The Greatest Works of Emma Orczy. Emma Orczy
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,"