The First Sir Percy, Baroness Orczy [most important books to read TXT] 📗

Then he rose, and, without looking at her again, he walked firmly out of the room. IV Adder’s Fork I

Nicolaes Beresteyn accompanied his brother-in-law during the first part of the journey. He had insisted on this, despite Diogenes’ preference for solitude. There was not much comradeship lost between the two men. Though the events of that memorable New Years Day, distant less than three months, were ostensibly consigned to oblivion, nevertheless, the bitter humiliation which Nicolaes had suffered at the hands of the then nameless soldier of fortune still rankled in his heart. Since then so many things had come to light which, to an impartial observer, more than explained Gilda Beresteyn’s love for the stranger, and Mynheer her father’s acquiescence in an union based on respect for so brave a man.

But Nicolaes had held aloof from the intimacy, and soon his own courtship of the wealthy Kaatje gave him every reason for withdrawing more and more from his own family circle. But tonight, after the tempestuous close of what should have been a merely conventional day, he sought Diogenes’ company in a way he had never done before.

“Like you,” he said, “I am wearied and sick with all this mummery. A couple of hours on the Veluwe will set me more in tune with life.”

Diogenes chaffed him not a little.

“The lovely Kaatje will pout,” he suggested, “and rightly, too. You have no excuse for absenting yourself from her side at this hour.”

“I’ll come with you as far as Barneveld,” Nicolaes insisted. “A matter of less than a couple of hours’ ride. It will do me good. And Kaatje is still closeted with her garrulous mother.”

“You think it will do her good to be kept waiting,” Diogenes retorted with good-natured sarcasm. “Well, come, if you have a mind. But I’ll not have your company further than Barneveld. I am used to the Veluwe, and intend taking a shortcut over the upland, through which I would not care to take a companion less well acquainted with the waste than I.”

Thus it was decided. Already the Stadtholder had gone with his numerous retinue, with his bodyguard and his pike-men and with his equerries, and those of the wedding-party who had come in his train from Utrecht, friends of Mynheer Beresteyn, who had ridden over for the most part with wife or daughter pillioned behind them, and all glad to avail themselves of the protection of his Highness’s escort against highway marauders, none too scarce in these parts. Torchbearers and linkmen completed the imposing cavalcade, for the night would be moonless, and the tracks across the moorland none too clearly defined.

Diogenes had waited with what patience he could muster until the last of the numerous train had defiled under the Koppel-poort. Then he, too, got to horse. Despite Socrates’ many protestations, he was not allowed to accompany him.

“You must look after Pythagoras,” was Diogenes’ final word on the subject.

“ ’Tis the first time,” the other answered moodily, “that you go on such an adventure without us. Take care, comrade! The Veluwe is wide and lonely. That swag-bellied oaf up there hath cause to rue his solitary wanderings on that verfloekte waste.”

“I’ll be careful, old compeer,” Diogenes retorted with a smile. “But mine errand is not one on which I desire to draw unnecessary attention, and I can remain best unperceived if I am alone. ’Tis no adventure I am embarking on this night. Only a simple errand as far as Vorden, a matter of ten leagues at most.

“And the whole of the verdommte Veluwe to traverse at dead of night!” the other muttered sullenly.

“I know every corner of it,” Diogenes rejoined impatiently. “And it will not be the first time that I travel on it alone.”

Thus Socrates was left grumbling, and anon Diogenes, accompanied by Nicolaes Beresteyn, started on his way.

II

At first the two men spoke little. The air was still cold and very humid, and the thaw was persisting. The horses stepped out briskly on the soft, sandy earth.

The distance between Amersfoort and Barneveld is but a couple of leagues. Within the hour the lights of the little city could be seen gleaming ahead. After a while Nicolaes Beresteyn became more loquacious, talked quite freely of the past.

“My father no longer trusts me,” he said, with ill-concealed bitterness. “Did you see how he shut me out of the council-chamber?”

“Yet the Stadtholder himself told you everything that occurred subsequently,” Diogenes retorted kindly, “including his own plans and mine errand at this hour. I think that your conscience troubles you unnecessarily, and you see a deliberate intention in every simple act.”

“If I thought that my father still suspected me⁠—” Nicolaes mumbled under his breath.

“And if he did, you could scarce blame him. ’Tis only in the future you can prove your true worth. And methinks,” he added, more seriously than he was usually wont to speak, “that you will have occasion to do this very soon.”

“In the meanwhile, here’s Barneveld ahead of us,” Nicolaes rejoined, with a quick, indefinable sigh, and giving a sudden turn to the conversation. “I’ll see you across the city, then return to the bosom of my family, there to live in uxorious idleness, whilst you, a stranger, are entrusted with the destinies of our land. A poor outlook for a man who is young and a patriot, you’ll own.”

To this Diogenes thought it best to make no reply. He knew well enough that the mistrust of which Nicolaes accused his father was a very real thing, and that it was indeed only time that would soften the proud burgher’s heart toward his only son. It was not likely that one who but a brief while ago had conspired against the Stadtholder’s life with that abominable Stoutenburg could be admitted readily into the councils of the very man whom he had plotted to assassinate. With every desire to forgive, it was but natural that Mynheer