CHAPTER XXX
A NOCTURNE
It was only natural that, though tired as he was and enjoying anunusually contented mind, Diogenes was nevertheless unable to get tosleep.
He had had a very good supper and had parted at an early hour from hishost. Ben Isaje had been amiable even deferential to the last, andindeed there had been nothing in the Jew's demeanour to arousemisgivings in the most suspicious mind.
The lean and towzled serving woman had prepared a clean and comfortablebed in the narrow alcove within the wall panelling of the small roomwhich adjoined the shop, but though the weary philosopher wooed sleepwith utmost persistence, it resolutely refused to be lured to hispillow. At first the arrival of the night watchmen had kept him awake:for they made their entrance with much jangling of swords and loud andlusty talk. There was apparently a good solid partition between his roomand the shop because as soon as the watchmen were settled at their posttheir voices only reached Diogenes' ear like a muffled murmur.
A door gave from this room on the passage and this he had carefullylocked; but it hung loosely on its hinges and the slightest noise in thehouse--a heavy footfall overhead or in the shop--would cause it torattle with a weird, intermittent sound which sent sleep flying baffledaway.
There were thoughts too which crowded in upon him--pleasant thoughts aswell as others that were a trifle sad--the immediate future with itspromise of a possible fortune loomed brightly enough, but the means tothat happy end was vaguely disturbing the light-hearted equanimity ofthis soldier of fortune accustomed hitherto to grip Chance by the hairwhenever she rushed past him in her mad, whirling career, and withoutheeding those who stood in his way.
But suddenly the whole thing seemed different, and Diogenes himselfcould not have told you why it was so. Thoughts of the future and of thepromises which it held disturbed when they should have elated him: therewas a feeling in him which he could not analyse, a feeling wherein astrange, sweet compassion seemed to form the main ingredient. Thephilosopher who had hitherto viewed life through the rosy glasses ofunalterable good-humour, who had smiled at luck and ill-luck, laughed atmisfortune and at hope, suddenly felt that there was something in lifewhich could not be dismissed light-heartedly, something which reallycounted, though it was so intangible and so elusive that even now hecould not give it a name.
The adventurer, who had slept soundly and dreamlessly in camp and on thefield, in the streets of a sacked town or the still smoulderingbattlements of a fortress, could find no rest in the comfortable bed socarefully prepared for him in the house of Ben Isaje the Jew. The murmurof voices from the shop, low and monotonous, irritated his nerves, therattling of the door upon its hinges drove him well-nigh distracted.
He heard every noise in the house as they died out one by one; the voiceof the serving woman bidding the jongejuffrouw "good-night," theshuffling footsteps of the old Jew, the heavy tread of Maria overhead,and another, light and swift which--strangely enough--disturbed him morecompletely than the louder sounds had done.
At last he could stand his present state no longer, he felt anunpleasant tingling to the very tips of his fingers and the very rootsof his hair; it seemed to him as if soft noiseless steps wanderedaimlessly outside his door; furtive tiny animals with feet of velvetmust have run down the stairs and then halted, breathless and terrified,on the other side of those rattling wooden panels.
He sat up in bed and groping for his tinder he struck a light; then helistened again. Not a sound now stirred inside the house, only the windsoughed through the loose tiles of the roof and found out the chinks andcracks of the ill-fitting window, through which it blew with a sharp,whistling sound. From the shop there came the faint murmur of some ofthe watchmen snoring at their post.
Beyond that, nothing. And yet Diogenes, whose keen ear was trained to
catch the flutter of every twig, the movement of every beast, could havesworn that someone was awake at this moment, in this house besideshimself--someone who breathed and trembled on the other side of thedoor.
Without a moment's hesitation he slipped on his clothes as quickly as hecould, then he pulled the curtains across in front of the alcove andpaused for one second longer in order to listen.
He had certainly not been mistaken. Through the stillness of the househe heard the soughing of the wind, the snoring of the watchmen, and thatfaint, palpitating sound outside in the passage--that sound which was asthe breathing of some living, frightened thing.
Then he walked as noiselessly as he could up to the door, and with asudden simultaneous turn of key and handle he opened it suddenly.
It opened outwards, and the passage beyond was pitch dark, but there infront of him now, white as a ghost, white as the garment which she wore,white as the marble statue of the Madonna which he had seen in thecathedral at Prague, stood the jongejuffrouw.
The candle which she carried flickered in the draught, and thusflickering it lit up her large blue eyes which she kept fixed upon himwith an expression half defiant yet wholly terrified.
Frankly he thought at first that this was an apparition, a vividembodiment of the fevered fancies which had been haunting him. No wondertherefore that he made no movement toward her, or expressed theslightest astonishment at seeing her there, all alone, in the middle ofthe night, not five paces away from him.
Thus they stood looking at one another for some time in absolutesilence; she obviously very frightened, hesitating betwixt audacity andimmediate flight, and he puzzled and with a vague sense of unrealityupon him, a sense as of a dream which yet had in it the pulsatingvividness of life.
She was the first to break this silence which was beginning to beoppressive. Gilda Beresteyn was not a timid woman nor was hers acharacter which ever vacillated once her mind was made up. The stepwhich she had taken this night--daring and unconventional as it was--hadbeen well thought out: deliberately and seriously she had weighed everydanger, every risk which she ran, even those which in her pure-mindedinnocence she was not able fully to appreciate. Now though she wasscared momentarily, she had no thought of turning back.
The old stiff-necked haughtiness of her race did not desert her for amoment, even though she was obviously at a disadvantage in thisinstance, and had come here as a suppliant.
"I wished to speak with you, sir," she said, and her voice had scarce atremor in it, "my woman was too timorous to come down and summon you tomy presence, as I had ordered her to do; so I was forced to comemyself."
Though she looked very helpless, very childlike in her innocence, shehad contrived to speak to him like a princess addressing a menial,holding her tiny head very high and making visible efforts to still the
quivering of her lips.
There was something so quaint in this proud attitude of hers under thepresent circumstances, that despite its pathos Diogenes' keen sense ofhumour was not proof against it, and that accustomed merry smile of hiscrept slowly over every line of his face.
"I am ever at your service, mejuffrouw," he said as gravely as he could,"your major domo, your valet ... I always await your commands."
"Then I pray you take this candle," she said coldly, "and stand asidethat I may enter. What I have to say cannot be told in this passage."
He took the candle from her, since she held it out to him, and thenstepped aside just as she had commanded, keeping the door wide open forher to pass through into the room. She was holding herself very erect,and with perfect self-possession she now selected a chair whereon tosit. She wore the same white gown which she had on when first he laidhands on her in the streets of Haarlem, and the fur cloak wherein shehad wrapped herself had partially slid from her shoulders.
Having sat down, close to the table, with one white arm resting upon it,she beckoned peremptorily to him to close the door and to put the candledown; all of which he did quite mechanically, for the feeling had comeback to him that the white figure before him was only a vision--ormayhap a dream--from which, however, he hoped not to awaken too soon.
"At your command, mejuffrouw," was all that he said, and he remainedstanding quite close to the door, with half the width of the roombetween himself and her.
But to himself he murmured under his breath:
"St. Bavon and the Holy Virgin, do ye both stand by me now!"
"I do not know, sir," she began after awhile, "if my coming here at thishour doth greatly surprise you, but in truth the matter which brings meis so grave that I cannot give a thought to your feelings or to mineown."
"And mine, mejuffrouw, are of such little consequence," he saidgood-humouredly seeing that she appeared to wait for a reply, "that itwere a pity you should waste precious time in considering them."
"Nor have I come to talk of feelings, sir. My purpose is of deadlyearnestness. I have come to propose a bargain for your acceptance."
"A bargain?"
"Yes. A bargain," she reiterated. "One I hope and think that you willfind it worth while to accept."
"Then may I crave the honour of hearing the nature of that bargain,mejuffrouw?" he asked pleasantly.
She did not give him an immediate reply but remained quite still andsilent for a minute or even two, looking with wide-open inquiring eyeson the tall figure of the man who had--to her mind--done her such aninfinite wrong. She noted and acknowledged quite dispassionately the airof splendour which became him so well--splendour of physique, of youthand of strength, and those laughing eyes that questioned and thatmocked, the lips that always smiled and the straight brow with its noblesweep which hid the true secret of his personality. And once again--ason that evening at Leyden--she fell almost to hating him, angered thatsuch a man should be nothing better than a knave, a mercenary rogue paidto lend a hand in unavowable deeds.
He stood her scrutiny as best he could, answering her look of haughtycondescension with one of humble deference; but the smile of gentleirony never left his lips and tempered the humility of his attitude.
"You have owned to me, sir," resumed Gilda Beresteyn at last, "that youhave been paid for the infamous work which you are doing now; for layinghands on me in the streets of Haarlem and for keeping me a prisoner atthe good will of your employer. To own to such a trade, sir, is to admitoneself somewhat below the level of honest men. Is that not so?"
"Below the level of most men, mejuffrouw, I admit," he repliedimperturbably.
"Had it not been for that admission on your part, I would never havethought of coming to you with a proposal which...."
"Which you never would have put before an honest man," he broke in withperfect equanimity, seeing that she hesitated.
"You anticipate my thought, sir: and I am glad to find that you willmake my errand even easier than I had hoped. Briefly then let me tellyou--as I told you at Leyden--that I know who your paymaster is. A manhas thought fit to perpetrate a crime against me, for a reason which nodoubt he deemed expedient and which probably he has not imparted to you.Reasons and causes I imagine, sir, are no concern of yours. You takepayment for your deeds and do not inquire into motives. Is that not so?"
This time Diogenes only made a slight bow in acknowledgment of herquestion. He was smiling to himself more grimly than was his wont, forhe had before him the recollection of the Lord of Stoutenburg--cruel,coarse, and evil, bullying and striking a woman--and of NicolaesBeresteyn--callous and cynical, bartering his sister's honour and safetyto ensure his own. To the one she had plighted her troth, the other washer natural protector, dear to her through those sweet bonds ofchildhood which bind brother and sister in such close affection. Yetboth are selfish, unscrupulous rogues, thought the philosopher, thoughboth very dear to her, and both honest men in her sight.
"That being so, sir," she resumed once more, "meseems that you should beequally ready to do me service and to ask me no questions, provided thatI pay you well."
"That, mejuffrouw," he said quietly, "would depend on the nature of theservice."
"It is quite simple, sir. Let me explain. While my woman and I werehaving supper upstairs, the wench who served us fell to gossiping,telling us the various news of the day which have filtered through intoRotterdam. Among other less important matters, sir, she told us that thePrince of Orange had left his camp at Sprang in order to journeynorthwards to Amsterdam. Yesterday he and his escort of one hundredmen-at-arms passed close to this city; they were making for Delft wherethe Prince means to spend a day or two before proceeding further on hisjourney. He sleeps at the Prinzenhof in Delft this night."
"Yes, mejuffrouw?" he said, for suddenly her manner had changed;something of its coolness had gone from it, even if the pride was stillthere. While she spoke a warm tinge of pink flooded her cheeks; she wasleaning forward, her eyes bright and glowing were fixed upon him with alook of eagerness and almost of appeal, and her lips were moist andtrembling, whilst the words which she wished to speak seemed to be dyingin her throat.
"What hath the progress of the Prince of Orange to do with your mosthumble and most obedient servant?" he asked again.
"I must speak with the Prince of Orange, sir," she said while her voicenow soft and mellow fell almost like a prayer on his ear. "I must go tohim to Delft not later than to-morrow. Oh! you will not refuse methis ... you cannot ... I...."
She had clasped her hands together, her eyes were wet with tears, and asshe pleaded, she bent forward so low in her chair, that it seemed for amoment as if her knees would touch the ground. In the flickeringcandle-light she looked divinely pretty thus, with all the cold air ofpride gone from her childlike face. A gentle draught stirred the faircurls round her head, the fur cloak had completely slipped down from hershoulders and her white dress gave her more than ever the air of thatMadonna carved in marble which he had seen once in the cathedral atPrague.
The philosopher passed a decidedly shaking hand across his forehead: theroom was beginning to whirl round him, the floor to give way under hisfeet. He fell to thinking that the mild ale offered to him by Ben Isajehad been more heady than he had thought.
"St. Bavon," he murmured to himself, "where in Heaven's name are ye now?I asked you to stand by me."
It was one of those moments--perfect in themselves--when a man canforget everything that pertains to the outer world, when neitherself-interest nor ordinary prudence will count, when he is ready tojeopardize his life, his career, his future, his very soul for theecstasy which lies in the one heaven-born minute. Thus it was with thisphilosopher, this man of the moment, the adventurer, the soldier offortune; the world which he had meant to conquer, the fortune which hehad vowed to win seemed to slip absolutely away from him. Thisdream--for it was after all only a dream, it was just too beautiful tobe reality--the continuance of this dream seemed to him to be all thatmattered, this girl--proud and pleading--a Madonna, a saint, a child ofinnocence, was the only perfect, desirable entity in this universe.
"St. Bavon, you rogue! you are playing me false!" he murmured, as thelast vestige of self-control and of prudence threatened to fall awayfrom him.
"Madonna," he said as with a quick movement he came forward and bent theknee before her, "I entreat you to believe that whatever lies in mypower to do in your service, that will I gladly do. How can I refuse,"he added whilst that immutable smile, gentle, humourous, faintlyironical, once more lit up his face as he looked straight into hers,"how can I refuse to obey since you deign to plead to me with thoselips? how can I withstand your appeal when it speaks to me through youreyes?"
"You will let me do what I ask?" she exclaimed with a little cry of joy,for his attitude was very humble and his voice yielding and kind; he waskneeling at some little distance from her, which was quite becoming in amercenary knave.
"If it be in my power, Madonna!" he said simply.
"Then will I pay you well," she continued eagerly. "I have thought itall out. I am rich you know, and my bond is as good as that of any man.Do you but bring me inkhorn and paper, I will give you a bond for 4,000guilders on Mynheer Ben Isaje himself, he hath monies of mine own intrust and at interest. But if 4,000 guilders are not enou
gh, I pray youname your price; it shall be what you ask."
"What do you desire me to do, Madonna?"
"I desire you to escort me to Delft so that I may speak with the Princeof Orange."
"The Prince of Orange is well guarded. No stranger is allowed to enterhis presence."
"I am not a stranger to him. My father is his friend; a word from me tohim, a ring of mine sent in with a request for an audience and he willnot refuse."
"And having entered the presence of the Stadtholder, mejuffrouw, what doyou propose to say to him?"
"That, sir, is naught to you," she retorted coldly.
"I pray you forgive me," he said, still humbly kneeling, "but you havedeigned to ask my help, and I'll not give it unless you will tell mewhat your purpose is."
"You would not dare...."
"To make conditions for my services?" he said speaking always withutmost deference, "this do I dare, mejuffrouw, and my condition is foryour acceptance or refusal--as you command."
"I did not ask for your help, sir," she said curtly. "I offered to payyou for certain services which I desire you to render me."
Already her look of pleading had gone. She had straightened herself up,prouder and more disdainful than before. He dared to make conditions!he! the mercenary creature whom anyone could buy body and soul formoney, who took payment for doing such work as would soil an honestman's hands! It was monstrous! impossible, unthinkable. She thought thather ears had deceived her or that mayhap he had misunderstood.
In a moment at her words, at the scornful glance which accompanied them,he had risen to his feet. The subtle moment had gone by; the air was nolonger oppressive, and the ground felt quite steady under him. Calm,smiling, good-tempered, he straightened out his massive figure as if toprepare himself for those shafts which her cruel little tongue knew sowell how to deal.
And inwardly he offered up a thanksgiving to St. Bavon for this colddouche upon his flaming temper.
"I did not misunderstand you, mejuffrouw," he said lightly, "and I amready to do you service--under a certain condition."
She bit her lip with vexation. The miserable wretch was obviously notsatisfied with the amount which she had named as payment for hisservices, and he played some weak part of chivalry and of honour inorder to make his work appear more difficult, and to extract a moresubstantial reward from her. She tried to put into the glance which shenow threw on him all the contempt which she felt and which trulynauseated her at this moment. Unfortunately she had need of him, shecould not start for Delft alone, marauders and footpads would stop herever reaching that city. Could she have gone alone she were not here nowcraving the help of a man whom she despised.
"Meseems," she said coldly after a slight pause, "that you do wilfullymisunderstand our mutual positions. I am not asking you to do anythingwhich could offend your strangely susceptible honour, whose vagaries, Iown, I am unable to follow. Will 10,000 guilders satisfy your erraticconscience? or did you receive more than that for laying hands on twohelpless women and dragging one--who has never done you any wrong--to adepth of shame and sorrow which you cannot possibly fathom?"
"My conscience, mejuffrouw," he replied, seemingly quite unperturbed ather contemptuous glance and insulting speech, "is, as you say, somewhaterratic. For the moment it refuses to consider the possibility ofescorting you to Delft unless I know what it is that you desire to sayto the Prince of Orange."
"If it is a question of price...."
"It is not a question of price, mejuffrouw," he broke in firmly, "letus, an you will allow it, call it a question of mine erraticconscience."
"I am rich, sir ... my private fortune...."
"Do not name it, mejuffrouw," he said jovially, "the sound of it wouldstagger a poor man who has to scrape up a living as best he can."
"Forty thousand guilders, sir," she said pleading once more eagerly, "anyou will take me to Delft to-morrow."
"Were it ten hundred thousand, mejuffrouw, I would not do it unless Iknew what you wished to say to the Stadtholder."
"Sir, can I not move you," she implored, "this means more to me than Ican hope to tell you." Once again her pride had given way before thisnew and awful fear that her errand would be in vain, that she had comehere as a suppliant before this rogue, that she had humbled her dignity,entreated him, almost knelt to him, and that he, for some base reasonwhich she could not understand, meant to give himself the satisfactionof refusing the fortune which she did promise him.
"Can I not move you," she reiterated, appealing yet more earnestly, for,womanlike, she could not forget that moment awhile ago, when he hadknelt instinctively before her, when the irony had gone from his smile,and the laughter in his mocking eyes had yielded to an inward glow.
He shook his head, but remained unmoved.
"I cannot tell you, sir," she urged plaintively, "what I would say tothe Prince."
"Is it so deadly a secret then?" he asked.
"Call it that, an you will."
"A secret that concerns his life?"
"That I did not say."
"No. It was a guess. A right one methinks."
"Then if you think so, sir, why not let me go to him?"
"So that you may warn him?"
"You were merely guessing, sir...."
"That you may tell him not to continue his journey," he insisted,speaking less restrainedly now, as he leaned forward closer to her, herfair curls almost brushing against his cheek as they fluttered in thedraught.
"I did not say so," she murmured.
"Because there is a trap laid for him ... a trap of which you know...."
"No, no!" she cried involuntarily.
"A trap into which he may fall ... unknowingly ... on his way to thenorth."
"You say so, sir," she moaned, "not I...."
"Assassins are on his track ... an attempt will be made against hislife ... the murderers lie in wait for him ... even now ... and you,mejuffrouw, who know who those murderers are...."
A cry of anguish rose to her lips.
"No, no, no," she cried, "it is false ... you are onlyguessing ... remember that I have told you nothing."
But already the tense expression on his face had gone. He drew himselfup to his full height once more and heaved a deep breath which soundedlike a sigh of satisfaction.
"Yet in your candour, mejuffrouw, you have told me much," he saidquietly, "confirmed much that I only vaguely guessed. The Stadtholder'slife is in peril and you hold in your feeble little hands the threads ofthe conspiracy which threatens him ... is that not why you are here,mejuffrouw ... a prisoner, as you say, at the good-will of my employer?I am only guessing, remember, but on your face, meseems that I can readthat I do guess aright."
"Then you will do what I ask?" she exclaimed with a happy little gasp ofrenewed hope.
"That, mejuffrouw, is I fear me impossible," he said quietly.
"Impossible? But--just now...."
"Just now," he rejoined with affected carelessness, "I said, mejuffrouw,that I would on no account escort you to Delft without knowing what yourpurpose is with the Prince of Orange. Even now I do not know, I merelyguessed."
"But," she entreated, "if I do own that you have guessed aright--partlyat any rate--if I do tell you that the Stadtholder's life might beimperilled if I did not give him a timely word of warning, if...."
"Even if you told me all that, mejuffrouw," he broke in lightly, "if youdid bring your pride down so far as to trust a miserable knave with asecret which he might sell for money on the morrow--even then, I fearme, I could not do what you ask."
"But why not?" she insisted, her voice choking in her throat in theagony of terrible doubt and fear.
"Because the man of whom you spoke just now, the man whom you love,mejuffrouw, has been more far-seeing, more prudent than you or I. Hehath put it out of my power to render you this service."
"How?"
"By warning Mynheer Ben Isaje against any attempt at escape on yourpart, against any attempt at betrayal on mine.
Mynheer Ben Isaje isprepared: he hath a guard of ten picked men on the watch, and two moremen outside his door. If you tried to leave this house with me withouthis consent he would prevent you, and I am no match alas! for twelvemen."
"Why should he guard me so?"
"Because he will not be paid if he keep not watch over you."
"But I'll swear to return straightway from Delft. I'll only speak withthe Prince and return immediately.... Money! always money!" she criedwith sudden vehemence, "a great man's life, the honour of a house, thesalvation of the land, are these all to be sacrificed because of thegreed and cupidity of men?"
"Shall I call Mynheer Ben Isaje?" asked Diogenes placidly, "mayhap,mejuffrouw, that you could persuade him more easily than me!"
But at this she rose to her feet as suddenly as if she had been stung:the colour in her cheeks deepened, the tears were dry in her eyes.
"You," she exclaimed, and there was a world of bitter contempt in thetone of her voice, "persuade you who have tricked and fooled me, evenwhile I began to believe in you? You, who for the past half hour havetried to filch a secret from me bit by bit! with lying words you led meinto telling you even more than I should! and I, poor fool I thoughtthat I had touched your heart, or that at least there was some spark ofloyalty in you which mayhap prompted you to guess that the Prince was indanger. Fool that I was! miserable, wretched fool! to think for a momentthat you would lend a hand in aught that was noble and chivalrous! Iwould I had the power to raise the blush of shame in your cheeks, butalas! the shame is only for me, who trusting in your false promises andyour lies have allowed my tongue to speak words which I would give mylife now to unsay--for me who thought that there was in you one feeblespark of pity or of honour. Fool! fool that I was! when I forgot for onebrief moment that it was your greed and cupidity that were the propswithout which this whole edifice of infamy had tottered long ago;persuade you to do a selfish deed! you the abductor of women, the paidvarlet and mercenary rogue who will thieve and outrage and murder formoney!"
She sank back in her chair and, resting her arms upon the table, sheburied her face in them, for she had given way at last to a passionatefit of weeping. The disappointment was greater than she could bear afterthe load of sorrow which had been laid on her these past few days.
When she heard through the chatterings of a servant that the Stadtholderwas at Delft this very night, the memory of every word which she hadheard in the cathedral on New Year's Eve came back to her with renewedvividness. Delft! she remembered that name so well and Ryswyk close by,the only possible way for a northward journey! Then the molens whichStoutenburg had said were his headquarters, where he stored arms andammunition and enough gunpowder to blow up the wooden bridge which spansthe Schie and over which the Stadtholder and his bodyguard must pass.
Every word that Stoutenburg and her brother and the others had spokenthat night, rang now in her ears like a knell: Delft, Ryswyk, themolens, the wooden bridge! Delft, Ryswyk, the molens, the wooden bridge!Delft....
Delft was quite near, less than four leagues away ... the Stadtholderwas there now ... he could be warned before it was too late ... and shecould warn him without compromising her brother and his friends.... Thenit was that she remembered that in the room below there slept a knavewho would do anything for gold.
Thus she had run down to him full of eagerness and full of hope. And nowhe had refused to help her, and worse still had guessed at a secretwhich, if he bartered or sold it, meant death to her brother and hisfriends.
Contempt and hate had broken down her spirit. Smothering both, she waseven now ready to fall on her knees, to plead with him, to pray, toimplore ... if only that could have moved him ... if only it meantsafety for the Stadtholder, and not merely a useless loss of pride andof dignity.
Anger and misery and utter hopelessness! they were causing her tears,and she hated this man who had her in his power and mocked her in hermisery: and there was the awful thought that the Stadtholder was sonear--less than four leagues away! Why! had she been free she could haverun all the way to him--that hideous crime, that appalling tragedy inwhich her brother would bear a hand, could be averted even now if shewere free! Oh! the misery of it! the awful, wretched helplessness! in afew days--hours mayhap--the Stadtholder would be walking straight intothe trap which his murderers had set for him ... the broken bridge! theexplosion! the assassin at the carriage door! She saw it all as in avision of the future, and her brother in the midst of it all with handsdeeply stained in blood.
And she could avert it all--the crime, the sorrow, the awful, hideousshame if only she were free.
She looked up at last, ashamed of her tears, ashamed that a rogue shouldhave seen how keenly she suffered.
She looked up and turned to him once more. The flickering light of thecandles fell full upon his splendid figure and upon his face: it was thecolour of ashes, and there was no trace of his wonted smile around hislips: the eyes too looked sunken and their light was hid beneath thedrooping lids. Her shafts which she had aimed with such deadly precisionhad gone home at last: in the bitterness of her heart she apparently hadfound words which had cut him like a lash.
Satisfied at least in this she rose to go.
"There is nothing more to say," she said as calmly as she could, tryingto still the quivering of her lips: "as you say, Mynheer Ben Isaje hascarefully taken the measure of your valour and it cannot come up to adozen picked men, even though life and honour, country and faith mightdemand at least an effort on their behalf. I pray you open the door. Iwould--for mine own sake as well as your own--that I had not thought ofbreaking in on your rest."
Without a word he went to the door, and had his hand on the latch readyto obey her, when something in his placid attitude irritated her beyondendurance. Woman-like she was not yet satisfied: perhaps a thought ofremorse at her cruelty fretted her, perhaps she pitied him in that hewas so base.
Be that as it may, she spoke to him again:
"Have you nothing then to say?" she asked.
"What can I say, mejuffrouw?" he queried in reply, as the ghost of hiswonted smile crept swiftly back into his pale face.
"Methought no man would care to be called a coward by a woman, andremain silent under the taunt."
"You forget, mejuffrouw," he retorted, "that I am so much less than aman ... a menial, a rogue, a vagabond--so base that not even theslightest fear of me did creep into your heart ... you came to me, here,alone at dead of night with an appeal upon your lips, yet you were notafraid, then you struck me in the face like you would a dog with a whip,and you were no more afraid of me than of the dog whom you had thrashed.So base am I then that words of mine are not worthy of your ear.Whatever I said, I could not persuade you that for one man to measurehis strength against twelve others were not an act of valour, but one ofsenseless foolishness. I might tell you that bravery lies oft inprudence but seldom in foolhardiness, but this I know you are not in amood now to believe. I might even tell you," he continued with a slightreturn to his wonted light-hearted carelessness, "I might tell you thatcertain acts of bravery cannot be accomplished without the interventionof protecting saints, and that I have found St. Bavon an admirable saintto implore in such cases, but this I fear me you are not like tounderstand. So you see, mejuffrouw, that whatever I said I could notprove to you that I am less of a blackguard than I seem."
"You could at least prove it to this extent," she retorted, "by keepingsilence over what you may have guessed."
"You mean that I must not sell the secret which you so nearlybetrayed ... have no fear, mejuffrouw, my knowledge of it is so scantythat the Stadtholder would not give me five guilders for it."
"Will you swear...."
"Such a miserable cur as I am, mejuffrouw," he said lightly, "is surelyan oath-breaker as well as a liar and a thief--what were the good ofswearing?... But I'll swear an you wish ..." he added gaily.
"Surely you ..." she began.
But with a quick gesture he interrupted her.
"Don
dersteen, mejuffrouw," he said more firmly than he had yet spokenbefore, "if beauty in you is tempered with pity, I entreat you to spareme now: even knaves remember become men sometimes and my patron SaintBavon threatens to leave me in the lurch."
He held open the door for her to pass through, and gravely held out oneof the pewter candles to her. She could not help but take it, thoughindeed she felt that the last word between that rogue and herself hadnot by any means been spoken yet. But she hardly looked at him as shesailed past him out of the room, her heavy skirt trailing behind herwith a soft hissing sound.
As soon as she heard the door shut to behind her, she ran up the stairsback to her own room with all speed, like a frightened hare.
Had she remained in the passage one instant longer she would have hearda sound which would have terrified her; it was the sound of a prolongedand ringing laugh which roused the echoes of this sleeping house, butwhich had neither mirth nor joy in its tone, and had she then peepedthrough a keyhole she would have seen a strange sight. A man who in theflickering candle-light looked tall and massive as a giant took up oneof the wooden chairs in the room, and after holding it out at arm'slength for a few seconds, he proceeded to smash it viciously bit by bituntil it lay a mass of broken debris at his feet.