"I protest that I love your daughter. I wish above all things to make her my wife."
"Many things men desire, that they come not near to. My daughter is to another man promised."
"Look you, Councillor, that would be monstrous. Your daughter loves me."
Joris turned white to the lips. "It is not the truth," he answered in a slow, husky voice.
"By the sun in heaven, it is the truth! Ask her."
"Then a great scoundrel are you, unfit with honest men to talk. Ho! Yes, your sword pull from its scabbard. Strike. To the heart strike me. Less wicked would be the deed than the thing you have done."
"In faith, sir, 'tis no crime to win a woman's love."
"No crime it would be to take the guilders from my purse, if my consent was to it. But into my house to come, and while warm was yet my welcome, with my bread and wine in your lips, to take my gold, a shame and a crime would be. My daughter than gold is far more precious."
There was something very impressive in the angry sorrow of Joris. It partook of his own magnitude. Standing in front of him, it was impossible for Captain Hyde not to be sensible of the difference between his own slight, nervous frame, and the fair, strong massiveness of Van Heemskirk; and, in a dim way, he comprehended that this physical difference was only the outward and visible sign of a mental and moral one quite as positive and unchangeable.
Yet he persevered in his solicitation. With a slight impatience of manner he said, "Do but hear me, sir. I have done nothing contrary to the custom of people in my condition, and I assure you that with all my soul I love your daughter."