Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
After a time they moved near the fireplace again, and then I saw another
look upon the girl's face. I saw fear and anxiety which I had not noted
before. Evidently he had told her of something, or she had somehow
discovered something, that moved her more deeply than anything which had
gone before. The look on her face was pleading, and she held up her
hands beseechingly. I saw, too, that the old man was evidently well
pleased with himself, for I heard him give utterance to a pleased little
cackle, which he intended for a laugh.
[Illustration: "I saw that the girl had fallen on her knees."]
"And if I do, and if I do, little Constance, what then?"
Again she spoke eagerly, passionately I thought, while the look on his
face became more and more full of self-satisfaction.
"Ah, ah," I heard him cackle, "so you discover that Old Solomon still
hath his wits, eh? That his bow hath many strings, eh? That he hath not
sold himself to the devil for naught, eh? Ah, ah, but it does an old
man's heart good to see you, pretty little Constance."
I had discovered her name at last. Constance. At that time I could think
of nothing sweeter, even although it was spoken by this withered,
wrinkled old man in tones of ribaldry and mocking. Put it down to my
youth if you will, but the knowledge of her name made me long to be her
friend more than ever.
I looked away towards the eastward sky, and saw a faint glow in the
horizon. Evidently morning was drawing near. In another hour the sun
would have risen, and I began to wonder how the strange visit would end;
but in another moment the thought of morning was driven from me, for I
saw that the girl had fallen on her knees before the strange old
creature. I caught no words, but that she pleaded with him was evident,
while more than once I heard her sobbing. I saw too that he seemed to be
relenting, nay, I thought I saw even tenderness on his creased
forbidding face, which was followed by a look of cunning.
"And if I do, what then?" I heard him say.
But of her answer I caught nothing, although I strained every nerve to
catch even the faintest sound.
"More than that, more than that, pretty Constance," I heard him say.
"Obedience, my pretty bird, obedience!"
And now I saw a look of terror in her eyes, yet did she keep on pleading
until the old man seemed to make up his mind to grant her request.
I saw him leave the room, while she stood like one transfixed. She was
standing where the light shone straight upon her face, so that I could
see every feature, but nevertheless I could read no story thereon which
revealed her secret. Courage I saw, tenderness I saw, nay, more it
seemed to realize that it was not her own battle that she was fighting.
What fear she had was not for herself. For who was it then? I could
think of no one save the man at the inn, and there came into my head a
great anger, and a desire to wrest the secret of his power over her from
him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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