“Then, why this? Answer me—why this?”
And under his nose the Duke thrust the order of gaol delivery Rhynsault had signed.
The captain blenched, and fear entered his glance. The thing was becoming serious, it seemed.
“Is this the sort of justice you were sent to Middelburg to administer in my name? Is this how you dishonour me? If you conceived him guilty, why did you sign this and upon what terms? Bah, I know the terms. And having made such foul terms, why did you not keep your part of the bargain, evil as it was?”
Rhynsault had nothing to say. He was afraid, and he was angry too. Here was a most unreasonable bother all about nothing, it seemed to him.
“I—I sought to compromise between justice and—and—”
“And your own vile ends,” the Duke concluded for him. “By Heaven, you German dog, I think I'll have you shortened by a head!”
“My lord!” It was a cry of protest.
“There is the woman you have so foully wronged, and so foully swindled,” said the Duke, watching him. “What reparation will you make to her? What reparation can you make? I can toss your filthy head into her lap. But will that repair the wrong?”
The captain suddenly saw light, and quite a pleasant light it was, for he had found Sapphira most delectable.