Part 69

"May I go?" asked Mr. Starr.

"Yes," she said.

So they stole away through the sleeping house, and presently we heard the front door close. Mr. van Buren and I were alone together.

He was good about cheering me up, saying he had too much faith in his friend's courage and skill as a yachtsman to be very anxious, though the delay was odd.

Then, suddenly he broke out with a strange question.

"Would it hurt you if anything should happen to Rudolph Brederode?"

I was so surprised that I could hardly answer at first. Then I said that of course it would hurt me, for I liked and admired the Jonkheer, and considered him my friend.

"I have no right to ask," he went on, "but I do beg you to say if it is only as a friend you like Rudolph."

That startled me, for I was afraid things I had done might have been misunderstood, owing to the difference of ways in Holland.

"Why," I stammered, "are you going to warn me not to care for him, because he doesn't care for me? How dreadful!"

Nell's cousin Robert looked so pale, I was afraid he must be ill. He put up his hand and pushed his hair back from his forehead, and then began pacing about the room.

"Rudolph must care--he shall care, if you wish it," he said.

"Oh," I exclaimed, "I didn't mean it was dreadful if he didn't care; but if you thought I did."

He stopped walking and took one big step that brought him to me.

"You do not?"

"Of course not," said I; "not in that way."

Mr. van Buren caught both my hands, and pressed them so tightly, that I couldn't help giving a tiny squeak.

"Ah, I have hurt you!" he cried, and a strange expression came into his eyes. At least, it was strange that it should be for me, instead of Freule Menela, for it was almost--but no, I must have been mistaken, of course, in thinking it was like that. Anyway, it was a thrilling expression, and made my heart beat as fast as if I were frightened, though I think that wasn't exactly the feeling. I couldn't take my eyes away from his for a minute. We looked straight at each other; then, as if he couldn't resist, he kissed my hands one after the other--not with polite little Dutch kisses, but eager and desperate. As he did it, he gave a kind of groan, and before I could speak he muttered, "Forgive me!" as he rushed out of the room.

He must have almost run against Mr. Starr, for the next instant the "Mariner" (as Jonkheer Brederode calls him) came in, dripping wet.

There was I, all pink and trembling, and my voice did sound odd as I quavered out, "Where's Nell?"

"Gone to her room," said Mr. Starr, looking hard at me with his brilliant, whimsical eyes. "I was to tell you----"

With that, I burst into tears.

"Good gracious, poor angel! What is the matter?" he exclaimed, coming closer.

"I don't know," I sobbed. "But I'm not an angel. I do believe I'm a very--wicked girl."

"You, wicked? Why?"

"Because--I've got feelings I oughtn't to have."

"And that's why you're crying?"

"I'm not sure. But I just--can't help it."