CHAPTER XLIV
BLAKE OF BLAKENEY
While Maria completed a hasty toilet, Gilda's instinct had drawn her back once more to the open window. The light from the room below was still reflected on the opposite wall, and from the tap-room the buzz of voices had not altogether ceased.
Cornelius Beresteyn was speaking now:
"Indeed," he said, "it will be the one consolation left to me, since you do reject my friendship, sir."
"Not your friendship, sir—only your money," interposed Diogenes.
"Well! you do speak of lifelong parting. But your two friends have indeed deserved well of me. Without their help no doubt you, sir, first and then my dearly loved daughter would have fallen victims to that infamous Stoutenburg. Will a present of twenty thousand guilders each gratify them, do you think?"
A ringing laugh roused the echoes of the sleeping hostelry.
"Twenty thousand guilders! ye gods!" exclaimed Diogenes merrily. "Pythagoras, dost hear, old bladder-face? Socrates, my robin, dost realize it? Twenty thousand guilders each in your pockets, old compeers. Lord! how drunk you will both be to-morrow."