CHAPTER XXXV
THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE
The Lord of Stoutenburg was the first to enter: behind him came Jan, andfinally a group of soldiers above whose heads towered another broadwhite brow, surmounted by a wealth of unruly brown hair which now clungmatted against the moist forehead.
At a word of command from Stoutenburg, Jan and the other soldiersdeparted, leaving him and the prisoner only before Gilda Beresteyn.
The man had told her on that first night at Leyden that his name wasDiogenes--a name highly honoured in the history of philosophy.Well!--philosophy apparently was standing him in good stead, for trulyit must be responsible for the happy way in which he seemed to bebearing his present unhappy condition.
They had tied his arms behind his back and put a pinion through them,his clothes were torn, his massive chest was bare, his shirt bore ugly,dark stains upon it, but his face was just the same, that merry laughingface with the twinkling eyes, and the gentle irony that lurked round thelines of the sensitive mouth: at any rate when Gilda--overcome withpity--looked up with sweet compassion on him, she saw that same curious,immutable smile that seemed even now to mock and to challenge.
"This is the man, mejuffrouw," began Stoutenburg after awhile, "who onNew Year's day at Haarlem dared to lay hands upon your person. Do yourecognize him?"
"I do recognize him," replied Gilda coldly.
"I imagine," continued Stoutenburg, "that he hath tried to palliate hisown villainies by telling you that he was merely a paid agent in thatabominable outrage."
"I do not think," she retorted still quite coldly, "thatthis ... this ... person told me that he was being paid for thatugly deed: though when I did accuse him of it he did not deny it."
"Do you hear, fellow?" asked Stoutenburg, turning sharply to Diogenes,"it is time that all this lying should cease. By your calumnies and evilinsinuations you have added to the load of crimes which already haveearned for you exemplary punishment; by those same lies you have causedthe jongejuffrouw an infinity of pain, over and above the horror whichshe has endured through your cowardly attack upon her. Therefore I havethought it best to send for you now so that in her exalted presence atleast you may desist from further lying and that you may be shamed intoacknowledging the truth. Do you hear, fellow?" he reiterated moreharshly as Diogenes stood there, seemingly not even hearing what theLord of Stoutenburg said, for his eyes in which a quaint light of humourdanced were fixed upon Gilda's hands that lay clasped upon her lap.
The look in the man's face, the soft pallor on the girl's cheek,exasperated Stoutenburg's jealous temper beyond his power of control.
"Do you hear?" he shouted once more, and with a sudden grip of the handhe pulled the prisoner roughly round by the shoulder. That shoulder hadbeen torn open with a blow dealt by a massive steel blade which hadlacerated it to the bone; even a philosopher's endurance was not proofagainst this sudden rending of an already painful wound. Diogenes' paleface became the colour of lead: the tiny room began dancing anirresponsive saraband before his eyes, he felt himself swaying, for theground was giving way under him, when a cry, gentle and compassionate,reached his fading senses, and a perfume of exquisite sweetness came tohis nostrils, even as his pinioned arms felt just enough support toenable him to steady himself.
"Gilda," broke in Stoutenburg's harsh voice upon this intangible dream,"I entreat you not to demean yourself by ministering to that rogue."
"My poor ministry was for a wounded man, my lord," she retorted curtly.
Then she turned once more to the prisoner.
"You are hurt, sir," she asked as she let her tender blue eyes rest withkind pity upon him.
"Hurt, mejuffrouw?" he replied with a laugh, which despite himself hadbut little merriment in it. "Ask his Magnificence there, he will tellyou that such knaves as I have bones and sinews as tough as their skins.Of a truth I am not hurt, mejuffrouw ... only overcome with the humourof this situation. The Lord of Stoutenburg indignant and reproachful atthought that another man is proficient in the art of lying."
"By heaven," cried Stoutenburg who was white with fury. "Insolentvarlet, take...."
He had seized the first object that lay close to his hand, the heavyiron tool used for raking the fire out of the huge earthenware stove;this he raised above his head; the lust to kill glowed out of his eyes,which had become bloodshot, whilst a thin red foam gathered at thecorners of his mouth. The next moment the life of a philosopher andweaver of dreams would have been very abruptly ended, had not a woman'sfeeble hand held up the crashing blow.
"Hatred, my lord, an you will," said Gilda with perfect sangfroid as shestood between the man who had so deeply wronged her and the upraised armof his deadly enemy, "hatred and fair fight, but not outrage, I prayyou."
Stoutenburg, smothering a curse, threw the weapon away from him: it fellwith a terrific crash upon the wooden floor. Gilda, white and tremblingnow after the agonizing excitement of the past awful moment, had sunkhalf-swooning back against a chair. Stoutenburg fell on one knee andhumbly raised her gown to his lips.
"Your pardon, Madonna," he whispered, "the sight of your exquisite handsin contact with that infamous blackguard made me mad. I was almost readyto cheat the gallows of their prey. I gratefully thank you in that yousaved me from the indignity of staining my hand with a vile creature'sblood."
Quietly and dispassionately Gilda drew her skirts away from him.
"An you have recovered your temper, my lord," she said coldly, "I prayyou ask the prisoner those questions which you desired to put to him. Iam satisfied that he is your enemy, and if he were not bound, pinionedand wounded he would probably not have need of a woman's hand to protecthim."
Stoutenburg rose to his feet. He was angered with himself for allowinghis hatred and his rage to get the better of his prudence, and tried toatone for his exhibition of incontinent rage by a great show of dignityand of reserve.
"I must ask you again, fellow--and for the last time," he said slowlyturning once more to Diogenes, "if you have realized how infamous havebeen your insinuations against mine honour, and that of others whom thejongejuffrouw holds in high regard? Your calumnies have caused herinfinite sorrow more bitter for her to bear than the dastardly crimewhich you did commit against her person. Have you realized this, and areyou prepared to make amends for your crime and to mitigate somewhat thegrave punishment which you have deserved by speaking the plain truthbefore the jongejuffrouw now?"
"And what plain truth doth the jongejuffrouw desire to hear?" askedDiogenes with equal calm.
Stoutenburg would have replied, but Gilda broke in quietly:
"Your crime against me, sir, I would readily forgive, had I but theassurance that no one in whom I trusted, no one whom I loved had a handin instigating it."
The ghost of his merry smile--never very distant--spread over thephilosopher's pale face.
"Will you deign to allow me, mejuffrouw," he said, "at any rate to tellyou one certain, unvarnished truth, which mayhap you will not even careto believe, and that is that I would give my life--the few chances, thatis, that I still have of it--to obliterate from your mind the memory ofthe past few days."
"That you cannot do, sir," she rejoined, "but you would greatly ease theload of sorrow which you have helped to lay upon me, if you gave me theassurance which I ask."
The prisoner did not reply immediately, and for one brief moment therewas absolute silence in this tiny room, a silence so tense and so vividthat an eternity of joy and sorrow, of hope and of fear seemed to passover the life of these three human creatures here. All three had eyesand ears only for one another: the world with its grave events, itsintrigues and its wars fell quite away from them: they were the onlypeople existing--each for the other--for this one brief instant thatpassed by.
The fire crackled in the huge hearth, and slowly the burning wood ashesfell with a soft swishing sound one by one. But outside all was still:not a sound of the busy life around the molens, of conspiracies and callto arms, penetrated
the dense veil of fog which lay upon the low-lyingland.
At last the prisoner spoke.
"'Tis easily done, mejuffrouw," he said, and all at once his whole facelit up with that light-hearted gaiety, that keen sense of humour whichwould no doubt follow him to the grave, "that assurance I can easilygive you. I was the sole criminal in the hideous outrage which broughtso much sorrow upon you. Had I the least hope that God would hear theprayer of so despicable a villain as I am I would beg of Him to grantyou oblivion of my deed. As for me," he added and now real laughter wasdancing in his eyes: they mocked and challenged and called back the joyof life, "as for me, I am impenitent. I would not forget one minute ofthe last four days."
"To-morrow then you can take the remembrance with you to the gallows,"said Stoutenburg sullenly.
Though a sense of intense relief pervaded him now, since by hisassertions Diogenes had completely vindicated him as well as Nicolaes in
Gilda's sight, his dark face showed no signs of brightening. That fiercejealousy of this nameless adventurer which had assailed him awhile agowas gnawing at his heart more insistently than before; he could notcombat it, even though reason itself argued that jealousy of so mean aknave was unworthy, and that Gilda's compassion was only the same thatshe would have extended to any dog that had been hurt.
Even now--reason still argued--was it not natural that she should pleadfor the villain just as any tender-natured woman would plead even for athief. Women hate the thought of violent death, only an amazon woulddesire to mete out death to any enemy: Gilda was warm-hearted,impulsive, the ugly word "gallows" grated no doubt unpleasantly on herear. But even so, and despite the dictates of reason, Stoutenburg'sjealousy and hatred were up in arms the moment she turned pleading eyesupon him.
"My lord," she said gently, "I pray you to remember that by this openconfession this ... this gentleman has caused me infinite happiness. Icannot tell you what misery my own suspicions have caused me these pasttwo days. They were harder to bear than any humiliation or sorrow whichI had to endure."
"This varlet's lies confirmed you in your suspicions, Gilda," retortedStoutenburg roughly, "and his confession--practically at the foot of thegallows--is but a tardy one."
"Do not speak so cruelly, my lord," she pleaded, "you say that ... thatyou have some regard for me ... let not therefore my prayer fallunheeded on your ear...."
"Your prayer, Gilda?"
"My prayer that you deal nobly with an enemy, whose wrongs to me I amready to forgive...."
"By St. Bavon, mejuffrouw," here interposed the prisoner firmly, "anmine ears do not deceive me you are even now pleading for my life withthe Lord of Stoutenburg."
"Indeed, sir, I do plead for it with my whole heart," she saidearnestly.
"Ye gods!" he exclaimed, "and ye do not interfere!"
"My lord!" urged Gilda gently, "for my sake...."
Her words, her look, the tears that despite her will had struggled toher eyes, scattered to the winds Stoutenburg's reasoning powers. He feltnow that nothing while this man lived would ever still that newly-risenpassion of jealousy. He longed for and desired this man's death moreeven than that of the Prince of Orange. His honour had been luckilywhite-washed before Gilda by this very man whom he hated. He had afeeling that within the last half-hour he had made enormous strides inher regard. Already he persuaded himself that she was looking on himmore kindly, as if remorse at her unjust suspicions of him had touchedher soul on his behalf.
Everything now would depend on how best he could seem noble and generousin her sight; but he was more determined than ever that his enemy shouldstand disgraced before her first and die on the gallows on the morrow.
Then it was that putting up his hand to the region of his heart, whichindeed was beating furiously, it encountered the roll of parchmentwhich lay in the inner pocket of his doublet. Fate, chance, his ownforesight, were indeed making the way easy for him, and quicker thanlightning his tortuous brain had already formed a plan upon which hepromptly acted now.
"Gilda," he said quietly, "though God knows how ready I am to do youservice in all things, this is a case where weakness on my part would bealmost criminal, for indeed it would be to a hardened and abandonedcriminal that I should be extending that mercy for which you plead."
"Indeed, my lord," she retorted coldly, "though only a woman, I too canjudge if a man is an abandoned criminal or merely a misguided humancreature who doth deserve mercy since his confession was quite open andfrank."
"Commonsense did prompt him no doubt to this half-confession," saidStoutenburg dryly, "or a wise instinct to win leniency by his conduct,seeing that he had no proofs wherewith to substantiate his former lies.Am I not right, fellow?" he added once more turning to the prisoner,"though you were forced to own that you alone are responsible for theoutrage against the jongejuffrouw, you have not told her yet that youare also a forger and a thief."
Diogenes looked on him for a moment or two in silence, just long enoughto force Stoutenburg's shifty eyes to drop with a sudden and involuntarysense of shame, then he rejoined with his usual good-humoured flippancy:
"It was a detail which had quite escaped my memory. No doubt yourMagnificence is fully prepared to rectify the omission."
"Indeed I wish that I could have spared you this additional disgrace,"retorted Stoutenburg, whose sense of shame had indeed been onlymomentary, "seeing that anyhow you must hang to-morrow. But," he addedonce more to the jongejuffrouw, "I could not bear you to think, Gilda,that I could refuse you anything which it is in my power to grant you.Before you plead for this scoundrel again, you ought to know that he hastried by every means in his power--by lying and by forgery--to fastenthe origin of all this infamy upon your brother."
"Upon Nicolaes," she cried, "I'll not believe it. A moment ago he didvindicate him freely."
"Only because I had at last taken away from him the proofs which he hadforged."
"The proofs? what do you mean, my lord?"
"When my men captured this fellow last night, they found upon him apaper--a bond which is an impudent forgery--purported to have beenwritten by Nicolaes and which promised payment to this knave for layinghands upon you in Haarlem."
"A bond?" she murmured, "signed by Nicolaes?"
"I say it again, 'tis an impudent forgery," declared Stoutenburg hotly,"we--all of us who have seen it and who know Nicolaes' signature couldsee at a glance that this one was counterfeit. Yet the fellow used it,he obtained money on the strength of it, for beside the jewelry which hehad filched from you, we found several hundred guilders upon his person.Liar, forger, thief!" he cried, "in Holland such men are broken on thewheel. Hanging is thought merciful for such damnable scum as they!"
And from out the pocket of his doublet he drew the paper which had beenwrit by the public scrivener and was signed with Nicolaes' cyphersignature: he handed it to Gilda, even whilst the prisoner, throwingback his head, sent one of his heartiest laughs echoing through theraftered room.
"Well played, my lord!" he said gaily, "nay! but by the devils whom youserve so well, you do indeed deserve to win."
In the meanwhile Gilda, wide-eyed and horrified, not knowing what tothink, nor yet what to believe, scarcely dared to touch the infamousdocument whose very presence in her lap seemed a pollution. She noticedthat some portion of the paper had been torn off, but the wording of themain portion of the writing was quite clear as was the signature"Schwarzer Kato" with the triangle above it. On this she looked now witha curious mixture of loathing and of fear. Schwarzer Kato was the nameof the tulip which her father had raised and named: the triangle was amark which the house of Beresteyn oft used in business.
"O God, have mercy upon me!" she murmured inwardly, "what does all thistreachery mean?"
She looked up from one man to the other. The Lord of Stoutenburg, darkand sullen, was watching her with restless eyes; the prisoner wassmiling, gently, almost self-deprecatingly she thought, and as he mether frightened glance it seemed as if in his merry eyes there crept al
ook of sadness--even of pity.
"What does all this treachery mean?" she murmured again with pathetichelplessness, and this time just above her breath.
"It means," said Stoutenburg roughly, "that at last you must beconvinced that this man on whom you have wasted your kindly pity isutterly unworthy of it. That bond was never written by your brother, itwas never signed by him. But we found it on this villain's person; hehas been trading on it, obtaining money on the strength of his forgery.He has confessed to you that he had no accomplice, no paymaster in hisinfamies, then ask him whence came this bond in his possession, whencethe money which we found upon him. Ask him to deny the fact that lessthan twenty-four hours after he had laid hands on you, he was back againin Haarlem, bargaining with your poor, stricken father to bring you backto him."
He ceased speaking, almost choked now by his own eloquence, and therapidity with which the lying words escaped his lips. And Gilda slowlyturned her head toward the prisoner, and met that subtly-ironical,good-humoured glance again.
"Is this all true, sir?" she asked.
"What, mejuffrouw?" he retorted.
"That this bond promising you payment for the cruel outrage upon me is aforgery?"
"His Magnificence says so, mejuffrouw," he replied quietly, "surely youknow best if you can believe him."
"But this is not my brother's signature?" she asked: and she herself wasnot aware what an infinity of pleading there was in her voice.
"No!" he replied emphatically, "it is not your brother's signature."
"Then it's a forgery?"
"We will leave it at that, mejuffrouw," he said, "that it is a forgery."
A sigh, hoarse and passionate in its expression of infinite relief,escaped the Lord of Stoutenburg's lips. Though he knew that the man inany case could have no proof if he accused Nicolaes, yet there was greatsatisfaction in this unqualified confession. Slowly the prisoner turnedhis head and looked upon his triumphant enemy, and it was the man withthe pinioned arms, with the tattered clothes and the stained shirt whoseemed to tower in pride, in swagger and in defiance while the otherlooked just what he was--a craven and miserable cur.
Once more there was silence in the low-raftered room. From Gilda's eyesthe tears fell slowly one by one. She could not have told you herselfwhy she was crying at this moment. Her brother's image stood out clearlybefore her wholly vindicated of treachery, and a scoundrel had beenbrought to his knees, self-confessed as a liar, a forger and a thief;the Lord of Stoutenburg was proved to have been faithful and true, andyet Gilda felt such a pain in her heart that she thought it must break.
The Lord of Stoutenburg at last broke the silence which had becomeoppressive.
"Are you satisfied, Gilda?" he asked tenderly.
"I feel happier," she replied softly, "than I have felt these four dayspast, at thought that my own brother at least--nor you, my lord--had ahand in all this treachery."
She would not look again on the prisoner, even though she felt more thanshe saw, that a distinctly humorous twinkle had once more crept into hiseyes. It seemed however, as if she wished to say something else,something kind and compassionate, but Stoutenburg broke in impatiently:
"May I dismiss the fellow now?" he asked. "Jan is waiting for ordersoutside."
"Then I pray you call to Jan," she rejoined stiffly.
"The rogue is securely pinioned," he added even as he turned toward thedoor. "I pray you have no fear of him."
"I have no fear," she said simply.
Stoutenburg strode out of the room and anon his harsh voice was heardcalling to Jan.
For a moment then Gilda was alone--for the third time now--with the manwhom she had hated more than she had ever hated a human creature before.She remembered how last night and again at Leyden she had been consciousof an overpowering desire to wound him with hard and bitter words. Butnow she no longer felt that desire, since Fate had hurt him more cruellythan she had wished to do. He was standing there now before her, in allthe glory of his magnificent physique, yet infinitely shamed anddisgraced, self-confessed of every mean and horrible crime that has everdegraded manhood.
Yet in spite of this shame he still looked splendid and untamed: thoughhis arms were bound to a pinion behind his back, his broad chest wasnot sunken, and he held himself very erect with that leonine head of histhrown well back and a smile of defiance, almost of triumph, sat upon
every line of his face.
Anon she met his eyes; their glance compelled and held her own. Therewas nothing but kindly humour within their depths. Humour, ye gods!whence came the humour of the situation! Here was a man condemned todeath by an implacable enemy who was not like to show any mercy, andGilda herself--remembering all his crimes--could no longer bring herselfto ask for mercy for him, and yet the man seemed only to mock, to smileat fate, to take his present desperate position as lightly and as airilyas another would take a pleasing turn of fortune's wheel.
Conscious at last that his look of unconquerable good-humour was workingupon her nerves, Gilda forced herself to break the spell of numbnesswhich had so unaccountably fallen upon her.
"I should like to say to you, sir," she murmured, "how deeply I regretthe many harsh words I spoke to you at Leyden and ... and also lastnight ... believe me there was no feeling in me of cruelty toward youwhen I spoke them."
"Indeed, mejuffrouw," he rejoined placidly, whilst the gentle mockery inhis glance became more accentuated, "indeed I am sure that yourharshness towards me was only dictated by your kindliness. Believe me,"he added lightly, "your words that evening at Leyden, and again lastnight were most excellent discipline for my temper: for this do I thankyou! they have helped me to bear subsequent events with greaterequanimity."
She bit her lip, feeling vexed at his flippancy. A man on the point ofdeath should take the last hours of his life more seriously.
"It grieved me to see," she resumed somewhat more stiffly, "that one whocould on occasions be so brave, should on others stoop to such infamoustricks."
"Man is ever a creature of opportunity, mejuffrouw," he saidimperturbably.
"But I remembered you--you see--on New Year's Eve in the Dam Straat whenyou held up a mob to protect an unfortunate girl; oh! it was bravelydone!"
"Yet believe me, mejuffrouw," he said with a whimsical smile, "thatthough I own appearances somewhat belie me, I have done better since."
"I wish I could believe you, sir. But since then ... oh! think of myhorror when I recognized you the next day--at Leyden--after yourcowardly attack upon me."
"Indeed I have thought of it already, mejuffrouw. Dondersteen! I musthave appeared a coward before you then!"
He gave a careless shrug of the shoulders, and very quaintly did thatcarelessness sit on him now that he was pinioned, wounded and in arelentless enemy's hands.
"Perhaps I am a coward," he added with a strange little sigh, "you thinkso; the Lord of Stoutenburg declares that I am a miserable cur. Does manever know himself? I for one have never been worth the study."
"Nay, sir, there you do wrong yourself," she said gently, "I cannotrightly gauge what temptations did beset you when you lay hands upon adefenceless woman, or when you forged my brother's name ... for this youdid do, did you not?" she asked insistently.
"Have I not confessed to it?" he retorted quietly.
"Alas! And for these crimes must I despise you," she added quaintly."But since then my mind hath been greatly troubled. Something tellsme--and would to God I saw it all more clearly--that much that you sobravely endure just now, is somehow because of me. Am I wrong?"
He laughed, a dry, gentle, self-mocking laugh.
"That I have endured much because of you, mejuffrouw," he said gaily,"I'll not deny; my worthy patron St. Bavon being singularly slack in hisprotection of me on two or three memorable occasions; but this does notrefer to my present state, which has come about because half a dozen menfell upon me when I was unarmed and pounded at me with heavy steelskates, which they swung by their straps. The skates were good
weapons,I must own, and have caused one or two light wounds which are but scrapsof evil fortune that a nameless adventurer like myself must take alongwith kindlier favours. So I pray you, mejuffrouw, have no furtherthought of my unpleasant bodily condition. I have been through worseplights than this before, and if to-morrow I must hang...."
"No, no!" she interrupted with a cry of horror, "that cannot and mustnot be."
"Indeed it can and must, mejuffrouw. Ask the Lord of Stoutenburg whathis intentions are."
"Oh! but I can plead with him," she declared. "He hath told me thingsto-day which have made me very happy. My heart is full of forgivenessfor you, who have wronged me so, and I would feel happy in pleading foryou."
Something that she said appeared to tickle his fancy, for at her wordshe threw his head right back and laughed immoderately, loudly and long.
"Ye gods!" he cried, while she--a little frightened and puzzled--lookedwide-eyed upon him--"let me hear those words ringing in mine ears whenthe rope is round my neck. The Lord of Stoutenburg hath the power tomake a woman happy! the words he speaks are joy unto her heart! Oh! yegods, let me remember this and laugh at it until I die!"
His somewhat wild laugh had not ceased to echo in the low-raftered roomnor had Gilda time to recover her composure, before the door was thrownviolently open and the Lord of Stoutenburg re-entered, followed by Janand a group of men.
He threw a quick, suspicious glance on Gilda and on Diogenes, the latteranswered him with one of good-humoured irony, but Gilda--pale andsilent--turned her head away.
Stoutenburg then pointed to Diogenes.
"Here is your prisoner," he said to Jan, "take him back to the placefrom whence you brought him. Guard him well, Jan, for to-morrow he musthang and remember that your life shall pay for his if he escapes."
Jan thereupon gave a brief word of command, the men ranged themselvesaround the prisoner, whose massive figure was thus completely hiddenfrom Gilda's view; only--towering above the heads of the soldiers--thewide sweep of the brow caught a glimmer of light from the flickeringlamp overhead.
Soon the order was given. The small knot of men turned and slowly filedout. The Lord of Stoutenburg was the last to leave. He bowed nearly tothe ground when he finally left Gilda's presence.
And she remained alone, sitting by the fire, and staring into thesmouldering ashes. She had heard news to-night that flooded her soulwith happiness. Her brother whom she loved was innocent of crime, andGod Himself had interfered. He had touched the heart of the Lord ofStoutenburg and stopped the infamous plot against the Stadtholder'slife. Yet Gilda's heart was unaccountably heavy, and as she sat on,staring into the fire, heavy tears fell unheeded from her eyes.