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

to face at last. He had not spoken to her since that day in March when he was a miserable fugitive⁠—in a far worse plight than was the wounded man tied with cords to a beam. He had been a hunted creature then, every man’s hand raised against him, his life at the mercy of any passerby, and she had given him shelter freely and fearlessly⁠—shelter and kind words⁠—and her ministrations had brought him luck, for he succeeded in reaching the coast after he parted from her, and finding shelter once more in a foreign land.

Since then her image had filled his dreams by night and his thoughts by day. His earlier love for her, smothered by ambition, rose up at once more strong, more insistent than before; it became during all these months of renewed intrigues and plots the one ennobling trait in his tortuous character. His love for Gilda was in itself not a selfish feeling; neither ambition nor the mere gratification of obstinate desire entered in its composition. He loved Gilda for herself alone, with all the adoration which a pious man would have given to his God, and while one moment of his life was occupied in planning a ruthless and dastardly murder, the other was filled with hopes of a happier future, with Gilda beside him as his idolized wife. But though his love was in itself pure and selfless, he remained true to his unscrupulous nature in the means which he adopted in order to win the object of his love.

Even now, when he entered her presence in the miserable peasant’s hut where he chose to hold her a prisoner, he felt no remorse at the recollection of what she must have suffered in the past few days; his one thought was⁠—now that he had her completely under his control⁠—how he could best plead his cause first, or succeed in coercing her will if she proved unkind.

She received him quite calmly, and even with a gracious nod of the head, and he thought that he had never seen her look more beautiful than she did now, in her straight white gown, with that sweet, sad face of hers framed by a wealth of golden curls. In this squalid setting of whitewashed walls and rafters blackened with age, she looked indeed⁠—he thought⁠—like one of those fairy princesses held prisoner by a wicked ogre⁠—of whom he used to read long ago when he was a child, before sin and treachery and that insatiable longing for revenge had wholly darkened his soul.

With bare head and back bent nearly double in the depth of his homage he approached his divinity.

“It is gracious of you, mejuffrouw, to receive me,” he said forcing his harsh voice to tones of gentleness.

“I had not the power to refuse, my lord,” she replied quietly, “seeing that I am in your hands and entirely at your commands.”

“I entreat you do not say that,” he rejoined eagerly, “there is no one here who has the right to command save yourself. ’Tis I am in your hands and your most humble slave.”

“A truce to this farce, my lord,” she retorted impatiently. “I were not here if you happened to be my slave, and took commands from me.”

“ ’Tis true mayhap that you would not be here, now, mejuffrouw,” he said blandly, “but I could only act for the best, and as speedily as I could. The moment I heard that you were in the hands of brigands I moved heaven and earth to find out where you were. I only heard this morning that you were in Rotterdam⁠ ⁠…”

“You heard that I was in the hands of brigands,” she murmured, almost gasping with astonishment, “you heard this morning that I was in Rotterdam⁠ ⁠… ?”

“I sent spies and messengers in every direction the moment I heard of the abominable outrage against your person,” he continued with well-feigned vehemence. “I cannot even begin to tell you what I endured these past three days, until at last, by dint of ruse and force, I was able to circumvent the villains who held you captive, and convey you hither in safety and profound respect until such time as I can find a suitable escort to take you back to your father.”

“If what you say is true, my lord, you could lend me an escort at once, that I might return to my dear father forthwith. Truly he must have broken his heart by now, weeping for me.”

“Have I not said that I am your slave?” he rejoined gently, “an you desire to return to Haarlem immediately, I will see about an escort for you as quickly as may be. The hour is late now,” he added hypocritically, “but a man can do much when his heart’s desire lies in doing the behests of a woman whom he worships.”

Though she frowned at these last words of his, she leaned forward eagerly to him.

“You will let me go⁠ ⁠… at once⁠ ⁠… tonight?”

“At once if it lies in my power,” he replied unblushingly, “but I fear me that you will have to wait a few hours; the night is as dark as pitch. It were impossible to make a start in it. Tomorrow, however⁠ ⁠…”

“Tomorrow?” she cried anxiously, “ ’Tis tonight that I wish to go.”

“The way to Haarlem is long⁠ ⁠…” he murmured.

“ ’Tis not to Haarlem, my lord, but to Delft that I long to go.”

“To Delft?” he exclaimed with a perfect show of astonishment.

She bit her lip and for the moment remained silent. It had, indeed, been worse than folly to imagine that he⁠—of all men in the world⁠—would help her to go to Delft. But he had been so gentle, so kind, apparently so ready to do all that she asked, that for the moment she forgot that he and he alone was the mover of that hideous conspiracy to murder which she still prayed to God that she might avert.

“I had forgotten, my lord,” she said, as tears threatened to choke her