“An exceedingly unpleasant person,” he
vowed within himself, “you will have to be removed,
good master, an you get too troublesome.”
SURRENDER
But this interview with the inimical Quaker had more
than strengthened Sir Marmaduke’s design to
carry his bold scheme more rapidly to its successful
issue.
The game which he had played with grave risks for
over three months now had begun to be dangerous.
The mysterious patriot from France could not afford
to see prying enemies at his heels.
Anon when the graceful outline of Lady Sue’s
figure emerged from out the surrounding gloom, Sir
Marmaduke went forward to meet her, and clasped her
to him in a passionate embrace.
“My gracious lady ... my beautiful Sue ...”
he murmured whilst he covered her hands, her brow,
her hair with ardent kisses, “you have come
so late—and I have been so weary of waiting
... waiting for you.”
He led her through the gardens to where one gigantic
elm, grander than its fellows, had thrown out huge
gnarled roots which protruded from out the ground.
One of these, moss-covered, green and soft, formed
a perfect resting place. He drew her down, begging
her to sit. She obeyed, scared somewhat as was
her wont when she found him so unfettered and violent.
He stretched himself at full length at her feet, extravagant
now in his acts and gestures like a man who no longer
can hold turbulent passion in check. He kissed
the edge of her kirtle, then her cloak and the tips
of her little shoes:
“It was cruel to keep me waiting ... gracious
lady—it was cruel,” he murmured 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
hands from his grasp. “I was detained ...”
“Detained,” he rejoined harshly, “detained
by someone else ... someone who had a greater claim
on your time than the poor exile ...”
“Nay! ’tis unkind thus to grieve me,”
she said with tender reproach as she felt the hot
tears gather in her eyes. “You know—as
I do—that I am not my own mistress yet.”
“Yes! yes! forgive me—my gracious,
sweet, sweet lady.... I am mad when you are not
nigh me.... You do not know—how could
you? ... what torments I endure, when I think of you
so beautiful, so exquisite, so adorable, 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 gave my whole heart
willingly to you ... my prince ...”
“Nay, but you cannot know,” he persisted
violently, “sweet, gentle creature that you
are, you cannot guess the agonies which a strong man
endures when he is gnawed by ruthless insane jealousy
...”
She gave a cry of pain.
