The Laughing Cavalier by Baroness Orczy (best 7 inch ereader .TXT) 📕

congratulate himself on his shrewd guess, for at his words all resistance on the girl’s part vanished, and though she began to tremble in every limb and even for a moment seemed ready to swoon, she murmured words which if incoherent certainly sounded submissive, and then silently led the way upstairs. He followed her closely, stumbling behind her in the dark, and as he mounted the rickety steps he was rapidly rehearsing in his mind what he would say to the wench.

That the girl was that abominable villain’s sweetheart he was not for a moment in doubt, her submission just now, at the mere hint of the fellow’s danger, showed the depth of her love for him. Stoutenburg felt therefore that his success in obtaining what information he wanted would depend only on how much she knew. In any case she must be amenable to a bribe for she seemed wretchedly poor; even in that brief glimpse which he had had of her by the dim light of the street-door lamp, he could not help but see how ragged was her kirtle and how pinched and wan her face.

On the landing she paused and taking a key from between the folds of her shift she opened the door of her lodging and humbly begged the gracious mynheer to enter. A tallow candle placed upon a chair threw its feeble light upon the squalid abode, the whitewashed walls, the primitive bedstead in the corner made up of deal planks and covered with a paillasse and a thin blanket. From beneath that same blanket came the gentle and fretful moanings of the old cripple.

But Stoutenburg was far too deeply engrossed in his own affairs to take much note of his surroundings; as soon as the girl had closed the door behind her, he called her roughly to him and she⁠—frightened and obedient⁠—came forward without a word, standing now before him, with hanging arms and bowed head, whilst a slight shiver shook her girlish form from time to time.

He dragged a chair out to the middle of the room and sat himself astride upon it, his arms resting across the back, his booted and spurred feet thrust out in front of him, whilst his hollow, purple-rimmed eyes with their feverish glow of ever-present inward excitement were fixed upon the girl.

“I must tell thee, wench,” he began abruptly, “that I mean to be thy friend. No harm shall come to thee if thou wilt answer truthfully certain questions which I would ask of thee.”

Then as she appeared too frightened to reply and only cast a furtive, timorous glance on him, he continued after a slight pause:

“The man who protected thee against the rabble the other night, and who gave thee shelter afterwards, the man in whose bed thy crippled father lies at this moment⁠—he is thy sweetheart, is he not?”

“What is that to you?” she retorted sullenly.

“Nothing in itself,” he said quietly. “I merely spoke of it to show thee how much I know. Let me tell thee at once that I was in the tavern with him on New Year’s Eve when his boon-companions told the tale of how he had protected thee against a crowd; and that I was in this very street not twenty paces away when in response to thy appeal he gave up his room and his bed to thee, and for thy sake paced the streets for several hours in the middle of the night and in weather that must have frozen the marrow in his bones.”

“Well? What of that?” said the girl simply. “He is kind and good, and hath that pity for the poor and homeless which would grace many a noble gentleman.”

“No doubt,” he retorted dryly, “but a man will not do all that for a wench, save in expectation of adequate payment for his trouble and discomfort.”

“What is that to you?” she reiterated, with the same sullen earnestness.

“Thou art in love with that fine gallant, eh, my girl?” he continued with a harsh, flippant laugh, “and art not prepared to own to it. Well! I’ll not press thee for a confession. I am quite satisfied with thine evasive answers. Let me but tell thee this; that the man whom thou lovest is in deadly danger of his life.”

“Great God, have pity on him!” she exclaimed involuntarily.

“In a spirit of wanton mischief⁠—for he is not so faithful to thee as thou wouldst wish⁠—he has abducted a lady from this city, as thou well knowest, since thou didst lend him thy help in the committal of this crime. Thou seest,” he added roughly, “that denials on thy part were worse than useless, since I know everything. The lady’s father is an important magistrate in this city, he has moved every process of the law so that he may mete out an exemplary punishment to the blackguard who has dared to filch his daughter. Hanging will be the most merciful ending to thy lover’s life, but Mynheer Beresteyn talks of the rack, of quartering and of the stake, and he is a man of boundless influence in the administration of the law.”

“Lord, have mercy upon us,” once again murmured the wretched girl whose cheeks now looked grey and shrunken; her lips were white and quivering and her eyes with dilated pupils were fixed in horror on the harbinger of this terrible news.

“He will have none on thy sweetheart, I’ll warrant thee unless⁠ ⁠…”

He paused significantly, measuring the effect of his words and of that dramatic pause upon the tense sensibilities of the girl.

“Unless⁠ ⁠… what?” came almost as a dying murmur from her parched throat.

“Unless thou wilt lend a hand to save him.”

“I?” she exclaimed pathetically, “I would give my hand⁠ ⁠… my tongue⁠ ⁠… my sight⁠ ⁠… my life to save him.”

“Come!” he said, “that’s brave! but it will not be necessary to make quite so violent a sacrifice. I have great power too in this city and great influence over the bereaved father,” he continued, lying unblushingly, “I