THE HALT AT BENNEBROCK
For a long time she had been half-awake, ever since the vehicle had
stopped, which must have been ages and ages ago. She had lain in a kind
of torpor, various sounds coming to her ear as through the veil of
dreams: there was Maria snoring contentedly close by, and the horses
champing their bits and pawing the hard-frozen ground, also there was
the murmur of voices, subdued and muffled--but she could not distinguish
words.
Not for a long time at any rate--an interminably long time!
Her body and limbs felt quite numb, pleasantly warm under the rugs and
cloaks, only her face rejoiced in the cold blast that played around it
and kept her forehead and eyes cool.
Once it seemed to her as if out of the darkness more than one pair of
eyes were looking down on her, and she had the sense as of a warm rapid
breath that mingled with the pure frosty air. After which some one
murmured:
"She is still unconscious."
"I think not," was the whispered reply.
She lay quite still, in case those eyes came to look on her again. The
murmuring voices sounded quite close to the sleigh now, and soon she
found that by holding her breath, and straining her every listening
faculty she could detach the words that struck her ear from all the
other sounds around her.
Two men, she thought, were speaking, but their voices were never once
raised above a whisper.
"You are satisfied?" she heard one of these saying quite distinctly.
"Entirely!" was the response.
"The letter to Ben Isaje?"
"I am not like to lose it."
"Hush! I heard a sound from under the hood."
"'Tis only the old woman snoring."
"I wish you could have found a more comfortable sledge."
"There was none to be had in Haarlem to-day. But we'll easily get one in
Leyden."
In Leyden! Gilda's numbed body quivered with horror. She was being taken
to Leyden and further on still by sleigh! Her thoughts at present were
still chaotic but gradually she was sorting them out, one or two
becoming more clear, more insistent than the rest.
"I would like the jongejuffrouw to have something to eat and drink,"
came once more in whispers from out the darkness. "I fear that she will
be faint!"
"No! no!" came the prompt, peremptory reply, "it would be madness to let
her realize so soon where she is. She knows this place well."
A halt on the way to Leyden! and thence a further journey by sledge!
Gilda's thoughts were distinctly less chaotic already. She was beginning
to marshal them up in her mind, together with her recollections of the
events of the past twenty-four hours. The darkness around her, which was
intense, and the numbness of her body all helped her to concentrate her
faculties on these recollections first and on the obvious conclusions
based upon her position at the present moment.
She was being silenced effectually because of the knowledge which she
had gained in the cathedral last night. The Lord of Stoutenburg,
frightened for his plans, was causing her to be put out of his way.
Never for a moment did she suspect her own brother in this. It was that
conscienceless, ambitious, treacherous Stoutenburg! at most her brother
was blindly acquiescent in this infamy.
Gilda was not afraid. Not even when this conviction became fully matured
in her mind. She was not afraid for herself, although for one brief
moment the thought did cross her mind that mayhap she had only been
taken out of Haarlem in order that her death might be more secretly
encompassed.
But she was cast in a firmer mould than most women of her rank and
wealth would be. She came of a race that had faced misery, death and
torture for over a century for the sake of its own independence of life
and of faith, and was ready to continue the struggle for another hundred
years if need be for the same ideals, and making the same sacrifices in
order to attain them. Gilda Beresteyn gave but little thought to her own
safety. Life to her, if Stoutenburg's dastardly conspiracy against the
Stadtholder was successful and involved her own brother, would be of
little value to her. Nicolaes' act of treachery would break her father's
heart; what matter if she herself lived to witness all that misery or
not.
No! it was her helplessness at this moment that caused her the most
excruciating soul-agony. She had been trapped and was being cast aside
like a noxious beast, that is in the way of men. Like a child that is
unruly and has listened at the keyhole of the door, she was being
punished and rendered harmless.
Indeed she had no fear for her safety; the few words which she had
heard, the presence of Maria, all tended to point out that there would
be no direct attempt against her life. It was only of that awful crime
that she thought, that crime which she had so fondly hoped that she
might yet frustrate: it was of the Stadtholder's safety that she thought
and of her brother's sin.
She also thought of her poor father who, ignorant of the events which
had brought about this infamous abduction, would be near killing himself
with sorrow at the mysterious disappearance of his only daughter. Piet
and Jakob would tell how they had been set on in the dark--footpads
would be suspected, the countryside where they usually have their haunts
would be scoured for them, but the high road leading to Leyden would
never mayhap be watched, and certainly a sleigh under escort would never
draw the attention of the guardians of the peace.
While these thoughts whirled wildly in her brain it seemed that
preparations had been and were being made for departure. She heard some
whispered words again:
"Where will you put up at Leyden?"
"At the 'White Goat.' I know the landlord well."
"Will he be awake at so late an hour?"
"I will ride ahead and rouse his household. They shall be prepared for
our coming."
"But...."
"You seem to forget, sir," came in somewhat louder tones, "that all the
arrangements for this journey were to be left entirely to my
discretion."
For the moment Gilda could catch no further words distinctly: whether a
quarrel had ensued or not she could not conjecture, but obviously the
two speakers had gone some little distance away from the sledge. All
that she could hear was--after a brief while of silence--a quaint
muffled laugh which though it scarce was distinguishable from the murmur
of the wind, so soft was it, nevertheless betrayed to her keenly
sensitive ear an undercurrent of good-humoured irony.
Again there seemed something familiar to her in the sound.
After this there was renewed tramping of heavy feet on the snow-covered
ground, the clang of bits and chains, the creaking of trace, the
subdued call of encouragement to horses:
"Forward!" came a cheery voice from the rear.
Once more they were on the move; on the way to Leyden--distant six
leagues from her home. Gilda could have cried out now in her misery. She
pictured her father--broken-hearted all through the night, sending
messengers hither and thither to the various gates of the city, unable
no doubt to get satisfactory information at this late hour: she pictured
Nicolaes feigning ignorance of the whole thing, making pretence of
anxiety and grief. Torturing thoughts kept her awake, though her body
was racked with fatigue. The night was bitterly cold, and the wind, now
that they had reached open country, cut at times across her face like a
knife.
The sledge glided along with great swiftness now, over the smooth, thick
carpet of snow that covered the long, straight road. Gilda knew that the
sea was not far off: but she also knew that every moment now she was
being dragged further and further away from the chance of averting from
her father and from her house the black catastrophe of disgrace which
threatened them.