The Laughing Cavalier Baroness Orczy (bill gates books recommendations txt) 📖

her own tender feelings for him, her womanliness, her motherly instincts were reawakened in an instant. They had only been dormant for awhile, because of her horror of what she had heard. And that horror of a monstrous deed, that sense of shame that he⁠—her brother⁠—should be so ready to acquiesce in a crime had momentarily silenced the call of sisterly love. But this love once reawakened was strong enough to do battle in her heart on his behalf: the tense rigidity of her attitude relaxed, her mouth softened, her eyes filled with tears. The next moment she had turned fully to him and was looking pleadingly into his face.

“Little brother,” she murmured gently, “tell me that it is not true. That it was all a hideous dream.”

He looked down on her for a moment. It pleased him to think that her affection for him was still there, that at any rate his personal safety might prove a potent argument against the slightest thought of indiscretion on her part. She tried to read his thoughts, but everything was dark around them both, the outline of his brow and mouth alone stood clearly out from the gloom: the expression of his eyes she could not fathom. But womanlike she was ready to believe that he would relent. It is so difficult for a woman to imagine that one whom she loves is really prone to evil. She loved this brother dearly, and did not grasp the fact that he had reached a point in his life when a woman’s pleading had not the power to turn him from his purpose. She did not know how deeply he had plunged into the slough of conspiracy, and that the excitement of it had fired his blood to the exclusion of righteousness and of loyalty. She hoped⁠—in the simplicity of her heart⁠—that he was only misled, that evil counsels had only temporarily prevailed. Like a true woman she still saw the child in this brother who had grown to manhood by her side.

Therefore she appealed and she pleaded, she murmured tender words and made fond suggestions, all the while that his heart was hard to everything except to the one purpose which she was trying to thwart.

Not unkindly but quite firmly he detached her clinging arms from round his neck.

“Let us call it a dream, little sister,” he said firmly, “and do you try and forget it.”

“That I cannot, Nicolaes,” she replied, “unless you will promise me.⁠ ⁠…”

“To betray my friends?” he sneered.

“I would not ask you to do that: but you can draw back⁠ ⁠… it is not too late.⁠ ⁠… For our father’s sake, and for mine, Nicolaes,” she pleaded once more earnestly. “Oh think, little brother, think! It cannot be that you could countenance such a hideous crime, you who were always so loyal and so brave! I remember when you were quite a tiny boy what contempt you had for little Jakob Steyn because he told lies, and how you thrashed Frans van Overstein because he ill-treated a dog.⁠ ⁠… Little brother, when our father was ruined, penniless, after that awful siege of Haarlem, which is still a hideous memory to him, the Prince of Orange helped him with friendship and money to reestablish his commerce, he stood by him loyally, constantly, until more prosperous days dawned upon our house. Little brother, you have oft heard our father tell the tale, think⁠ ⁠… oh, think of the blow you would be dealing him if you lent a hand to conspiracy against the Prince. Little brother, for our father’s sake, for mine, do not let yourself be dragged into the toils of that treacherous Stoutenburg.”

“You call him treacherous now, but you loved him once.”

“It is because I loved him once,” she rejoined earnestly, “that I call him treacherous now.”

He made no comment on this, for he knew in his heart of hearts that what she said was true. He knew nothing of course of the events of that night in the early spring of the year when Gilda had sheltered and comforted the man who had so basely betrayed her; but for her ministration to him then, when exhausted and half-starved he sought shelter under her roof, in her very room⁠—he would not have lived for this further plotting and this further infamy, nor yet to drag her brother down with him into the abyss of his own disgrace.

Of this nocturnal visit Gilda had never spoken to anyone, not even to Nicolaes who she knew was Stoutenburg’s friend, least of all to her father, whose wrath would have fallen heavily on her had he known that she had harboured a traitor in his house.

“Stoutenburg lied to me, Nicolaes,” she now said, seeing that still her brother remained silent and morose, “he lied to me when he stole my love, only to cast it away from him as soon as ambition called him from my side. And as he lied then, so will he lie to you, little brother, he will steal your allegiance, use you for his own ends and cast you ruthlessly from him if he find you no longer useful. Yes, I did love him once,” she continued earnestly, “when he thought of staining his hands with murder my love finally turned to contempt. This new infamy which he plots hath filled the measure of my hate. Turn from him, little brother, I do entreat you with my whole soul. He has been false to his God, false to his prince, false to me! he will be false to you!”

“It is too late, Gilda,” he retorted sombrely, “even if I were so minded, which please God! I am not.”

“It is never too late to draw back from such an abyss of shame.”

“Be silent, girl,” he said more roughly, angered that he was making no headway against her obstinacy. “God-verdomme! but I am a fool indeed to stand and parley here with you, when grave affairs wait upon my time. You talk at