The Greatest Works of Emma Orczy. Emma Orczy
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much that was vivid and tangible of her present anxiety and sorrow. It stood upon an open market-place, with the driver sitting up at his post and three horses harnessed thereto. The small tavern was at the corner on the left, and as Gilda walked rapidly up to the sledge, she saw two of the men who had been escorting her hitherto, the thin man with the abnormally long legs, and the fat one with the red nose and round eyes: but of the third tall, splendid figure she did not catch one glimpse.
The two men nudged one another as she passed, and whispered excitedly to one another, but she could not hear what they said, and the next moment she found herself being handed into the vehicle by Ben Isaje, who thereupon took humble leave of her.
"You are not coming with us, mynheer?" she asked in astonishment.
"Not ... not just yet, mejuffrouw," murmured the Jew somewhat incoherently, "it is too early yet in the afternoon ... er ... for me to ... to leave my business.... I have the honour to bid the jongejuffrouw 'Godspeed.'"
"But," said Gilda, who suddenly misliked Ben Isaje's manner, yet could not have told you why, "the mevrouw — your wife — she is ready to receive me?"
"Of a truth — certainly," replied the man. Gilda would have given much to question him further. She was quite sure that there was something strange in his manner, something that she mistrusted; but just as she was about to speak again, there was a sudden command of "Forward!" the driver cracked his whip, the harness jingled, the sledge gave a big lurch forward and the next moment Gilda found herself once more being rushed at great speed through the cold night air.
She could not see much round her, for the fog out in the open seemed even more dense than it was inside the city and the darkness of the night crept swiftly through the fog. All that she knew for certain was that the city was very soon left behind, that the driver was urging his horses on to unusual speed, and that she must be travelling along a river bank, because when the harness rattled and jingled less loudly than usual, she could hear distinctly the clink of metal skates upon the ice, as wayfarers no doubt were passing to and fro.
Solitary as she was — for Maria and her eternal grumblings were poor company — she fell to thinking again over the future, as she had done not only last night but through the past few interminable days; it almost seemed as if she had never, never thought of anything else, as if those same few days stretched out far away behind her into dim and nebulous infinity.
During those days she had alternately hoped and feared and been disappointed only to hope again: but the disappointment of last night was undoubtedly the most bitter that she had yet experienced. So bitter had it been that for a time — after its intense poignancy had gone — her faculties and power of thinking had become numbed, and now — very gradually, unknown at first even to herself, hope shook itself free from the grip of disappointment and peeped up at her out of the abyss of her despair.
Did that unscrupulous knave really have the last word in the matter? had his caprice the power to order the destiny of this land and the welfare of its faith?
Bah! the very thought was monstrous and impossible. Was the life of the Prince of Orange to be sacrificed because a rascal would not help her to give him that word of warning which might save him even now at the eleventh hour?
No! Gilda Beresteyn refused to believe that God — who had helped the armies of the Netherlands throughout their struggle against the might of Spain — would allow a rogue to have so much power. After all, she was not going to be shut up in prison! she was going to the house of ordinary, respectable burghers; true, they were of alien and of despised faith, but they were well-to-do, had a family, serving women and men.
Surely among these there would be one who — amenable to cajoleries or to promises — would prove to be the instrument sent by God to save the Stadtholder from an assassin's dagger!
Gilda Beresteyn, wrapped in this new train of thought, lost count of time, of distance and of cold: she lived during one whole hour in the happiness of this newly-risen hope, making plans, conjecturing, rehearsing over in her mind what she would say, how she would probe the loyalty, the kindness of those who would be around her to-night.
Delft was so near! and after all even Maria might be bribed to forget her fears and her grievances and to become that priceless instrument of salvation of which Gilda dreamed as 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.
CHAPTER 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 lanthorn 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