Dirk must not die, Dirk must live, but his continued existence must be the price of the hand of Lysbeth van Hout.

If she was half as fond of the man as he believed, it was probable that she would be delighted to marry anybody else in order to save his precious neck, for that was just the kind of sentimental idiotcy of which nine women out of ten really enjoyed the indulgence.

Moreover, this scheme had other merits; it did every one a good turn.

Dirk would be saved from extinction for which he should be grateful: Lysbeth, besides earning the honour of an alliance, perhaps only temporary, with himself, would be able to go through life wrapped in a heavenly glow of virtue arising from the impression that she had really done something very fine and tragic, while he, Montalvo, under Providence, the humble purveyor of these blessings, would also benefit to some small extent.
The difficulty was: How could the situation be created?
How could the interesting Dirk be brought to a pass that would give the lady an opportunity of exercising her finer feelings on his behalf?
If only he were a heretic now! Well, by the Pope why shouldn't he be a heretic?
If ever a fellow had the heretical cut this fellow had; flat-faced, sanctimonious-looking, and with a fancy for dark-coloured stockings--he had observed that all heretics, male and female, wore dark-coloured stockings, perhaps by way of mortifying the flesh.