“At the request of Doña de Alva I have taken your daughter’s safety into my hands. Send order for your twelve cases of goods to be put on board the Esperanza instantly.”
“It is already done,” mutters Bodé Volcker, gazing with astonished eyes on Chester; then he falters: “You’re—you’re quite sure you’re sober enough for this business?”
“Diablo! sober enough to bleed you,” mutters Guy, remembering his rôle of spendthrift and blackmailer. “Send down sufficiency of money with your daughter to the ship to pay her expenses—and mine too!”
And this bringing to the merchant’s mind the character of this Spanish officer, Amati, his reputation as a roisterer and libertine, Niklaas clasps his hands together and murmurs piteously: “I’m putting her in your charge. She is the daughter of my heart. For God’s sake remember you have my money, my life, if you want to denounce me, but spare her. Were it not for my desperate strait do you think I’d place my lamb in your wolf’s charge?”
At this complimentary remark Guy grinds his teeth and assuming the hauteur of hidalgo, claps his hand upon his sword and mutters: “Maldito! Have I not sworn to her, the daughter of the Viceroy, to deliver your wench in safety wherever you wish her sent? At what town declared for Orange and occupied by Dutch garrison do you want your daughter delivered? Name the place, and it is done.”
“Haarlem!” mutters the old man, “I have friends in Haarlem,” and in after months could have cut his tongue out for these words.
“It is done,” remarks Guy. “Bring your daughter to me at once.”
“I will. Mina is packing.”
“Packing, idiot! Do you suppose she’ll need fine raiment if they have her in the Spin-House? Fly, and save your daughter’s white back from the scourge. Quick!”
In terror at this picture the Burgomaster runs away, while Guy, chewing his mustache, knows he has [[162]]shortened an interview he would prolong though life and death are on its very brevity. He turns and takes a look at Hermoine de Alva.