PROTESTATIONS
Half-an-hour later, the Lord of Stoutenburg was in Gilda's presence. He
was glad enough that Nicolaes Beresteyn--afraid to meet his sister--had
refused to accompany him. He, too, felt nervous and anxious at thought
of meeting her face to face at last. He had not spoken to her since that
day in March when he was a miserable fugitive--in a far worse plight
than was the wounded man tied with cords to a beam. He had been a hunted
creature then, every man's hand raised against him, his life at the
mercy of any passer-by, and she had given him shelter freely and
fearlessly--shelter and kind words--and her ministrations had brought
him luck, for he succeeded in reaching the coast after he parted from
her, and finding shelter once more in a foreign land.
Since then her image had filled his dreams by night and his thoughts by
day. His earlier love for her, smothered by ambition, rose up at once
more strong, more insistent than before; it became during all these
months of renewed intrigues and plots the one ennobling trait in his
tortuous character. His love for Gilda was in itself not a selfish
feeling; neither ambition nor the mere gratification of obstinate desire
entered in its composition. He loved Gilda for herself alone, with all
the adoration which a pious man would have given to his God, and while
one moment of his life was occupied in planning a ruthless and dastardly
murder, the other was filled with hopes of a happier future, with Gilda
beside him as his idolized wife. But though his love was in itself pure
and selfless, he remained true to his unscrupulous nature in the means
which he adopted in order to win the object of his love.
Even now, when he entered her presence in the miserable peasant's hut
where he chose to hold her a prisoner, he felt no remorse at the
recollection of what she must have suffered in the past few days; his
one thought was--now that he had her completely under his control--how
he could best plead his cause first, or succeed in coercing her will if
she proved unkind.
She received him quite calmly, and even with a gracious nod of the head,
and he thought that he had never seen her look more beautiful than she
did now, in her straight white gown, with that sweet, sad face of hers
framed by a wealth of golden curls. In this squalid setting of
white-washed walls and rafters blackened with age, she looked indeed--he
thought--like one of those fairy princesses held prisoner by a wicked
ogre--of whom he used to read long ago when he was a child, before sin
and treachery and that insatiable longing for revenge had wholly
darkened his soul.
With bare head and back bent nearly double in the depth of his homage he
approached his divinity.
"It is gracious of you, mejuffrouw, to receive me," he said forcing his
harsh voice to tones of gentleness.
"I had not the power to refuse, my lord," she replied quietly, "seeing
that I am in your hands and entirely at your commands."
"I entreat you do not say that," he rejoined eagerly, "there is no one
here who has the right to command save yourself. 'Tis I am in your hands
and your most humble slave."
"A truce to this farce, my lord," she retorted impatiently. "I were not
here if you happened to be my slave, and took commands from me."
"'Tis true mayhap that you would not be here, now, mejuffrouw," he said
blandly, "but I could only act for the best, and as speedily as I could.
The moment I heard that you were in the hands of brigands I moved heaven
and earth to find out where you were. I only heard this morning that you
were in Rotterdam...."
"You heard that I was in the hands of brigands," she murmured, almost
gasping with astonishment, "you heard this morning that I was in
Rotterdam...?"
"I sent spies and messengers in every direction the moment I heard of
the abominable outrage against your person," he continued with
well-feigned vehemence. "I cannot even begin to tell you what I endured
these past three days, until at last, by dint of ruse and force, I was
able to circumvent the villains who held you captive, and convey you
hither in safety and profound respect until such time as I can find a
suitable escort to take you back to your father."
"If what you say is true, my lord, you could lend me an escort at once,
that I might return to my dear father forthwith. Truly he must have
broken his heart by now, weeping for me."
"Have I not said that I am your slave?" he rejoined gently, "an you
desire to return to Haarlem immediately, I will see about an escort for
you as quickly as may be. The hour is late now," he added
hypocritically, "but a man can do much when his heart's desire lies in
doing the behests of a woman whom he worships."
Though she frowned at these last words of his, she leaned forward
eagerly to him.
"You will let me go ... at once ... to-night?"
"At once if it lies in my power," he replied unblushingly, "but I fear
me that you will have to wait a few hours; the night is as dark as
pitch. It were impossible to make a start in it. To-morrow,
however...."
"To-morrow?" she cried anxiously, "'Tis to-night that I wish to go."
"The way to Haarlem is long ..." he murmured.
"'Tis not to Haarlem, my lord, but to Delft that I long to go."
"To Delft?" he exclaimed with a perfect show of astonishment.
She bit her lip and for the moment remained silent. It had, indeed, been
worse than folly to imagine that he--of all men in the world--would help
her to go to Delft. But he had been so gentle, so kind, apparently so
ready to do all that she asked, that for the moment she forgot that he
and he alone was the mover of that hideous conspiracy to murder which
she still prayed to God that she might avert.
"I had forgotten, my lord," she said, as tears threatened to choke her
voice, "I had forgotten."
"Forgotten? What?" he asked blankly.
"That you are not like to escort me to Delft."
"Why not to Delft, an you wish to go there?"
"But ..." she murmured, "the Stadtholder...."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "now I understand. You are thinking of what you
overheard in the cathedral of Haarlem."
"Indeed, how could I forget it?"
"Easily now, Gilda," he replied with solemn earnestness. "The plans
which my friends and I formed on that night have been abandoned."
"Abandoned?"
"Yes! Your brother was greatly impressed by all that you said to him. He
persuaded us all to think more lengthily over the matter. Then came the
news of the outrage upon your person, and all thoughts of my ambition
and of my revenge faded before this calamity, and I have devoted every
hour of mine existence since then to find you and to restore you to your
home."
Bewildered, wide-eyed, Gilda listened to him. In all her life hitherto,
she had never come into contact with lying and with deceit: she had
never seen a man lying unblushingly, calmly, not showing signs of
confusion or of fear. Therefore, the thought that this man could be
talking so calmly, so simply, so logically, and yet be trying to deceive
her, never for one moment entered her head. The events of the past few
days crowded in upon her brain in such a maddening array, that, as she
sat here now, face to face with the man whom she had been so ready to
suspect, she could not disentangle from those events one single fact
that could justify her suspicions.
Even looking back upon the conversation which she had had with that
impudent rogue in Leyden and again last night, she distinctly remembered
now that he had never really said a single thing that implicated the
Lord of Stoutenburg or anyone else in this villainy.
She certainly was bewildered and very puzzled now: joy at the thought
that after all the Stadtholder was safe, joy that her brother's hand
would not be stained with murder, or his honour with treachery, mingled
with a vague sense of mistrust which she was powerless to combat, yet
felt ashamed to admit.
"Then, my lord," she murmured at last, "do you really tell me that the
outrage of which I have been the victim was merely planned by villains,
for mercenary motives?"
"What else could have prompted it?" he asked blandly.
"Neither you ... nor ... nor any of your friends had a hand in it?" she
insisted.
"I?" he exclaimed with a look of profound horror. "I?... to do you such
a wrong! For what purpose, ye gods?"
"To ... to keep me out of the way...."
"I understand," he said simply. "And you, Gilda, believed this of me?"
"I believed it," she replied calmly.
"You did not realize then that I would give every drop of my blood to
save you one instant's pain?"
"I did not realize," she said more coldly, "that you would give up your
ambition for any woman or for anything."
"You do not believe then, that I love you?"
"Speak not of love, my lord," she retorted, "it is a sacred thing. And
you methinks do not know what love is."
"Indeed you are right, Gilda," he said, "I do not know what is the love
of ordinary men. But if to love you, Gilda, means that every thought,
every hope, every prayer is centred upon you, if it means that neither
sleep nor work, nor danger can for one single instant chase your image
from my soul, if to love you means that my very sinews ache with the
longing to hold you in my arms, and that every moment which keeps me
from your side is torture worse than hell; if love means all that,
Gilda, then do I know to mine own hurt what love is."
"And in your ambition, my lord, you allowed that love to be smothered,"
she retorted calmly. "It is too late now to speak of it again, to any
woman save to Walburg de Marnix."
"I'll speak of it to you, Gilda, while the breath in my body lasts.
Walburg de Marnix is no longer my wife. The law of our country has
already set me free."
"The law of God binds you to her. I pray you speak no more of such
things to me."
"You are hard and cruel, Gilda."
"I no longer love you."
"You will love again," he retorted confidently, "in the meanwhile have I
regained your trust?"
"Not even that, wholly," she replied.
"Let me at least do one thing in my own justification," he pleaded.
"Allow me to prove to you now and at once that--great though my love is
for you, and maddening my desire to have you near me--I could not be
guilty of such an outrage, as I know that in your heart you do accuse me
of."
"I did accuse you of it, my lord, I own. But how can you prove me wrong
now and at once?"
"By bringing before you the only guilty person in this network of
infamy," he replied hotly.
"You know him then?"
"For these three days now I and my faithful servants have tracked him. I
have him here now a prisoner at last. His presence before you will prove
to you that I at least bore no share in the hideous transaction."
"Of whom do you speak, my lord?" she asked.
"Of the man who dared to lay hands upon you in Haarlem...."
"He is here--now?" she exclaimed.
"A helpless prisoner in my hands," he replied, "to-morrow summary
justice shall be meted out to him, and he will receive the punishment
which his infamy deserves."
"But he did not act on his own initiative," she said eagerly, "another
man more powerful, richer than he prompted him--paid him--tempted
him...."
Stoutenburg made a gesture of infinite contempt.
"So, no doubt, he has told you, Gilda. Men of his stamp are always
cowards at heart, even though they have a certain brutish instinct for
fighting--mostly in self-defence. He tried to palliate his guilt before
you by involving me in its responsibility."
"You," she whispered under her breath, "or one of your friends."
"You mean your brother Nicolaes," he rejoined quietly. "Ah! the man is
even a more arrant knave than I thought. So! he has tried to fasten the
responsibility for this outrage against your person, firstly on me who
worship the very ground you walk on, secondly on the brother whom you
love?"
"No, no," she protested eagerly, "I did not say that. It was I who...."
"Who thought so ill of me," broke in Stoutenburg with gentle reproach,
"of me and of Nicolaes. You questioned the rogue, and he did not deny
it, nay more he enlarged upon the idea, which would place all the
profits of this abominable transaction in his hands and yet exonerate
him from guilt. But you shall question him yourself, Gilda. By his
looks, by his answers, by his attitude you will be able to judge if I or
Nicolaes--or any of our friends, have paid him to lay hands upon you.
Remember however," he added significantly, "that such a low-born knave
will always lie to save his skin, so this do I entreat of you on my
knees: judge by his looks more than by his words, and demand a proof of
what he asserts."
"I will judge, my lord, as I think best," she retorted coldly. "And now,
I pray you, send for the man. I would like to hear what he has to say."
Stoutenburg immediately turned to obey: there was a guard outside the
door, and it was easy to send one of the men with orders to Jan to bring
the prisoner hither.
Within himself he was frankly taken aback at Gilda's ready
acquiescence--nay obvious desire to parley with the foreigner. A sharp
pang of jealousy had shot through his heart when he saw her glowing
eyes, her eagerness to defend the knave. The instinct that guided his
fierce love for Gilda, had quickly warned him that here was a danger of
which he had never even dreamed.
Women were easily swayed, he thought, by a smooth tongue and a grand
manner, both of which--Stoutenburg was bound to admit--the rogue
possessed in no scanty measure. Fortunately the mischief--if indeed
mischief there was--had only just begun: and of a truth reason itself
argued that Gilda must loathe and despise the villain who had wronged
her so deeply: moreover Stoutenburg had every hope that the coming
interview if carefully conducted would open Gilda's eyes more fully
still to the true character of the foreign mercenary with the unctuous
tongue and the chivalrous ways.
In any case the Lord of Stoutenburg himself had nothing to fear from
that interview, and he felt that his own clever words had already shaken
the foundations of Gilda's mistrust of him. Mayhap in desiring to parley
with the knave, she only wished to set her mind at rest finally on these
matters, and also with regard to her own brother's guilt. Stoutenburg
with an inward grim smile of coming triumph passed his hand over his
doublet where--in an inner pocket--reposed the parchment roll which was
the last proof of Beresteyn's connivance.
Gilda did not know the cypher-signature, and the knave would have some
difficulty in proving his assertion, if indeed, he dared to name
Nicolaes at all: whilst if he chose to play the chivalrous part before
Gilda, then the anonymous document would indeed prove of incalculable
value. In any case the complete humiliation of the knave who had
succeeded in gaining Gilda's interest, if nothing more, was
Stoutenburg's chief aim when he suggested the interview, and the
document with the enigmatical signature could easily become a powerful
weapon wherewith to make that humiliation more complete.
And thus musing, speculating, scheming, the Lord of Stoutenburg sent Jan
over to the molens with orders to bring the prisoner under a strong
guard to the jongejuffrouw's presence, whilst Gilda, silent and
absorbed, sat on in the tiny room of the miller's hut.
In spite of her loyalty, her love for her brother, in spite of
Stoutenburg's smooth assertions, a burning anxiety gnawed at her
heart--she felt wretchedly, miserably lonely, with a sense of treachery
encompassing her all round.
But there was a strange glow upon her face, which of a truth anxiety
could not have brought about; rather must it have been inward anger,
which assailed her whenever thoughts of the rogue whom she so hated
intruded themselves upon her brain.
No doubt too, the heat of the fire helped to enhance that delicate glow
which lent so much additional beauty to her face and such additional
brilliance to her eyes.