Part 35 (2/2)
”The others have taken a boat to Bosekop,” said Duprez, to rea.s.sure her.
”They may be there by now.”
Britta shook her head. ”The tide is against them--no! we shall be there first. But,” and she looked wistfully at Pierre, ”my grandmother said Mr. Dyceworthy had sworn to ruin the Froken. What did she mean, do you think?”
Duprez did not answer,--he made a strange grimace and shrugged his shoulders. Then he seized the whip and lashed the pony.
”Faster, faster, _mon chere_!” he cried to that much-astonished, well-intentioned animal. ”It is not a time to sleep, _ma foi_!” Then to Britta--”My little one, you shall see! We shall disturb the good clergyman at his peaceful supper--yes indeed! Be not afraid!”
And with such rea.s.suring remarks he beguiled the rest of the way, which to both of them seemed unusually long, though it was not much past nine when they rattled into the little village called by courtesy a town, and came to a halt within a few paces of the minister's residence.
Everything was very quiet--the inhabitants of the place retired to rest early--and the one princ.i.p.al street was absolutely deserted. Duprez alighted.
”Stay you here, Britta,” he said, lightly kissing the hand that held the pony's reins. ”I will make an examination of the windows of the house.
Yes--before knocking at the door! You wait with patience. I will let you know everything!”
And with a sense of pleasurable excitement in his mind, he stole softly along on tip-toe--entered the minister's garden, fragrant with roses and mignonette, and then, attracted by the sound of voices, went straight up to the parlor window. The blind was down and he could see nothing, but he heard Mr. Dyceworthy's bland persuasive tones, echoing out with a soft sonorousness, as though he were preaching to some refractory paris.h.i.+oner. He listened attentively.
”Oh strange, strange!” said Mr. Dyceworthy. ”Strange that you will not see how graciously the Lord hath delivered you into my hands! Yea,--and no escape is possible! For lo, you yourself, Froken Thelma,” Dyceworthy started, ”you yourself came hither unto my dwelling, a woman all unprotected, to a man equally unprotected,--and who, though a humble minister of saving grace, is not proof against the offered surrender of your charms! Make the best of it, my sweet girl!--make the best of it!
You can never undo what you have done to-night.”
”Coward! . . . coward!” and Thelma's rich low voice caused Pierre to almost leap forward from the place where he stood concealed.
”You,--_you_ made me come here--_you_ sent me that card--_you_ dared to use the name of my betrothed husband, to gain your vile purpose! _You_ have kept me locked in this room all these hours--and do you think you will not be punished? I will let the whole village know of your treachery and falsehood!”
Mr. Dyceworthy laughed gently. ”Dear me, dear me!” he remarked sweetly.
”How pretty we look in a pa.s.sion, to be sure! And we talk of our 'betrothed husband' do we? Tut-tut! Put that dream out of your mind, my dear girl--Sir Philip Bruce-Errington will have nothing to do with you after your little escapade of to-night! Your honor is touched!--yes, yes! and honor is everything to such a man as he. As for the 'card' you talk about, I never sent a card--not I!” Mr. Dyceworthy made this a.s.sertion in a tone of injured honesty. ”Why should I! No--no! You came here of your own accord,--that is certain and--” here he spoke more slowly and with a certain malicious glee, ”I shall have no difficulty in proving it to be so, should the young man Errington ask me for an explanation! Now you had better give me a kiss and make the peace!
There's not a soul in the place who will believe anything you say against me; _you_, a reputed witch, and I, a minister of the Gospel. For your father I care nothing, a poor sinful pagan can never injure a servant of the Lord. Come now, let me have that kiss! I have been very patient--I am sure I deserve it!”
There was a sudden rus.h.i.+ng movement in the room, and a slight cry.
”If you touch me!” cried Thelma, ”I will kill you! I will! G.o.d will help me!”
Again Mr. Dyceworthy laughed sneeringly. ”G.o.d will help you!” he exclaimed as though in wonder. ”As if G.o.d ever helped a _Roman_! Froken Thelma, be sensible. By your strange visit to me to-night you have ruined your already damaged character--I say you have ruined it,--and if anything remains to be said against you, I can say it--moreover, I _will_!”
A crash of breaking window-gla.s.s followed these words, and before Mr.
Dyceworthy could realize what had happened, he was pinioned against his own wall by an active, wiry, excited individual, whose black eyes sparkled with gratified rage, whose clenched fist was dealing him severe thumps all over his fat body.
”Ha, ha! You will, will you!” cried Duprez, literally dancing up against him and squeezing him as though he were a jelly. ”You will tell lies in the service of _le Bon Dieu_? No--not quite, not yet!” And still pinioning him with one hand, he dragged at his collar with the other till he succeeded, in spite of the minister's unwieldly efforts to defend himself, in rolling him down upon the floor, where he knelt upon him in triumph. ”_Voila! Je sais faire la boxe, moi!_” Then turning to Thelma, who stood an amazed spectator of the scene, her flushed cheeks and tear-swollen eyes testifying to the misery of the hours she had pa.s.sed, he said, ”Run, Mademoiselle, run! The little Britta is outside, she has a pony-car--she will drive you home. I will stay here till Phil-eep comes. I shall enjoy myself! I will begin--Phil-eep with finis.h.!.+ Then we will return to you.”
Thelma needed no more words, she rushed to the door, threw it open, and vanished like a bird in air. Britta's joy at seeing her was too great for more than an exclamation of welcome,--and the carriole, with the two girls safely in it, was soon on its rapid way back to the farm.
Meanwhile, Olaf Guldmar, with Errington and the others, had just landed at Bosekop after a heavy pull across the Fjord, and they made straight for Mr. Dyceworthy's house, the _bonde_ working himself up as he walked into a positive volcano of wrath. Finding the street-door open as it had just been left by the escaped Thelma, they entered, and on the threshold of the parlor, stopped abruptly, in amazement at the sight that presented itself. Two figures were rolling about on the floor, apparently in a close embrace,--one large and c.u.mbrous, the other small and slight. Sometimes they shook each other,--sometimes they lay still,--sometimes they recommenced rolling. Both were perfectly silent, save that the larger personage seemed to breathe somewhat heavily.
Lorimer stepped into the room to secure a better view--then he broke into an irrepressible laugh.
”It's Duprez,” he cried, for the benefit of the others that stood at the door. ”By Jove! How did he get here, I wonder?”
Hearing his name, Duprez looked up from that portion of Mr. Dyceworthy's form in which he had been burrowing, and smiled radiantly.
<script>