"You mean the Lord of Stoutenburg himself?" the blind man queried blandly.
"Nay! He is determined to hang you. But there is another."
"Then I pray your lordship to tell me who that other is," Diogenes replied.
"You might find one, sirrah, in the jongejuffrouw Gilda Beresteyn, the Lord of Stoutenburg's promised wife."
Diogenes made no reply to this. He was facing the table now, still clinging to it with one hand, whilst the other wandered over the objects on the table. Suddenly they encountered a crystal jug which was full of wine. An expression of serene beatitude overspread his face. He raised the goblet to his lips, but ere he drank he said carelessly:
"Ah, the jongejuffrouw Beresteyn is the promised wife of the Lord of Stoutenburg?"
"My promised wife!" Stoutenburg put in roughly. "Methought you would ere this have recognized the man whom you tried to rob of all that he held most precious."
"Your lordship must forgive me," the blind man rejoined drily. "But some unknown miscreant -- whom may the gods punish -- interfered with me yesterday forenoon, when I was trying to render assistance to my friend Klaas. In the scuffle that ensued, I received a cloud of stinking fumes in the face, which has totally robbed me of sight."
As he spoke he raised his eyes, blinking in that pathetic and inconsequent manner peculiar to the blind. Nicolaes gave an audible groan. He could not bear to look on those sightless orbs, which in the flickering light of the wax candles appeared weird and unearthly.
"Oh," Stoutenburg put in carelessly, "is that how the -- er -- accident occurred?"
"So, please your lordship, yes," Diogenes replied. "And I was left stranded on the moor, since those two unreclaimed varlets, Pythagoras and Socrates by name, did effectually ride off in the wake of the Stadtholder, leaving me in the lurch. A pitiable plight, your lordship will admit."
"So pitiable," the other retorted with a sneer, "that you thought to improve your condition by bearding the Lord of Stoutenburg in his lair."
"I did not know your lordship was in Amersfoort," Diogenes replied imperturbably. "I thought -- I hoped ---"
He paused, and Stoutenburg tried in vain to read what went on behind that seemingly unclouded brow. The blind man appeared serene, detached, perfectly good-humoured. His slender hand, which looked hard beneath its coating of grime, was closed lovingly around the crystal jug. Stoutenburg vaguely wondered how far the man was really drunk, or whether his misfortune had slightly addled his brain. So much unconcern in the face of an imminent and shameful death gave an uncanny air to the whole appearance of the man. Even now, with a gently apologetic smile, he raised the jug once more to his lips. Stoutenburg placed a peremptory hand upon his arm.
"Put that down, man," he said harshly. "You are drunk enough as it is, and you'll have need of all your wits to-night."
"There you are wrong my lord," Diogenes retorted, and quietly transferred the jug to his other hand. "A man, meseems, needs no wits to hang gracefully. And I feel that I could do that best if I might quench my thirst ere I met my friend the hangman."
"You may not meet him at all."
"But just now you said ---"
"That it was my intention to hang you," Stoutenburg assented. "So it is. But I am in rare good humour to-night, and ---"
"So it seems, my lord," the blind man put in carelessly. "So it seems."
He appeared to be swaying on his feet, and to have some difficulty in retaining his balance. He still clung to the edge of the table with one hand. In the other he had the jug fill of wine.
"The jongejuffrouw Gilda Beresteyn," Stoutenburg went on, "will sup with me this night to celebrate our betrothal. The fulfillment of this, my great desire, hath caused me to feel lenient toward mine enemies."
"Have I not always asserted," Diogenes broke in with comical solemnity -- "always ass-asserted that your lordship was a noble and true gentleman?"
"Women, we know," his lordship continued, ignoring the interruption, "are wont to be tenderhearted where their -- their former swains are concerned. And I feel that if the jongejuffrouw herself did make appeal to me on your behalf, I would relent towards you."
"B-b-but would that not be an awkward -- a very awkward decision for your lordship?" Diogenes riposted, turning round vacant eyes on Stoutenburg.
"Awkward? How so?
"If I do not hang, the jongejuffrouw, 'stead of being my widow, would still be my wife. And the laws of this country ---"
"I have no concern with the laws of this country" Stoutenburg rejoined drily, "in which, anyhow, you are an alien. As soon as the Archduchess our Liege Lady is once more mistress here, we shall again be at war with England."
"Poor England!"
Diogenes sighed, and solemnly wiped a tear from his blinking eyes.
"And every English plepshurk will be kicked out of the country. But that is neither here nor there."
"Neither here nor there," the other assented, with owlish gravity. "But before England is s-sh-s-swept off the map, my lordship, what will happen?"
"My marriage to the jongejuffrouw," Stoutenburg replied curtly. "She hath consented to be my wife, and my wife she will be as soon as I have mind to take her. So you may drink to our union, sirrah. I'll e'en pledge you in a cup."
He poured himself out a goblet of wine, laughing to himself at his own ingenuity. That was the way to treat the smeerlap. Make him feel what a pitiable, abject knave he was! Then show him up before Gilda, just as he was -- drunk, ragged, unkempt, an object of derision in his misfortune rather than of pity.
"Nay," the rascal objected, his speech waxing thicker and his hand more unsteady, "I cannot pledge you, my lord, in drinking to your union with my own wife, unless -- unless my friend Klaas will drink to that union, too. Mine own brother by the law, you see, my lord, and ---"
"Mynheer Nicolaes will indeed drink to his sister's happy union with me," Stoutenburg retorted, with a sneer. "His presence here is a witness to my good intentions toward the wench. So you may drink, sirrah. The jongejuffrouw herself is overwilling to submit to my pleasure ---"
But the imperious words were smothered in his throat, giving place to a fierce exclamation of choler. The blind man had at his invitation raised the jug of wine to his lips, but in the act his feet apparently slipped away from under him. The jug flew out of his hand, would have caught the Lord of Stoutenburg on the head had he not ducked just in time. But even so his Magnificence was hit on the shoulder by the heavy crystal vessel, and splashed from head to foot with the wine, whilst Diogenes collapsed on the floor with a shamed and bibulous laugh.
A string of savage oaths and tempestuous abuse poured from Stoutenburg's lips, which were in truth livid with rage. Already Jan had rushed to his assistance, snatched up a serviette from the table, and soon contrived to wipe his lordship's doublet clean.
The blind man in the meanwhile did his best to hoist himself up on his feet once more, clung to the edge of the table; but the sight of him released the last floodgate of Stoutenburg's tempestuous wrath. He turned with a vicious snarl upon the unfortunate man, and it would indeed have fared ill with the defenceless creature, for the Lord of Stoutenburg was not wont to measure his blows by the helplessness of his victims, had not a sudden exclamation from Nicolaes stayed the hand that was raised to strike.
"Gilda!" the young man cried impulsively.
Stoutenburg's arm dropped to his side. He turned toward the door. Gilda had just entered with her father, and was coming slowly down the room.
Chapter XII – Tears, Sighs, Hearts
1