The Laughing Cavalier | Page 4

blood and grime, his eyes red and
swollen, the breath coming quick, short gasps through his blue, cracked
lips, the first sense of fear at what she had done seized hold of her
heart.
At first he took no notice of her, but threw himself into the nearest
chair and passed his hands across his face and brow.
"My God," he murmured, "I thought they would have me to-night."
She stood in the middle of the room, feeling helpless and bewildered;

she was full of pity for the man, for ther is nothing more unutterably
pathetic than the hunted human creature in its final stage of apathetic
exhaustion, but she was just beginning to co-ordinate her thoughts and
they for the moment were being invaded by fear.
She felt more than she saw, that presently he turned his hollow,
purple-rimmed eyes upon her, and that in them there was a glow half of
passionate will-power and half of anxious, agonizing doubt.
"Of what are you afraid, Gilda?" he asked suddenly, "surely not of
me?"
"Not of you, my lord," she replied quietly,"only for you."
"I am a miserable outlaw now, Gilda," he rejoined bitterly, "four
thousand golden guilders await any lout who chooses to sell me for a
competence."
"I know that, my lord... and marvel why you are here? I heard that you
were safe--in Belgium."
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
"I was safe there," he said, "but I could not rest. I came back a
few days ago, thinking I could help my brother to escape. Bah!" he
added
roughly, "he is a snivelling coward...."
"Hush! for pity's sake," she exclaimed, "someone will hear you."
"Close that window and lock the door," he murmured hoarsely. "I am
spent-- and could not resist a child if it chose to drag me at this moment
to the Stadtholder's spies."
Gilda obeyed him mechanically. First she closed the window; then she
went to the door listening against the panel with all her senses on the
alert. At the further end of the passage was the living-room where her

father must still be sitting after his supper, poring over a book on
horticulture, or mayhap attending to his tulip bulbs. If he knew that the
would-be murderer of the Stadtholder, the prime mover and instigator
of the dastardly plot was here in his house, in his daughter's chamber...
Gilda shuddered, half-fainting with terror, and her trembling fingers
fumbled with the lock.
"Is Nicolaes home?" asked Stoutenburg, suddenly.
"Not just now," she replied, "but he, too, will be home anon... My
father is at home..."
"Ah!...Nicolaes is my friend...I counted on seeing him here...he would
help me I know...but your father, Gilda, would drag me to the gallows
with his own hand if he knew that I am here."
"You must not count on Nicolaes either, my lord," she pleaded, "nor
must you stay here a moment longer...I heard my father's step in the
passage already. He is sure to come and bid me good-night before he
goes to bed...."
"I am spent, Gilda, " he murmured, and indeed his breath came in such
feeble gasps that he could scarce speak. "I have not touched food for
two days. I landed at Scheveningen a week ago, and for five days have
hung about the Gevangen Poort of S' Graven Hage trying to get speech
with my brother. I had gained the good will of an important offical in
the prison, but Groeneveld is too much of a coward to make a fight for
freedom. Then I was recognized by a group of workmen outside my
dead father's house. I read recognition in their eyes--knowledge of me
and knowledge of the money which that recognition might mean to
them. They feigned indifference at first, but I had read their thoughts.
They drew together to concert over their future actions and I took to my
heels. It was yesterday at noon, and I have been running ever since,
running, running, with but brief intervals to regain my breath and beg
for a drink of water--when thirst became more unendurable than the
thought of capture. I did not even know which way I was running till I
saw the spires of Haarlem rising from out the evening haze; then I
thought of you, Gilda, and of this house. You would not sell me, Gilda,

for you are rich, and you loved me once," he added hoarsely, while his
thin, grimy hands clutched the arms of the chair and he half-raised
himself from his seat, as if ready to spring up and to start running again;
running, running until he dropped.
Chapter I
-- New Year's Eve
If the snow had come down again or the weather been colder or wetter,
or other than what it was...
If one