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

the sledge flew swiftly along through the night.

It was Maria who roused her suddenly out of these happy fancies. Maria who said plaintively:

“Shall we never get to that verdommte house. The Jew said that it was only situate half a league from Rotterdam.”

“We must be close to it,” murmured Gilda.

“Close to it!” retorted Maria, “we seem to be burning the ground under the horses’ hoofs⁠—we have left Rotterdam behind us this hour past.⁠ ⁠… It is the longest half league that I have ever known.”

“Peep out under the hood, Maria. Cannot you see where we are?”

Maria peeped out as she was bid.

“I can see the lights of a city far away on our right,” she said. “From the direction in which we have been going and the ground which we have covered I should guess that city to be Delft.”

“Delft!” exclaimed Gilda, smothering a louder scream.

The driver had just pulled up his horses, allowing them to go at a walk so as to restore their wind and ease them for awhile. Gilda tried her best to peer through the darkness. All that she could see were those lights far away on the right which proclaimed the distant city.

A chill struck suddenly to her heart. Ben Isaje had lied! Why? She was not being taken to his house which was situate half a league outside Rotterdam⁠ ⁠… then whither was she being taken? What new misery, what new outrage awaited her now?

The lights of the distant city receded further and further away from her view, the driver once more put his horses at a trot, the sledge moved along more smoothly now: it seemed as if it were going over the surface of the river. Delft was being left behind, and the sledge was following the course of the Schie⁠ ⁠… on toward Ryswyk.⁠ ⁠…

The minutes sped on, another quarter of an hour, another half hour, another hour in this dread suspense. The driver was urging his horses unmercifully: he gave them but little rest. It was only when for a few brief moments he put them at walking pace, that Gilda heard⁠—all around her as it seemed⁠—that metallic click of skates which told her that the sledge was surrounded by men who were there to watch over her and see that she did not escape.

XXXIII The Captive Lion

Beresteyn was sitting at the table in the weighing-room of the molens: his elbows rested on the table, and his right hand supported his head; in the feeble light of the lantern placed quite close to him, his face looked sullen and dark, and his eyes, overshadowed by his frowning brows, were fixed with restless eagerness upon the narrow door.

Stoutenburg, with hands crossed over his chest, with head bare and collar impatiently torn away from round his neck, was pacing up and down the long, low room like a caged beast of prey.

“Enter!” he shouted impatiently in response to a loud knock on the door. Then as Jan entered, and having saluted, remained standing by the door, he paused in his feverish walk, and asked in a curiously hoarse voice, choked with anxiety:

“Is everything all right, Jan?”

“Everything, my lord.”

“The jongejuffrouw?⁠ ⁠…”

“In the hut, my lord. There is a good fire there and the woman is preparing some hot supper for the lady.”

“How does she seem?”

“She stepped very quietly out of the sledge, my lord, the moment I told her that we had arrived. She asked no questions, and walked straight into the hut. Meseemed that the jongejuffrouw knew exactly where she was.”

“The woman will look after her comforts well?”

“Oh, yes, my lord, though she is only a rough peasant, she will try and do her best, and the jongejuffrouw has her own waiting woman with her as well.”

“And the horses?”

“In the shed behind the hut.”

“Look after them well, Jan: we may want to use them again tomorrow.”

“They shall be well looked after, my lord.”

“And you have placed the sentry outside the hut?”

“Two men in the front and two in the rear, as you have commanded, my lord.”

Stoutenburg drew a deep breath of satisfaction: but anxiety seemed to have exhausted him, for now that his questions had been clearly answered, he sank into a chair.

“All well, Nicolaes,” he said more calmly as he placed a reassuring hand upon his friend’s shoulder.

But Nicolaes groaned aloud.

“Would to God,” he said, “that all were well!”

Smothering an impatient retort Stoutenburg once more turned to Jan.

“And what news of the foreigner?” he queried eagerly.

“We have got him, my lord,” replied Jan.

“By G‑d!” exclaimed Stoutenburg, “how did you do it?”

His excitement was at fever pitch now. He was leaning forward, and his attitude was one of burning expectancy. His hollow eyes were fixed upon Jan’s lips as if they would extract from them the glad news which they held. Whatever weakness there was in Stoutenburg’s nature, one thing in him was strong⁠—and that was hatred. He could hate with an intensity of passion worthy of a fine cause. He hated the Stadtholder first, and secondly the nameless adventurer who had humiliated him and forced him to lick the dust: wounded in his vanity and in his arrogance he was consumed with an inordinate desire for revenge. The hope that this revenge was now at last in sight⁠—that the man whom he hated so desperately was now in his power⁠—almost caused the light of mania to dance in his glowing eyes.

“How did you do it, Jan?” he reiterated hoarsely.

“It was not far from the molens,” said Jan simply, “until then he gave us the slip, though we spied him just outside Delft on our way to Rotterdam this morning. My impression is that he went back to Rotterdam then, and that he followed the jongejuffrouw’s sledge practically all the way. Close to the molens he was forced to draw a little nearer as it was getting very dark and probably he did