CHAPTER XI
SURRENDER
But this interview with the inimical Quaker had more than strengthenedSir Marmaduke's design to carry his bold scheme more rapidly to itssuccessful issue.
The game which he had played with grave risks for over three months nowhad begun to be dangerous. The mysterious patriot from France could notafford to see prying enemies at his heels.
Anon when the graceful outline of Lady Sue's figure emerged from out thesurrounding gloom, Sir Marmaduke went forward to meet her, and claspedher to him in a passionate embrace.
"My gracious lady ... my beautiful Sue ..." he murmured whilst hecovered her hands, her brow, her hair with ardent kisses, "you have comeso late--and I have been so weary of waiting ... waiting for you."
He led her through the gardens to where one gigantic elm, grander thanits fellows, had thrown out huge gnarled roots which protruded from outthe ground. One of these, moss-covered, green and soft, formed a perfectresting place. He drew her down, begging her to sit. She obeyed, scaredsomewhat as was her wont when she found him so unfettered and violent.
He stretched himself at full length at her feet, extravagant now in hisacts and gestures like a man who no longer can hold turbulent passion incheck. He kissed the edge of her kirtle, then her cloak and the tips ofher little shoes:
"It was cruel to keep me waiting ... gracious lady--it was cruel," hemurmured in the intervals between these ardent caresses.
"I am so sorry, Amede," she repeated, grieving to see him so sorrowful,not a little frightened at his vehemence,--trying to withdraw her handsfrom his grasp. "I was detained ..."
"Detained," he rejoined harshly, "detained by someone else ... someonewho had a greater claim on your time than the poor exile ..."
"Nay! 'tis unkind thus to grieve me," she said with tender reproach asshe felt the hot tears gather in her eyes. "You know--as I do--that I amnot my own mistress yet."
"Yes! yes! forgive me--my gracious, sweet, sweet lady.... I am mad whenyou are not nigh me.... You do not know--how could you? ... whattorments I endure, when I think of you so beautiful, so exquisite, soadorable, surrounded by other men who admire you ... desire you,mayhap.... Oh! my God! ..."
"But you need have no fear," she protested gently, "you know that I gavemy whole heart willingly to you ... my prince ..."
"Nay, but you cannot know," he persisted violently, "sweet, gentlecreature that you are, you cannot guess the agonies which a strong manendures when he is gnawed by ruthless insane jealousy ..."
She gave a cry of pain.
"Amede!" for she felt hurt, deeply wounded by his mistrust of her, whenshe had so wholly, so fully trusted him.
"I know ... I know," he said with quick transition of tone, fearful thathe had offended her, striving to master his impatience, to find wordswhich best pleased her young, romantic temperament, "Nay! but you mustthink me mad.... Mayhap you despise me," he added with a gentle note ofsadness. "Oh, God! ... mayhap you will turn from me now...."
"No! no!"
"Yet do I worship you ... my saint ... my divinity ... my Suzanne....You are more beautiful, more adorable than any woman in the world ...and I am so unworthy."
"You unworthy!" she retorted, laughing gayly through her tears. "You, myprince, my king! ..."
"Say that once more, my Suzanne," he murmured with infinite gentleness,"oh! the exquisite sweetness of your voice, which is like dream-music inmine ears.... Oh! to hold you in my arms thus, for ever ... until death,sweeter than life ... came to me in one long passionate kiss."
She allowed him to put his arms round her now, glad that the darknesshid the blush on her cheeks; thus she loved him, thus she had firstlearned to love him, ardent, oh, yes! but so gentle, so meek, yet sogreat and exalted in his selfless patriotism.
"'Tis not of death you should speak, sweet prince," she said, ineffablyhappy now that she felt him more subdued, more trusting and fond,"rather should you speak of life ... with me, your own Suzanne ... ofhappiness in the future, when you and I, hand in hand, will worktogether for that great cause you hold so dear ... the freedom andliberties of France."
"Ah, yes!" he sighed in utter dejection, "when that happy time comes ...but ..."
"You do not trust me?" she asked reproachfully.
"With all my heart, my Suzanne," he replied, "but you are so beautiful,so rich ... and other men ..."
"There are no other men for me," she retorted simply. "I love you."
"Will you prove it to me?"
"How can I?"
"Be mine ... mine absolutely," he urged eagerly with passion justsufficiently subdued to make her pulses throb. "Be my wife ... myprincess ... let me feel that no one could come between us...."
"But my guardian would never consent," she protested.
"Surely your love for me can dispense with Sir Marmaduke's consent...."
"A secret marriage?" she asked, terrified at this strange vista whichhis fiery imagination was conjuring up before her.
"You refuse? ..." he asked hoarsely.
"No! no! ... but ..."
"Then you do not love me, Suzanne."
The coolness in his tone struck a sudden chill to her heart. She feltthe clasp of his arms round her relax, she felt rather than saw that hewithdrew markedly from her.
"Ah! forgive me! forgive me!" she murmured, stretching her little handsout to him in a pathetic and childlike appeal. "I have never deceivedanyone in my life before.... How could I live a lie? ... married to you,yet seemingly a girl.... Whilst in three months...."
She paused in her eagerness, for he had jumped to his feet and was nowstanding before her, a rigid, statuesque figure, with head bent and armshanging inert by his side.
"You do not love me, Suzanne," he said with an infinity of sadness,which went straight to her own loving heart, "else you would not dreamof thus condemning me to three months of exquisite torture.... I havehad my answer.... Farewell, my gracious lady ... not mine, alas! butanother man's ... and may Heaven grant that he love you well ... not asI do, for that were impossible...."
His voice had died away in a whisper, which obviously was half-chokedwith tears. She, too, had risen while he spoke, all her hesitationgone, her heart full of reproaches against herself, and of love for him.
"What do you mean?" she asked trembling.
"That I must go," he replied simply, "since you do not love me...."
Oh! how thankful she was that this merciful darkness enwrapped her sotenderly. She was so young, so innocent and pure, that she felt halfashamed of the expression of her own great love which went out to him ina veritable wave of passion, when she began to fear that she was aboutto lose him.
"No, no," she cried vehemently, "you shall not go ... you shall not."
Her hands sought his in the gloom, and found them, clung to them withever-growing ardor; she came quite close to him trying to peer into hisface and to let him read in hers all the pathetic story of her own deeplove for him.
"I love you," she murmured through her tears. And again she repeated: "Ilove you. See," she added with sudden determination, "I will do e'en asyou wish.... I will follow you to the uttermost ends of the earth.... I... I will marry you ... secretly ... an you wish."
Welcome darkness that hid her blushes! ... she was so young--so ignorantof life and of the world--yet she felt that by her words, her promise,her renunciation of her will, she was surrendering something to thisman, which she could never, never regain.
Did the first thought of fear, or misgiving cross her mind at thismoment? It were impossible to say. The darkness which to her was sowelcome was--had she but guessed it--infinitely cruel too, for it hidthe look of triumph, of rapacity, of satisfied ambition which at herselfless surrender had involuntarily crept into Marmaduke's eyes.
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 11
