AN UNDERSTANDING
At one hour after midnight the summons came.
Maria, majestic and unbending, sailed into the tap-room where Pythagoras
and Socrates were already stretched out full-length upon a couple of
benches fast asleep and Diogenes still struggling to keep awake.
"The noble Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn desires your presence," she said
addressing the latter with lofty dignity.
At once he rose to his feet, and followed Maria up the stairs and into
the lady's room. From this room an inner door gave on another smaller
alcove-like chamber, wherein a bed had been prepared for Maria.
Gilda somewhat curtly ordered her to retire.
"I will call you, Maria," she said, "when I have need of you."
Diogenes with elaborate courtesy threw the inner door open, and stood
beside it plumed hat in hand while the mevrouw sailed past him, with
arms folded across her ample bosom, and one of those dignified glances
in her round eyes that should have annihilated this impious malapert,
whose face--despite its airs of deference, was wreathed in an obviously
ironical smile.
It was only when the heavy oaken door had fallen to behind her duenna
that Gilda with an imperious little gesture called Diogenes before her.
He advanced hat in hand as was his wont, his magnificent figure very
erect, his head with its wealth of untamed curls slightly bent. But he
looked on her boldly with those laughter-filled, twinkling eyes of his
and since he was young and neither ascetic nor yet a misanthrope, we may
take it that he had some considerable pleasure in the contemplation of
the dainty picture which she presented against the background of dull
gold velvet: her small head propped against the cushions, and feathery
curls escaping from under her coif and casting pearly, transparent
shadows upon the ivory whiteness of her brow. Her two hands were resting
each on an arm of the chair, and looked more delicate than ever now in
the soft light of the tallow candles that burned feebly in the pewter
candelabra upon the table.
Diogenes for the moment envied his friend Frans Hals for the power which
the painter of pictures has of placing so dainty an image on record for
all time. His look of bold admiration, however, caused Gilda's glance to
harden, and she drew herself up in her chair in an attitude more
indicative of her rank and station and of her consciousness of his
inferiority.
But not with a single look or smile did she betray whether she had
recognized him or not.
"Your name?" she asked curtly.
His smile broadened--self-deprecatingly this time.
"They call me Diogenes," he replied.
"A strange name," she commented, "but 'tis of no consequence."
"Of none whatever," he rejoined, "I had not ventured to pronounce it,
only that you deigned to ask."
Again she frowned: the tone of gentle mockery had struck unpleasantly on
her ear and she did not like that look of self-satisfied independence
which sat on him as if to the manner born, when he was only an abject
menial, paid to do dirty work for his betters.
"I have sent for you, sir," she resumed after a slight pause, "because I
wished to demand of you an explanation of your infamous conduct. Roguery
and vagabondage are severely punished by our laws, and you have brought
your neck uncommonly near the gallows by your act of highway robbery. Do
you hear me?" she asked more peremptorily, seeing that he made no
attempt at a reply.
"I hear you, mejuffrouw."
"And what is your explanation?"
"That is my trouble, mejuffrouw. I have none to offer."
"Do you refuse then to tell me what your purpose is in thus defying the
laws of the land and risking the gallows by laying hands upon me and
upon my waiting woman in the open streets, and by taking me away by
brute force from my home?"
"My purpose, mejuffrouw, is to convey you safely as far as Rotterdam,
where I will hand you over into the worthy keeping of a gentleman who
will relieve me of further responsibility with regard to your precious
person."
"In Rotterdam?" she exclaimed, "what should I do in Rotterdam?"
"Nothing, I imagine," replied Diogenes dryly, "for you would not remain
there longer than is necessary. I am the bearer of written orders to
that same gentleman in Rotterdam that he shall himself conduct you under
suitable escort--of which I no doubt will still form an integral
part--to his private residence, which I am told is situate outside the
city and on the road to Delft."
"A likely story indeed!" she rejoined vehemently, "I'll not believe it!
Common theft and robbery are your purpose, nothing less, else you had
not stolen my purse from me nor the jewels which I wore."
"I had to take your purse and your jewels from you, mejuffrouw," he said
with perfect equanimity, "else you might have used them for the purpose
of slipping through my fingers. Wenches at wayside inns are easily
amenable to bribes, so are the male servants at city hostelries. But
your purse and the trinkets which you wore are safely stowed away in my
wallet. I shall have the honour of returning them to you when we arrive
in Rotterdam."
"Of returning them to me," she said with a contemptuous laugh, "do
knaves like you ever return stolen property?"
"Seldom, I admit," he replied still with unruffled good-humour.
"Nevertheless an exception hath often proved a rule. Your purse and
trinkets are here," he added.
And from his wallet he took out a small leather purse and some loose
jewellery which he showed to her.
"And," he added ere he once more replaced them in his wallet, "I will
guard them most carefully until I can return them to you in Rotterdam,
after which time 'twill be some one else's business to see that you do
not slip through his fingers."
"And you expect me to believe such a senseless tale," she rejoined
contemptuously.
"There are many things in this world and the next, mejuffrouw," he said
lightly, "that are true though some of us believe them not."
"Nay! but this I do believe on the evidence of mine own eyes--that you
stole my money and my jewels and have no intention of returning them to
me."
"Your opinion of me, mejuffrouw, is already so low that it matters
little surely if you think me a common thief as well."
"My opinion of you, sir, is based upon your actions."
"And these I own stand in formidable array against me."
She bit her lip in vexation and her slender fingers began to beat a
tattoo on the arm of her chair. This man's placidity and inveterate
good-humour were getting on her nerves. It is hard when one means to
wound, to find the surest arrows falling wide of the mark. But now she
waited for a moment or two lest her irritation betrayed itself in the
quiver of her voice; and it was only when she felt quite sure that it
would sound as trenchant and hard as she intended that it should, that
she said abruptly:
"Who is paying you, sir, for this infamy?"
"One apparently who can afford the luxury," he replied airily.
"You will not tell me?"
"Do you think, mejuffrouw, that I could?"
"I may guess."
"It should not be difficult," he assented.
"And you, sir," she continued more vehemently, "are one of the many
tools which the Lord of Stoutenburg doth use to gain his own political
ends."
"The Lord of Stoutenburg?"
It was impossible for Gilda Beresteyn to gauge exactly whether the
astonishment expressed in that young villain's exclamation was real or
feigned. Certainly his mobile face was a picture of puzzlement, but this
may have been caused only by his wondering how she could so easily have
guessed the name of his employer. For as to this she was never for a
moment in doubt. It was easy enough for her to piece together the series
of events which had followed her parting from her brother at the
cathedral door. Stoutenburg, burning with anxiety and glowing with his
ardent desire for vengeance against the Stadtholder, had feared that
she--Gilda--would betray the secret which she held, and he had paid this
knave to take her out of the way. Stoutenburg and his gang! it could be
no one else! she dared not think that her own brother would have a share
in so dastardly an outrage. It was Stoutenburg of course! and this
smiling knave knew it well! aye! even though he murmured again and this
time to the accompaniment of smothered oaths:
"Stoutenburg? Bedonderd!"
"Aye!" she said loftily, "you see that I am not deceived! 'tis the Lord
of Stoutenburg who gave you money to play this trick on me. He paid
you! paid you, I say, and you, a man who should be fighting for your
country, were over ready to make war upon a woman. Shame on you! shame I
say! 'tis a deed that should cause you to blush, if indeed you have a
spark of honesty in you, which of a truth I do gravely doubt."
She had worked herself up into an outburst of indignation and flung
insult upon insult on him in the vague hope indeed of waking some
slumbering remnant of shame in his heart, and mayhap ruffling that
imperturbable air of contentment of his, and that impudent look of
swagger most unbecoming in a menial.
But by naming Stoutenburg, she had certainly brought to light many
things which Diogenes had only vaguely suspected. His mind--keen and
shrewd despite his follies--recalled his interview with Nicolaes
Beresteyn in the studio of Frans Hals; all the details of that interview
seemed suddenly to have gained significance as well as lucidity. The
lofty talk anent the future of Holland and the welfare of the Faith was
easily understandable in this new light which the name of Stoutenburg
had cast upon it. Stoutenburg and the welfare of Holland! a secret the
possession of which meant death to six selfless patriots or the
forfeiture mayhap of her good name and her honour to this defenceless
girl! Stoutenburg at the bottom of it all! Diogenes could have laughed
aloud with triumph so clear now was the whole scheme to him! There was
no one living who did not think that at some time or other Stoutenburg
meant to come back and make yet one more attempt to wipe a blood-stain
from the annals of his country by one equally foul.
One of Barneveld's sons had already paid for such an attempt with his
life; the other had escaped only in order to intrigue again, to plot
again, and again to fail. And this poor girl had by a fortuitous mishap
overheard the discussion of the guilty secret. Stoutenburg had come
back and meant to kill the Stadtholder: Nicolaes Beresteyn was his
accomplice and had callously sacrificed his innocent sister to the
success of his friend's schemes.
If out of this network of intrigues a sensible philosopher did not
succeed in consolidating his independence with the aid of a substantial
fortune, then he was neither so keen nor so daring as his friends and he
himself supposed!
And Gilda wondered what went on in his mind for those twinkling eyes of
his never betrayed any deeper thought: but she noticed with great
mortification that the insults which she had heaped upon him so freely
had not shamed him at all, for the good-humoured smile was not effaced
from his lips, rather did the shapely hand wander up to the moustache in
order to give it--she thought--a more provoking curl.
"I still await your answer," she said haughtily, seeing that his
prolonged silence savoured of impertinence.
"I humbly crave your pardon, mejuffrouw," he said pleasantly, "I was
absorbed in wonderment."
"You marvelled, sir, how easily I saw behind your schemes, and saw the
hand which drove you in harness?"
"Your pardon, mejuffrouw. I was pondering on your own words. You deigned
to say just now that I--a man should be fighting for my country."
"And you are worthy, sir, to be called a man."
"Quite so," he said whimsically. "But even if I did lay claim to the
title, mejuffrouw, how could I fight for my country when my country doth
not happen to be at war just now."
"Your country? What pray might your country be? Not that this concerns
me in the least," she added hastily.
"Of course not," he rejoined blandly.
"What is your country, sir?"
"England."
"I do not like the English."
"Nor do I, mejuffrouw. But I was unfortunately not consulted as to my
choice of a fatherland: nor doth it change the fact that King James of
England is at peace just now with all the world."
"So you preferred to earn a dishonest living by abducting innocent
women, to further the intrigues of your paymaster."
"It is a harsh exposition," he said blandly, "of an otherwise obvious
fact."
"And you are not ashamed."
"Not more than is necessary for my comfort."
"And cannot I move you, sir," she said with sudden warmth, "cannot an
appeal to you from my lips rouse a feeling of manhood within you. My
father is a rich man," she continued eagerly, "he hath it in his power
to reward those who do him service; he can do so far more effectually
than the Lord of Stoutenburg. Sir! I would not think of making an appeal
to your heart! no doubt long ago you have taught it to remain cold to
the prayers of a woman in distress: but surely you will listen to the
call of your own self-interest. My father must be nigh heart-broken by
now. The hours have sped away and he knows not where to find me."
"No! I have taken very good care of that, mejuffrouw. We are at Leyden
now, but we left Haarlem through the Groningen gate. We travelled North
first, then East, then only South.... Mynheer Beresteyn would require a
divining rod wherewith to find you now."
It seemed unnecessary cruelty to tell her that, when already despair had
seized on her heart, but she would not let this abominable rogue see how
deeply she was hurt. She feigned not to have noticed the purport of his
words and continued with the same insistent eagerness:
"Torn with anxiety, sir, he will be ready with a rich reward for one who
would bring his only daughter safely home to him. I know not what the
Lord of Stoutenburg hath promised you for doing his abominable work for
him, but this I do assure you that my father will double and treble
whatever sum you choose to name. Take me back to him, sir, now, this
night, and to-morrow morning you could count yourself one of the rich
men of Haarlem."
But Diogenes with half-closed eyes and gentle smile slowly shook his
head.
"Were I to present myself before Mynheer Beresteyn to-night, he would
summon the town guard and I should count myself as good as hanged
to-morrow."
"Do you measure other men's treachery then by your own?"
"I measure other men's wrath by mine, mejuffrouw--and if a rogue had
stolen my daughter, I should not rest until I had seen him hanged."
"I pledge you my word----" she began hotly.
"And I mine, mejuffrouw," he broke in a little more firmly than he had
spoken hitherto, "that I will place you safely and I pray God in good
health, into the care of a certain gentleman in Rotterdam. To this is my
word of honour pledged and even such a mean vagabond as I is bound by a
given word."
To this she made no reply. Perhaps she felt that in his last words there
lurked a determination which it were useless to combat. Her pride too
was up in arms. How could she plead further to this rascal who met the
most earnest appeal with a pert jest? who mocked at her distress, and
was impervious alike to prayers and to insults?
"I see," she said coldly, "that I do but waste my time in calling on
your honour to forego this infamous trickery. Where there is no
chivalry, there can be neither honour nor pity. I am in your hands,
helpless because I am a woman. If it is the will of God that I should so
remain, I cannot combat brute force with my feeble strength. No doubt
He knows best! and also I believe doth oft give the devil power to
triumph in the sight of men. After this night, sir, I will no longer
defame my lips by speaking to you. If you have a spark of compassion
left in your heart for one who hath never wronged you, I but ask you to
relieve me of your presence as much as you can during the weary hours of
this miserable journey."
"Have I your leave to go at once?" he said with unalterable cheerfulness
and made haste to reach the door.
"Only one moment more must I detain you," she rejoined haughtily. "I
wish you to understand that from this hour forth until such time as it
pleaseth God to free me from this humiliating position, I will follow
your commands to the best of my ability; not because I recognize your
right to dictate them but because I am helpless to oppose you. If I and
my waiting woman obey your orders meekly, if we rise when so ordered,
are ready to start on the way whenever so compelled, get in or out of
the vehicle at the first word from you, can we at least rest assured
that we shall be spared further outrage?"
"Do you mean, mejuffrouw, that I must no longer attempt to lift you out
of a coach or to carry you up to your chamber, even if as to-night you
are faint and but half-conscious?" he asked with whimsical earnestness.
"I desire, sir, that you and those who help you in this shameful work,
do in future spare me and my woman the insult of laying hands upon our
persons."
He gave a long, low whistle.
"Dondersteen," he exclaimed flippantly, "I had no thought that so much
hatred and malice could lurk in the frail body of a woman ... 'tis
true," he added with a shrug of the shoulders, "that a rogue such as I
must of necessity know very little of the workings of a noble lady's
mind."
"Had you known aught of mine, sir," she retorted coldly, "you would
have understood that it is neither hatred nor malice which I feel for
you and for those who are paying you to do this infamy ... what I feel
is only contempt."
"Is that all?" he queried blandly. "Ah, well, mejuffrouw, then am I all
the more indebted to you for the great honour which you have done me
this hour past."
"Honour? I do not understand. It was not in my mind to do you honour."
"I am sure not. You did it quite unconsciously and the honour was
enhanced thereby. You honoured me, mejuffrouw," he said while a tone of
earnestness crept into his merry voice, "by trusting me--the common
thief, the cut-throat, the hired brigand, alone in your presence for a
whole hour, while the entire household here was abed and your duenna
snoring contentedly in a room with locked door close by. During that
hour your tongue did not spare my temper for one moment. For this
recognition of manly forbearance and chivalry--even though you choose to
deny their existence--do I humbly thank you. Despite--or perhaps because
of your harsh estimate of me--you made me feel to-night almost a
gentleman."
With his habitual elegance of gesture he swept her a deep bow, then
without another word or look, and with firm, ringing steps he walked
quickly out of the room.