THE PROLOGUE
HAARLEM--MARCH 29TH, 1623
The day had been spring-like--even hot; a very unusual occurrence inHolland at this time of year.
Gilda Beresteyn had retired early to her room. She had dismissed Maria,whose chatterings grated upon her nerves, with the promise that shewould call her later. Maria had arranged a tray of dainties on thetable, a jug of milk, some fresh white bread and a little roast meat ona plate, for Gilda had eaten very little supper and it might happen thatshe would feel hungry later on.
It would have been useless to argue with the old woman about thismatter. She considered Gilda's health to be under her own specialcharge, ever since good Mevrouw Beresteyn had placed her baby girl inMaria's strong, devoted arms ere she closed her eyes in the last longsleep.
Gilda Beresteyn, glad to be alone, threw open the casement of the windowand peered out into the night.
The shadow of the terrible tragedy--the concluding acts of which werebeing enacted day by day in the Gevangen Poort of 'S Graven Hage--hadeven touched the distant city of Haarlem with its gloom. The eldest sonof John of Barneveld was awaiting final trial and inevitablecondemnation, his brother Stoutenburg was a fugitive, and theiraccomplices Korenwinder, van Dyk, the redoubtable Slatius and others,were giving away under torture the details of the aborted conspiracyagainst the life of Maurice of Nassau, Stadtholder of Holland,Gelderland, Utrecht and Overyssel, Captain and Admiral-General of theState, Prince of Orange, and virtual ruler of Protestant and republicanNetherlands.
Traitors all of them--would-be assassins--the Stadtholder whom they hadplanned to murder was showing them no mercy. As he had sent John ofBarneveld to the scaffold to assuage his own thirst for supreme powerand satisfy his own ambitions, so he was ready to send John ofBarneveld's sons to death and John of Barneveld's widow to sorrow andloneliness.
The sons of John of Barneveld had planned to avenge their father's deathby the committal of a cruel and dastardly murder: fate and the treacheryof mercenary accomplices had intervened, and now Groeneveld was on theeve of condemnation, and Stoutenburg was a wanderer on the face of theearth with a price put upon his head.
Gilda Beresteyn could not endure the thought of it all. All the memoriesof her childhood were linked with the Barnevelds. Stoutenburg had beenher brother Nicolaes' most intimate friend, and had been the first manto whisper words of love in her ears, ere his boundless ambition and hisunscrupulous egoism drove him into another more profitable marriage.
Gilda's face flamed up with shame even now at recollection of histreachery, and the deep humiliation which she had felt when she saw thefirst budding blossom of her girlish love so carelessly tossed aside bythe man whom she had trusted.
A sense of oppression weighed her spirits down to-night. It almostseemed as if the tragedy which had encompassed the entire Barneveldfamily was even now hovering over the peaceful house of MynheerBeresteyn, deputy burgomaster and chief civic magistrate of the town ofHaarlem. The air itself felt heavy as if with the weight of impendingdoom.
The little city lay quiet and at peace; a soft breeze from the southlightly fanned the girl's cheeks. She leaned her elbows on thewindow-sill and rested her chin in her hands. The moon was not up andyet it was not dark; a mysterious light still lingered on the horizonfar away where earth and sea met in a haze of purple and indigo.
From the little garden down below there rose the subtle fragrance ofearly spring--of wet earth and budding trees, and the dim veileddistance was full of strange sweet sounds, the call of night-birds, theshriek of sea-gulls astray from their usual haunts.
Gilda looked out and listened--unable to understand this vague sense ofoppression and of foreboding: when she put her finger up to her eyes,she found them wet with tears.
Memories rose from out the past, sad phantoms that hovered in the scentof the spring. Gilda had never wholly forgotten the man who had oncefilled her heart with his personality, much less could she chase awayhis image from her mind now that a future of misery and disgrace was allthat was left to him.
She did not know what had become of him, and dared not ask for news.Mynheer Beresteyn, loyal to the House of Nassau and to its prince, hadcast out of his heart the sons of John of Barneveld whom he had onceloved. Assassins and traitors, he would with his own lips have condemnedthem to the block, or denounced them to the vengeance of the Stadtholderfor their treachery against him.
The feeling of uncertainty as to Stoutenburg's fate softened Gilda'sheart toward him. She knew that he had become a wanderer on the face ofthe earth, Cain-like, homeless, friendless, practically kinless; shepitied him far more than she did Groeneveld or the others who werelooking death quite closely in the face.
She was infinitely sorry for him, for him and for his wife, for whosesake he had been false to his first love. The gentle murmur of thebreeze, the distant call of the water-fowl, seemed to bring back toGilda's ears those whisperings of ardent passion which had come fromStoutenburg's lips years ago. She had listened to them with joy then,with glowing eyes cast down and cheeks that flamed up at his words.
And as she listened to these dream-sounds others more concrete mingledwith the mystic ones far away: the sound of stealthy footsteps upon theflagged path of the garden, and of a human being breathing and pantingsomewhere close by, still hidden by the gathering shadows of the night.
She held her breath to listen--not at all frightened, for the sound ofthose footsteps, the presence of that human creature close by, were intune with her mood of expectancy of something that was foredoomed tocome.
Suddenly the breeze brought to her ear the murmur of her name, whisperedas if in an agony of pleading:
"Gilda!"
She leaned right out of the window. Her eyes, better accustomed to thedim evening light, perceived a human figure that crouched against theyew hedge, in the fantastic shadow cast by the quaintly shaped peacockat the corner close to the house.
"Gilda!" came the murmur again, more insistent this time.
"Who goes there?" she called in response: and it was an undefinableinstinct stronger than her will that caused her to drop her own voicealso to a whisper.
"A fugitive hunted to his death," came the response scarce louder thanthe breeze. "Give me shelter, Gilda--human bloodhounds are on my track."
Gilda's heart seemed to stop its beating; the human figure out there inthe shadows had crept stealthily nearer. The window out of which sheleaned was only a few feet from the ground; she stretched out her handinto the night.
"There is a projection in the wall just there," she whispered hurriedly,"and the ivy stems will help you.... Come!"
The fugitive grasped the hand that was stretched out to him in pityinghelpfulness. With the aid of the projection in the wall and of the stemsof the century-old ivy, he soon cleared the distance which separated himfrom the window-sill. The next moment he had jumped into the room.
Gilda in this impulsive act of mercy had not paused to consider eitherthe risks or the cost. She had recognised the voice of the man whom shehad once loved, that voice called to her out of the depths of boundlessmisery; it was the call of a man at bay, a human quarry hunted andexhausted, with the hunters close upon his heels. She could not haveresisted that call even if she had allowed her reason to fight herinstinct then.
But now that he stood before her in rough fisherman's clothes, stainedand torn, his face covered with blood and grime, his eyes red andswollen, the breath coming in quick, short gasps through his blue,cracked lips, the first sense of fear at what she had done seized holdof her heart.
At first he took no notice of her, but threw himself into the nearestchair and passed his hands across his face and brow.
"My God," he murmured, "I thought they would have me to-night."
She stood in the middle of the room, feeling helpless and bewildered;she was full of pity for the man, for there is nothing more unutterablypathetic than the hunted human creature in its final stage of apatheticexhaustion, but she was just beginning to co-ord
inate her thoughts andthey for the moment were being invaded by fear.
She felt more than she saw, that presently he turned his hollow,purple-rimmed eyes upon her, and that in them there was a glow half ofpassionate will-power and half of anxious, agonizing doubt.
"Of what are you afraid, Gilda?" he asked suddenly, "surely not of me?"
"Not of you, my lord," she replied quietly, "only for you."
"I am a miserable outlaw now, Gilda," he rejoined bitterly, "fourthousand golden guilders await any lout who chooses to sell me for acompetence."
"I know that, my lord ... and marvel why you are here? I heard that youwere safe--in Belgium."
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
"I was safe there," he said, "but I could not rest. I came back a fewdays ago, thinking I could help my brother to escape. Bah!" he addedroughly, "he is a snivelling coward...."
"Hush! for pity's sake," she exclaimed, "some one will hear you."
"Close that window and lock the door," he murmured hoarsely. "I amspent--and could not resist a child if it chose to drag me at thismoment to the Stadtholder's spies."
Gilda obeyed him mechanically. First she closed the window; then shewent to the door listening against the panel with all her senses on thealert. At the further end of the passage was the living-room where herfather must still be sitting after his supper, poring over a book onhorticulture, or mayhap attending to his tulip bulbs. If he knew thatthe would-be murderer of the Stadtholder, the prime mover andinstigator of the dastardly plot was here in his house, in hisdaughter's chamber ... Gilda shuddered, half-fainting with terror,and her trembling fingers fumbled with the lock.
"Is Nicolaes home?" asked Stoutenburg, suddenly.
"Not just now," she replied, "but he, too, will be home anon.... Myfather is at home...."
"Ah!... Nicolaes is my friend ... I counted on seeing him here ... hewould help me I know ... but your father, Gilda, would drag me to thegallows with his own hand if he knew that I am here."
"You must not count on Nicolaes either, my lord," she pleaded, "nor mustyou stay here a moment longer ... I heard my father's step in thepassage already. He is sure to come and bid me good-night before he goesto bed...."
"I am spent, Gilda," he murmured, and indeed his breath came in suchfeeble gasps that he could scarce speak. "I have not touched food fortwo days. I landed at Scheveningen a week ago, and for five days havehung about the Gevangen Poort of 'S Graven Hage trying to get speechwith my brother. I had gained the good will of an important official inthe prison, but Groeneveld is too much of a coward to make a fight forfreedom. Then I was recognized by a group of workmen outside my deadfather's house. I read recognition in their eyes--knowledge of me andknowledge of the money which that recognition might mean to them. Theyfeigned indifference at first, but I had read their thoughts. They drewtogether to concert over their future actions and I took to my heels. Itwas yesterday at noon, and I have been running ever since, running,running, with but brief intervals to regain my breath and beg for adrink of water--when thirst became more unendurable than the thought ofcapture. I did not even know which way I was running till I saw thespires of Haarlem rising from out the evening haze; then I thought ofyou, Gilda, and of this house. You would not sell me, Gilda, for you arerich, and you loved me once," he added hoarsely, while his thin, grimyhands clutched the arms of the chair and he half-raised himself from hisseat, as if ready to spring up and to start running again; running,running until he dropped.
But obviously his strength was exhausted, for the next moment he fellback against the cushions, the swollen lids fell upon the hollow eyes,the sunken cheeks and parched lips became ashen white.
"Water!" he murmured.
She ministered to him kindly and gently, first holding the water to hislips, then when he had quenched that raging thirst, she pulled the tableup close to his chair, and gave him milk to drink and bread and meat toeat.
He seemed quite dazed, conscious only of bodily needs, for he ate anddrank ravenously without thought at first of thanking her. Only when hehad finished did he lean back once again against the cushions which herkindly hand had placed behind him, and he murmured feebly like a tiredbut satisfied child:
"You are an angel of goodness, Gilda. Had you not helped me to-night, Ishould either have perished in a ditch, or fallen in the hands of theStadholder's minions."
Quickly she put a restraining hand on his shoulder. A firm step hadechoed in the flagged corridor beyond the oaken door.
"My father!" she whispered.
In a moment the instinct for life and liberty was fully aroused in thefugitive; his apathy and exhaustion were forgotten; terror, mad,unreasoning terror, had once more taken possession of his mind.
"Hide me, Gilda," he entreated hoarsely, and his hands clutched wildlyat her gown, "don't let him see me ... he would give me up ... he wouldgive me up...."
"Hush, in the name of God," she commanded, "he will hear you if youspeak."
Swiftly she blew out the candles, then with dilated anxious eyessearched the recesses of the room for a hiding-place--the cupboard whichwas too small--the wide hearth which was too exposed--the bed in thewall....
His knees had given way under him, and, as he clutched at her gown, hefell forward at her feet, and remained there crouching, trembling, hiscircled eyes trying to pierce the surrounding gloom, to locate theposition of the door behind which lurked the most immediate danger.
"Hide me, Gilda," he murmured almost audibly under his breath, "for thelove you bore me once."
"Gilda!" came in a loud, kindly voice from the other side of the door.
"Yes, father!"
"You are not yet abed, are you, my girl?"
"I have just blown out the candles, dear," she contrived to reply with afairly steady voice.
"Why is your door locked?"
"I was a little nervous to-night, father dear. I don't know why."
"Well! open then! and say good-night."
"One moment, dear."
She was white to the lips, white as the gown which fell in straightheavy folds from her hips, and which Stoutenburg was still clutchingwith convulsive fingers. Alone her white figure detached itself from thedarkness around. The wretched man as he looked up could see her smallpale head, the stiff collar that rose above her shoulders, herembroidered corslet, and the row of pearls round her neck.
"Save me, Gilda," he repeated with the agony of despair, "do not letyour father hand me over to the Stadtholder ... there will be no mercyfor me, Gilda ... hide me ... for the love of God."
Noiselessly she glided across the room, dragging him after her by thehand. She pulled aside the bed-curtains, without a word pointed to therecess. The bed, built into the wall, was narrow but sure; it smeltsweetly of lavender; the hunted man, his very senses blurred by thatoverwhelming desire to save his life at any cost, accepted the shelterso innocently offered him. Gathering his long limbs together, he wassoon hidden underneath the coverlet.
"Gilda!" came more insistently from behind the heavy door.
"One moment, father. I was fastening my gown."
"Don't trouble to do that. I only wished to say good-night."
She pulled the curtains together very carefully in front of the bed: sheeven took the precaution of taking off her stiff collar and embroideredcorslet. Then she lighted one of the candles, and with it in her handshe went to the door.
Then she drew back the bolt.
"May I not come in?" said Mynheer Beresteyn gaily, for she remainedstanding on the threshold.
"Well no, father!" she replied, "my room is very untidy ... I was justgetting into bed...."
"Just getting into bed," he retorted with a laugh, "why, child, you havenot begun to undress."
"I wished to undress in the dark. My head aches terribly ... it must bethe spring air ... Good-night, dear."
"Good-night, little one!" said Beresteyn, as he kissed his daughtertenderly. "Nicolaes has just come home," he added, "he wanted to see youtoo
."
"Ask him to wait till to-morrow then. My head feels heavy. I canscarcely hold it up."
"You are not ill, little one?" asked the father anxiously.
"No, no ... only oppressed with this first hot breath of spring."
"Why is not Maria here to undress you? I'll send her."
"Not just now, father. She will come presently. Her chattering weariedme and I sent her away."
"Well! good-night again, my girl. God bless you. You will not seeNicolaes?"
"Not to-night, father. Tell him I am not well. Good-night."
Mynheer Beresteyn went away at last, not before Gilda feared that shemust drop or faint under the stress of this nerve-racking situation.
Even now when at last she was alone, when once again she was able toclose and bolt the door, she could scarcely stand. She leaned againstthe wall with eyes closed, and heart that beat so furiously and so fastthat she thought she must choke.
The sound of her father's footsteps died away along the corridor. Sheheard him opening and shutting a door at the further end of the passage,where there were two or three living rooms and his own sleeping chamber.For awhile now the house was still, so still that she could almost hearthose furious heart-beats beneath her gown. Then only did she dare tomove. With noiseless steps she crossed the room to that recess in thewall hidden by the gay-flowered cotton curtains.
She paused close beside these.
"My lord!" she called softly.
No answer.
"My lord! my father has gone! you are in no danger for the moment!"
Still no answer, and as she paused, straining her ears to listen, shecaught the sound of slow and regular breathing. Going back to the tableshe took up the candle, then with it in her hand she returned to therecess and gently drew aside the curtain. The light from the candle fellfull upon Stoutenburg's face. Inexpressibly weary, exhausted both bodilyand mentally, not even the imminence of present danger had succeeded inkeeping him awake. The moment that he felt the downy pillow under hishead, he had dropped off to sleep as peacefully as he used to do yearsago before the shadow of premeditated crime had left its impress on hiswan face.
Gilda looking down on him sought in vain in the harsh and haggardfeatures, the traces of those boyish good looks which had fascinated heryears ago; she tried in vain to read on those thin, set lips those wordsof passionate affection which had so readily flown from them then.
She put down the candle again and drew a chair close to the bed, thenshe sat down and waited.
And he slept on calmly, watched over by the woman whom he had soheartlessly betrayed. All love for him had died out in her heart erethis, but pity was there now, and she was thankful that it had been inher power to aid him at the moment of his most dire peril.
But that danger still existed of course. The household was still astirand the servants not yet all abed. Gilda could hear Jakob, the oldhenchman, making his rounds, seeing that all the lights were safely out,the bolts pushed home and chains securely fastened, and Maria might comeback at any moment, wondering why her mistress had not yet sent for her.Nicolaes too was at home, and had already said that he wished to see hissister.
She tried to rouse the sleeping man, but he lay there like a log. Shedared not speak loudly to him or to call his name, and all her effortsat shaking him by the shoulder failed to waken him.
Lonely and seriously frightened now Gilda fell on her knees beside thebed. Clasping her hands she tried to pray. Surely God could not leave ayoung girl in such terrible perplexity, when her only sin had been anact of mercy. The candle on the bureau close by burnt low in its socketand its flickering light outlined her delicate profile and the softtendrils of hair that escaped from beneath her coif. Her eyes wereclosed in the endeavour to concentrate her thoughts, and time flew byswiftly while she tried to pray. She did not perceive that after awhilethe Lord of Stoutenburg woke and that he remained for a long time inmute contemplation of the exquisite picture which she presented, cladall in white, with the string of pearls still round her throat, herhands clasped, her lips parted breathing a silent prayer.
"How beautiful you are, Gilda!" he murmured quite involuntarily at last.
Then--as suddenly startled and terrified--she tried to jump up quickly,away from him, he put out his hand and succeeded in capturing her wristsand thus holding her pinioned and still kneeling close beside him.
"An angel of goodness," he said, "and exquisitely beautiful."
At his words, at the renewed pressure of his hand upon her wrists shemade a violent effort to recover her composure.
"I pray you, my lord, let go my hands. They were clasped in prayer foryour safety. You slept so soundly that I feared I could not wake you inorder to tell you that you must leave this house instantly."
"I will go, Gilda," he said quietly, making no attempt to move or torelax his hold on her, "for this brief interval of sleep, your kindministrations and the food you gave me have already put new strengthinto me. And the sight of you kneeling and praying near me has put lifeinto me again."
"Then, since you are better," she rejoined coldly, "I pray you rise, mylord, and make ready to go. The garden is quite lonely, the Oude Grachtat its furthest boundary is more lonely still. The hour is late and thecity is asleep ... you would be quite safe now."
"Do not send me away yet, Gilda, just when a breath of happiness--thefirst I have tasted for four years--has been wafted from heaven upon me.May I not stay here awhile and live for a brief moment in a dream whichis born of unforgettable memories?"
"It is not safe for you to stay here, my lord," she said coldly.
"My lord? You used to call me Willem once."
"That was long ago, my lord, ere you gave Walburg de Marnix the soleright to call you by tender names."
"She has deserted me, Gilda. Fled from me like a coward, leaving me tobear my misery alone."
"She shared your misery for four years, my lord; it was your disgracethat she could not endure."
"You knew then that she had left me?"
"My father had heard of it."
"Then you know that I am a free man again?"
"The law no doubt will soon make you so."
"The law has already freed me through Walburg's own act of desertion.You know our laws as well as I do, Gilda. If you have any doubt ask yourown father whose business it is to administer them. Walburg de Marnixhas set me free, free to begin a new life, free to follow at last thedictates of my heart."
"For the moment, my lord," she retorted coldly, "you are not free evento live your old life."
"I would not live it again, Gilda, now that I have seen you again. Thepast seems even now to be falling away from me. Dreams and memories arestronger than reality. And you, Gilda ... have you forgotten?"
"I have forgotten nothing, my lord."
"Our love--your vows--that day in June when you yielded your lips to mykiss?"
"Nor that dull autumnal day, my lord, when I heard from the lips ofstrangers that in order to further your own ambitious schemes you hadcast me aside like a useless shoe, and had married another woman who wasricher and of nobler birth than I."
She had at last succeeded in freeing herself from his grasp, and hadrisen to her feet, and retreated further and further away from him untilshe stood up now against the opposite wall, her slender, white form lostin the darkness, her whispered words only striking clearly on his ear.
He too rose from the bed and drew up his tall lean figure with a gesturestill expressive of that ruthless ambition with which Gilda had tauntedhim.
"My marriage then was pure expediency, Gilda," he said with a shrug ofthe shoulders. "My father, whose differences with the Stadtholder werereaching their acutest stage, had need of the influence of Marnix de St.Aldegonde; my marriage with Walburg de Marnix was done in my father'sinterests and went sorely against my heart ... it is meet and naturalthat she herself should have severed a tie which was one only in name. Ayear hence from now, the law grants me freedom to contract a newmarriage
tie; my love for you, Gilda, is unchanged."
"And mine for you, my lord, is dead."
He gave a short, low laugh in which there rang a strange note oftriumph.
"Dormant mayhap, Gilda," he said as he groped his way across thedarkened room and tried to approach her. "Your ears have been poisonedby your father's hatred of me. Let me but hold you once more in my arms,let me but speak to you once again of the past, and you will forget allsave your real love for me."
"All this is senseless talk, my lord," she said coldly, "your life atthis moment hangs upon the finest thread that destiny can weave. Humanbloodhounds you said were upon your track; they have not wholly lost thescent, remember."
Her self-possession acted like a fall of icy-cold water upon the ardourof his temper. Once more that hunted look came into his face; he castfurtive, frightened glances around him, peering into the gloom, as ifenemies might be lurking in every dark recess.
"They shall not have me," he muttered through set teeth, "notto-night ... not now that life again holds out to me a cup brimful ofhappiness. I will go, Gilda, just as you command ... they shall not findme ... I have something to live for now ... you and revenge.... Myfather, my brother, my friends, I shall avenge them all--thattreacherous Stadtholder shall not escape from my hatred the second time.Then will I have power, wealth, a great name to offer you. Gilda, youwill remember me?"
"I will remember you, my lord, as one who has passed out of my life. Myplaymate of long ago, the man whom I once loved is dead to me. He whowould stain his hands with blood is hateful in my sight. Go, go, mylord, I entreat you, ere you make my task of helping you to life andsafety harder than I can bear."
She ran to the window and threw it open, then pointed out into thenight.
"There lies your way, my lord. God only knows if I do right in notdenouncing you even now to my father."
"You will not denounce me, Gilda," he said, drawing quite near to her,now that he could see her graceful figure silhouetted against thestarlit sky, "you will not denounce me for unknown mayhap even toyourself, your love for me is far from dead. As for me I feel that Ihave never loved as I love you now. Your presence has intoxicated me,your nearness fills my brain as with a subtle, aromatic wine. Allthought of my own danger fades before my longing to hold you just forone instant close to my heart, to press for one brief yet eternal secondmy lips against yours. Gilda, I love you!"
His arms quickly closed round her, she felt his hot breath against hercheek. For one moment did she close her eyes, for she felt sick andfaint, but the staunch valour of that same Dutch blood which hadstriven and fought and endured and conquered throughout the ages pastgave her just that courage, just that presence of mind which she needed.
"An you do not release me instantly," she said firmly, "I will rouse thehouse with one call."
Then, as his arms instinctively dropped away from her and he drew backwith a muttered curse:
"Go!" she said, once more pointing toward the peaceful and distanthorizon now wrapped in the veil of night. "Go! while I still have thestrength to keep silent, save for a prayer for your safety."
Her attitude was so firm, her figure so rigid, that he knew thatinevitably he must obey. His life was in danger, not hers; and she hadof a truth but little to fear from him. He bowed his head in submissionand humility, then he bent the knee and raising her gown to his lips heimprinted a kiss upon the hem. The next moment he had swung himselflightly upon the window sill, from whence he dropped softly upon theground below.
For a few minutes longer she remained standing beside the open window,listening to his footfall on the flagged path. She could justdistinguish his moving form from the surrounding gloom, as he creptalong the shadows towards the boundary of the garden. Then as for onebrief minute she saw his figure outlined above the garden wall, sheclosed the window very slowly and turned away from it.
The next moment she was lying in a swoon across the floor of her room.
THE ADVENTURE