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<B><U><FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">The Laughing Cavalier</FONT></U><FONT
 FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><BR>
by Baroness Orczy</FONT></B><FONT FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><BR>
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<H2><CENTER><FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">Many many
heartfelt thanks to Lani (<A HREF="mailto:lsbretta@aol.com">lsbretta@aol.com</A>)
for the production of this e-text, and to Jen (<A HREF="mailto:margueriteblakeney@email.com">margueriteblakeney@email.com</A>)
for her contributions. Thrice thanks and hup hup huzzah!</FONT></CENTER></H2>

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<H2><CENTER><FONT FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">Table of Contents</FONT></CENTER></H2>

<H2><CENTER><A HREF="apology.html"><FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">An
Apology</FONT></A><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lpro1.html">Prologue
Part 1</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lpro2.html">Prologue
Part 2</A></FONT></CENTER></H2>

<H2><CENTER><A HREF="lc1.html"><FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">Chp
1 - New Year's Eve</FONT></A><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc2.html">Chp
2 - The Fracas by the Postern Gate</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc3.html">Chp
3 - An Interlude</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc4.html">Chp
4 - Watch-Night</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc5.html">Chp
5 - Brother and Sister</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc6.html">Chp
6 - The Counsels of Prudence</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc7.html">Chp
7 - Three Philosophers and their Friends</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc8.html">Chp
8 - The Lodgings Which Were Paid For</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc9.html">Chp
9 - The Painter of Pictures</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc10.html">Chp
10 - The Laughing Cavalier</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc11.html">Chp
11 - The Bargain</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc12.html">Chp
12 - The Portrait</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc13.html">Chp
13 - The Spanish Wench</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc14.html">Chp
14 - After Evensong</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc15.html">Chp
15 - The Halt at Bennebrock</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc16.html">Chp
16 - Leyden</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc17.html">Chp
17 - An Understanding</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc18.html">Chp
18 - The Start</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc19.html">Chp
19 - In the Kingdom of the Night</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc20.html">Chp
20 - Back Again in Haarlem</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc21.html">Chp
21 - A Grief Stricken Father</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc22.html">Chp
22 - A Double Pledge</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc23.html">Chp
23 - A Spy From the Camp</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc24.html">Chp
24 - The Birt of Hate</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc25.html">Chp
25 - An Arrant Knave</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc26.html">Chp
26 - Back to Houdekerk</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lchp27.html">Chp
27 - Thence to Rotterdam</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc28.html">Chp
28 - Check</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc29.html">Chp
29 - Check Again</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc30.html">Chp
30 - A Nocturne</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc31.html">Chp
31 - The Molens</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc32.html">Chp
32 - A Run Through the Night</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc33.html">Chp
33 - The Captive Lion</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc34.html">Chp
34 - Protestations</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc35.html">Chp
35 - The Witness for the Defence</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc36.html">Chp
36 - Brother Philosophers</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc37.html">Chp
37 - Dawn</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc38.html">Chp
38 - The Hour</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc39.html">Chp
39 - &quot;Sauve Qui Peut&quot;</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc40.html">Chp
40 - The Loser Pays</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc41.html">Chp
41 - &quot;Vengence is Mine&quot;</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc42.html">Chp
42 - The Fight In the Doorway</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc43.html">Chp
43 - Leyden Once More</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc44.html">Chp
44 - Blake of Blakeney</A></FONT><BR>
<FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><A HREF="lc45.html">Chp
45 - The End</A></FONT></CENTER></H2>

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<H2><CENTER><FONT SIZE="+1" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy"><!---
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<H3><CENTER><FONT SIZE="+2" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">AN APOLOGY</FONT></CENTER></H3>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Does it need one?</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If so it must also come from those
members of the Blakeney family in whose veins runs the blood of
that Sir Percy Blakeney who is known to history as the Scarlet
Pimpernel-- for they in a manner are responsible for the telling
of this veracious chronicle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;For the past eight years now-- ever since
the true story of The Scarlet Pimpernel was put on record by the
present author-- these gentle, kind, inquisitive friends have
asked me to trace their descent back to an ancestor more remote
than was Sir Percy, to one in fact who by his life and by his
deeds stands forth from out the distant past as a conclusive proof
that the laws which govern the principles of heredity are as unalterable
as those that rule the destinies of the universe.&nbsp;They have
pointed out to me that since Sir Percy Blakeney's was an exceptional
personality, possessing exceptional characteristics which his
friends pronounced sublime and his detractors arrogant-- he must
have had an ancestor in the dim long ago who was, like him, exceptional,
like him possessed of qualities which call forth the devotion
of friends and rancour of enemies. Nay, more! there must have
existed at one time or another a man who possessed that sunny
disposition, that same irresistible laughter, that same careless
insouciance and adventurous spirit which were subsequently transmitted
to his descendants, of whom the Scarlet Pimpernel himself was
the most distinguished individual.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All these were unanswerable arguments, and
with the request that accompanied then I had long intended to
comply.&nbsp;Time has been my only enemy in thwarting my intentions
until now-- time and the multiplicity of material and documents
to be gone through ere vague knowledge could be turned into certitude.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;Now at last I am in a position to present
not only to the Blakeneys themselves, but to all those who look
on the Scarlet Pimpernel as their hero and their friend--the true
history of one of his most noted forebears.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;Strangely enough his history has never
been written before. And yet countless millions must during the
past three centuries have stood before his picture; we of the
present generation, who are the proud possessors of that picture
now, have looked on him many a time, always with sheer, pure joy
in our hearts, our lips smiling, our eyes sparkling in response
to his; almost forgetting the genius of the artist who protrayed
him in the very realism of the personality which literally seems
to breathe and palpitate and certainly to laugh to us out of the
canvas.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Those twinkling eyes! how well we know them!
that laugh! we can almost hear it; as for the swagger, the devil-may-care
arrogance, do we not condone it, seeing that it has its mainspring
behind a fine straight brow whose noble, sweeping lines betray
an undercurrent of dignity and of thought.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And yet no biographer has-- so far as is known
to the author of this veracious chronicle-- ever attempted to
tell us anything of this man's life, no one has attempted hitherto
to lift the veil of anonymity which only thinly hides the identity
of the Laughing Cavalier.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;But here in Haarlem-- in the sleepy,
yet thriving little town where he lived, the hard-frozen ground
in winter seems at times to send forth a memory-echo of his firm
footstep, of the jingling of his spurs, and the clang of his sword,
and the old gate of the Spaarne through which he passed so often
is still haunted with the sound of his merry laughter, and his
pleasant voice seems still to rouse the ancient walls from their
sleep.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;Here too-- hearing these memory-echoes
whenever the shadows of evening draw in on the quaint city-- I
had a dream.&nbsp;I saw him just as he lived, three hundred years
ago.&nbsp;He had stepped out of the canvas in London, had crossed
the sea and was walking the streets of Haarlem just as he had
done then, filling them with his swagger, with his engaging personality,
<BR>
above all with his laughter.&nbsp;And sitting beside me in the
old tavern of the &quot;Lame Cow,&quot; in that self-same tap-room
where he was wont to make merry, he told me the history of his
life.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;Since then kind friends at Haarlem have
placed documents in my hands which confirmed the story told me
by the Laughing Cavalier.&nbsp;To them do I tender my heartfelt
and grateful thanks.&nbsp;But it is to the man himself-- to the
memory of him which is so alive here in Haarlem-- that I am indebted
for the true history of his life, and therefore I feel that but
little apology is needed for placing the true facts before all
those who have known him hitherto only by his picture, who have
loved him only for what they guessed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;The monograph which I now present with
but few additions of minor details, goes to prove what I myself
had known long ago, namely, that the Laughing Cavalier who sat
to Frans Hal for his portrait in 1624 was the direct ancestor
of Sir Percy Blakeney, known to history as the Scarlet Pimpernel.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</FONT></P>

<BLOCKQUOTE>
  <P ALIGN=RIGHT><FONT SIZE="+1">.EMMUSKA ORCZY</FONT></P>
  <P ALIGN=RIGHT><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Haarlem,
  1913</FONT></P>
  <P ALIGN=RIGHT>&nbsp;</P>
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</BLOCKQUOTE>

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<H3><CENTER><FONT SIZE="+2" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">THE PROLOGUE</FONT></CENTER></H3>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">HAARLEM--MARCH 29th, 1623</FONT></P>

<P>&nbsp;</P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The day had been spring-like---even
hot; a very unusual occurrence in Holland at this time of year.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda Beresteyn had retired early to her room.&nbsp;She had dismissed
Maria, whose chatterings grated upon her nerves, with the promise
that she would call her later.&nbsp;Maria had arranged a tray
of dainties on the table, a jug of milk, some fresh white bread
and a little roast meat on a plate, for Gilda had eaten very little
supper and it might happen that she would feel hungry later on.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
It would have been useless to argue with the old woman about this
matter.&nbsp;She considered Gilda's health to be under her own
special charge, ever since good Mevrouw Beresteyn had placed her
baby girl in Maria's strong, devoted arms ere she closed her eyes
in the last long sleep.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda Berensteyn, glad to be alone, threw open the casement of
the window and peered out into the night.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
The shadow of the terrible tragedy--the concluding acts of which
were being enacted day by day in the Gevangen Poort of 'S Graven
Hage-- had even touched the distant city of Haarlem with its gloom.&nbsp;The
eldest son of John of Barneveld was awaiting final trial and inevitable
condemnation, his brother Stoutenburg was a fugitive, and their
accomplices Korenwinder, van Dyk, the redoubtable Slatius and
others were giving away under torture the details of the aborted
conspiracy against the life of Maurice of Nassau, Stadtholder
of Holland, Gelderland, Utrecht, and Overyssel, Captain and Admiral-General
of the State, Prince of Orange, and virtual ruler of Protestant
and republican Netherlands.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Traitors all of them-- would-be assassins-- the Stadtholder whom
they had planned to murder was showing them no mercy.&nbsp;As
he had sent John of Barneveld to the scaffold to assuage his own
thirst for supreme power and satisfy his own ambitions, so he
was ready to send John of Barneveld's sons to death and John of
Barneveld's widow to sorrow and loneliness.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
The sons of John of Barneveld had planned to avenge their father's
death by the committal of a cruel and dastardly murder: fate and
the treachery of mercenary accomplices had intervened, and now
Groeneveld was on the eve of condemnation, and Stoutenburg was
a wanderer on the face of the earth with a price put upon his
head.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda Beresteyn could not endure the thought of it all.&nbsp;All
the memories of her childhoodwere linked with the Barnevelds.&nbsp;Stoutenburg
had been her brother Nicolaes' most intimate friend, and had been
the first man to whisper words of love in her ears, ere his boundless
devotion and his unscrupulous egoism drove him into another more
profitable marriage.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda's face flamed up with shame even now at recollection of
his treachery, and the deep humiliation which she had felt when
she saw the first budding blossom of her girlish love so carelessly
tossed aside by the man whom she had trusted.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
A sense of oppression weighed her spirits down to-night.&nbsp;It
almost seemed as if the tragedy which had encompassed the entire
Barneveld family was even now hovering over the peaceful house
of Mynheer Beresteyn, deputy burgomaster and chief civic magistrate
of the town of Haarlem.&nbsp;The air itself felt heavy as if with
the weight of impending doom.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;The little city lay quiet and at peace; a soft breeze from
the south lightly fanned the girl's cheeks.&nbsp;She leaned her
elbowson the window-sill and rested her chin in her hands.&nbsp;The
moon was not yet up and yet it was not dark; a mysterious light
stil lingered on the horizon far away where earth and sea met
in a haze of purple and indigo.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;From the little garden down below there rose the subtle
fragrance of early spring--of wet earth and budding trees, and
the dim veiled distance was full of strange sweet sounds, the
call of night-birds, the shriek of sea-gulls astray ffrom their
usual haunts.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda looked out and listened--unable to understand this vague
sense of oppression and foreboding: when she put her finger up
to her eyes, she found them wet with tears.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Memories rose from out the past, sad phantoms that hovered in
the scent of the spring.&nbsp;Gilda had never wholly forgotten
the man who had once filled her heart with his personality, much
less could she chase away his image frim her mind now that a future
of misery and disgrace was all that was left to him.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
She did not know what had become of him, and dared not ask for
news.&nbsp;Mynheer Beresteyn, loyal to the House of Nassau and
to its prince, had cast out of his heart the sons of John of Barneveld
whom he had once loved.&nbsp;Assassins and traitors, he would
with his own lips have condemned them to the block, or denounced
them to the vengence of the Stadtholder for their treachery against
him.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
The feeling of uncertainty as to Stoutenburg's fate softened Gilda's
heart toward him.&nbsp;She knew that he had become a wanderer
on the face of the earth, Cain-like, homeless, friendless, practically
kinless; she pitied him far more than she did Groeneveld or the
others who were looking death quite closely in the face.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
She was infinitely sorry for him, for him and for his wife, for
whose sake he had been false to his first love.&nbsp;The gentle
murmur of the breeze, the distant call of the waterfowl, seemed
to bring back to Gilda's ears those whisperings of ardent passion
which had come from Stoutenburg's lips years ago.&nbsp;She had
listened to them with joy then, with glowing eyes cast down and
cheeks that flamed up at his words.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;And as she listened to these dream-sounds others more concrete
mingled with the mystic ones far away<B>:</B> the sound of stealthy
footsteps upon the flagged path of the garden, and of a human
being breathing and panting somewhere close by, still hidden by
the gathering shadows of the night.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
She held her breath to listen--not at all frightened, for the
sound of those footsteps, the presence of that human creature
close by, were in tune with her mood of expectancy of something
that was foredoomed to come.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Suddenly the breeze brought to her ear the murmur of her name,
whispered as if in an agony of pleading<B>:<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
</B>&quot;Gilda!&quot;</FONT></P>

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<H3><CENTER><FONT SIZE="+2" FACE="Lucida Calligraphy">The Prologue</FONT><FONT
 SIZE="+2"><BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Part 2</FONT></CENTER></H3>

<P>&nbsp;</P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She leaned right out of the
window.&nbsp;Her eyes, better accustomed to the dim evening light,
perceived a human figure that crouched against the yew hedge,
in the fantastic shadow cast by the quaintly shaped peacock at
the corner close to the house.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Gilda!&quot; came the murmur again, more insistent this
time.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Who goes there?&quot; she called in response<B>: </B>and
it was an undefinable instinct stronger than her will that caused
her to drop her own voice also to a whisper.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;A fugitive hunted to his death,&quot; came the response
scarce louder than the breeze.&nbsp;&quot;Give me shelter, Gilda--human
bloodhounds are on my track.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda's heart seemed to stop its beating; the human figure out
there in the shadows had crept stealthily nearer.&nbsp;The window
out of which she leaned was only a few feet from the ground; she
stretched out her hand into the night.&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;There is a projection in the wall just there,&quot; she
whispered hurriedly, &quot;and the ivy stems will help you...Come!&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;The fugitive grasped the hand that was stretched out to
him in pitying helpfulness.&nbsp;With the aid of the projection
in the wall and of the stems of the century-old ivy, he soon cleared
the distance which separated him from the windowsill.&nbsp;The
next moment he had jumped into the room.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;Gilda in this impulsive act of mercy had not paused to consider
either the risks or the cost.&nbsp;She had recognised the voice
of the man <BR>
whom she had once loved, that voice called to her out of the depths
of boundless misery; it was the call of a man at bay, a human
quarry hunted and exhausted, with the hunters close upon his heels.&nbsp;She
could not have resisted that call even if she had allowed her
reason to fight her instinct then.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
But now that he stood before her in rough fisherman's clothes,
stained and torn, his face covered with blood and grime, his eyes
red and swollen, the breath coming quick, short gasps through
his blue, cracked lips, the first sense of fear at what she had
done seized hold of her heart.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
At first he took no notice of her, but threw himself into the
nearest chair and passed his hands across his face and brow.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;My God,&quot; he murmured, &quot;I thought they would have
me to-night.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;She stood in the middle of the room, feeling helpless and
bewildered; she was full of pity for the man, for ther is nothing
more unutterably pathetic than the hunted human creature in its
final stage of apathetic exhaustion, but she was just beginning
to co-ordinate her thoughts and they for the moment were being
invaded by fear.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
She felt more than she saw, that presently he turned his hollow,
purple-rimmed eyes upon her, and that in them there was a glow
half of passionate will-power and half of anxious, agonizing doubt.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Of what are you afraid, Gilda?&quot; he asked suddenly,
&quot;surely not of me?&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Not of you, my lord,&quot; she replied quietly,&quot;only
for you.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;I am a miserable outlaw now, Gilda,&quot; he rejoined bitterly,
&quot;four thousand golden guilders await any lout who chooses
to sell me for a competence.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;I know that, my lord... and marvel why you are here?&nbsp;I
heard that you were safe--in Belgium.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;I was safe there,&quot; he said, &quot;but I could not rest.
I came back a <BR>
few days ago, thinking I could help my brother to escape.&nbsp;Bah!&quot;
he added <BR>
roughly, &quot;he is a snivelling coward....&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Hush! for pity's sake,&quot; she exclaimed, &quot;someone
will hear you.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;&quot;Close that window and lock the door,&quot; he murmured
hoarsely.&nbsp;&quot;I am spent-- and could not resist a child
if it chose to drag me at this moment to the Stadtholder's spies.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
Gilda obeyed him mechanically.&nbsp;First she closed the window;
then she went to the door listening against the panel with all
her senses on the alert.&nbsp;At the further end of the passage
was the living-room where her father must still be sitting after
his supper, poring over a book on horticulture, or mayhap attending
to his tulip bulbs.&nbsp;If he knew that the would-be murderer
of the Stadtholder, the prime mover and instigator of the dastardly
plot was here in his house, in his daughter's chamber... Gilda
shuddered, half-fainting with terror, and her trembling fingers
fumbled with the lock.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Is Nicolaes home?&quot;&nbsp;asked Stoutenburg, suddenly.<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Not just now,&quot; she replied, &quot;but he, too, will
be home anon... My father is at home...&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;Ah!...Nicolaes is my friend...I counted on seeing him here...he
would help me I know...but your father, Gilda, would drag me to
the gallows with his own hand if he knew that I am here.&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&quot;You must not count on Nicolaes either, my lord,&quot; she
pleaded, &quot;nor must you stay here a moment longer...I heard
my father's step in the passage already.&nbsp;He is sure to come
and bid me good-night before he goes to bed....&quot;<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<BR>
&nbsp;&quot;I am spent, Gilda, &quot; he murmured, and indeed
his breath came in such feeble gasps that he could scarce speak.&nbsp;&quot;I
have not touched food for two days.&nbsp;I landed at Scheveningen
a week ago, and for five days have hung about the Gevangen Poort
of S' Graven Hage trying to get speech with my brother.&nbsp;I
had gained the good will of an important offical in the prison,
but Groeneveld is too much of a coward to make a fight for freedom.&nbsp;Then
I was recognized by a group of workmen outside my dead father's
house.&nbsp;I read recognition in their eyes--knowledge of me
and knowledge of the money which that recognition might mean to
them.&nbsp;They feigned indifference at first, but I had read
their thoughts. They drew together to concert over their future
actions and I took to my heels.&nbsp;It was yesterday at noon,
and I have been running ever since, running, running, with but
brief intervals to regain my breath and beg for a drink of water--when
thirst became more unendurable than the thought of capture.&nbsp;I
did not even know which way I was running till I saw the spires
of Haarlem rising from out the evening haze; then I thought of
you, Gilda, and of this house.&nbsp;You would not sell me, Gilda,
for you are rich, and you loved me once,&quot; he added hoarsely,
while his thin, grimy hands clutched the arms of the chair and
he half-raised himself from his seat, as if ready to spring up
and to start running again; running, running until he dropped.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter I -- New Year's Eve</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If the snow had come down again or the weather
been colder or wetter, or other than what it was . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If one of the three men had been more thirsty,
or the other more insistent . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If it had been any other day of the year, or
any other hour of any other day . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If the three philosophers had taken their walk
abroad in any other portion of the city of Haarlem . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nay! but there's no end to the Ifs which I
might adduce in order to prove to you beyond a doubt that but
for an extraordinary conglomeration of minor circumstances, the
events which I am about to relate neither would nor could ever
have taken place.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For indeed you must admit that had the snow
come down again or the weather been colder, or wetter, the three
philosophers would mayhap all have felt that priceless thirst
and desire for comfort which the interior of a well-administered
tavern doth so marvelously assuage. And had it been any other
day of the year or any other hour of that same day of they year
1623, those three philosophers would never have thought of wiling
away the penultimate hour of the dying year by hanging round the
Grootemarkt in order to see the respectable mynheer burghers and
the mevrouws their wives, filing into the cathedral in a sober
and orderly procession, with large silver-clasped Bibles under
their arms, and that air of satisfied unctuousness upon their
faces which is best suited to the solemn occasion of watch-night
service, and the desire to put oneself right with Heaven before
commencing a New Year of commercial and industrial activity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And had those three philosophers not felt any
desire to watch this same orderly procession they would probably
had taken their walk abroad in another portion of the city from
whence . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But now I am anticipating.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Events crowded in so thickly and so fast, during
the last hour of the departing year and the first of the newly-born
one, that it were best mayhap to proceed with their relation in
the order in which they occurred.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For, look you, the links of a mighty chain
had their origin on the steps of the Stadhuis, for it is at the
foot of these that three men were standing precisely at the moment
when the bell of the cathedral struck the penultimate hour of
the last day of the year 1623.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Mynheer van der Meer, Burgomaster of Haarlem,
was coming down those same steps in the company of Mynheer van
Zilcken, Mynheer Beresteyn and other worthy gentlemen, all members
of the town council and all noted for their fine collections of
rare tulips, the finest in the whole of the province of Holland.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was great rivalry between Mynheer van
der Meer, Mynheer van Zilcken and Mynheer Beresteyn on the subject
of their tulip bulbs, on which they expended thousands of florins
every year. Some people held that the Burgomaster had exhibited
finer specimens of 'Semper Augustus' than any horticulturist in
the land, while others thought that the 'Scwarzer Kato' shown
by Mynheer Beresteyn had been absolutely without a rival.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And as this group of noble councilors descended
the steps of the Stadhuis, preparatory to joining their wives
at home and thence escorting them to the watch-night service at
the cathedral, their talk was of tulips and of tulip bulbs, of
the specimens which they possessed and the prices which they had
paid for these.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Fourteen thousand florins did I pay for
my 'Schwarzer Kato',&quot; said Mynheer Beresteyn complacently,
&quot;and now I would not sell it for twenty thousand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is a man up at Overveen who has
a new hybrid now, a sport of 'Schone Juffrouw' -- the bulb has
matured to perfection, he is putting it up for auction next week,&quot;
said Mynheer van Zilcken.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It will fetch in the open market sixteen
thousand at least,&quot; commented Mynheer van der Meer sententiously.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would give that for it and more,&quot;
rejoined the other, &quot;if it is as perfect as the man declares
it to be.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Too late,&quot; now interposed Mynheer
Beresteyn with a curt laugh, &quot;I purchased the bulb from the
man at Overveen this afternoon. He did not exaggerate its merits.
I never saw a finer bulb.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You bought it?&quot; exclaimed the Burgomaster
in tones that were anything but friendly towards his fellow councilor.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This very afternoon,&quot; replied the
other. &quot;I have it in the inner pocket of my doublet at this
moment&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he pressed his hand to his side, making
sure that the precious bulb still reposed next to his heart.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I gave the lout fifteen thousand florins
for it,&quot; he added airily, &quot;he was glad not to take the
risks of an auction, and I equally glad to steal a march on my
friends.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The three men who were leaning against the
wall of the Stadhuis, and who had overheard this conversation,
declared subsequently that they learned then and there an entirely
new and absolutely comprehensive string of oaths, the sound of
which they had never even known of before, from the two solemn
and sober town councilors who found themselves baulked of a coveted
prize. But this I do not altogether believe; for these three eavesdroppers
had already forgotten more about swearing than all the burghers
of Haarlem put together had ever known.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the meantime the town councilors had reached
the foot of the steps: here they parted company and there was
a marked coldness in the manner of some of them toward Mynheer
Beresteyn, who still pressed his hand against his doublet, in
the inner pocket of which reposed a bit of dormant vegetation
for which he had that same afternoon paid no less a sum than fifteen
thousand florins.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There goes a lucky devil,&quot; said
a mocking voice in tones wherein ripples of laughter struggled
for ever for mastery. It came from one of the three men who had
listened to the conversation between the town councilors on the
subject of tulips and of tulip bulbs.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To think,&quot; he continued, &quot;that
I have never seen as much as fifteen thousand florins all at once.
By St. Bavon himself do I swear that for the mere handling of
so much money I would be capable of the most heroic deeds . .
. such as killing my worst enemy . . or . . . or . . . knocking
that obese and self-complacent councilor in the stomach.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Say but the word, good Diogenes,&quot;
said a gruff voice in response, &quot;the lucky devil ye speak
of need not remain long in possession of that bulb. He hath name
Beresteyn . . . I think I know whereabouts he lives . . . the
hour is late . . . the fog fairly dense in the narrow streets
of the city . . . say but the word . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is an honest man I wot of in Amsterdam,&quot;
broke in a third voice, one which was curiously high-pitched and
dulcet in its tones, &quot;an honest dealer of Judaic faith, who
would gladly give a couple thousands for the bulb and ask no impertinent
questions.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Say but the word, Diogenes . . .&quot;
reiterated the gruff voice solemnly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And the bulb is ours,&quot; concluded
the third speaker in his quaint high-pitched voice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And three philosophers will begin the
New Year with more money in their wallets than they would know
what to do with,&quot; said he of the laughter-filled voice. &quot;
'Tis a sound scheme, O Pythagoras, and one that under certain
circumstances would certainly commend itself to me. But just now
. . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well?&quot; queried the two voices --
the gruff and the high-pitched -- simultaneously, like a bassoon
and a flute in harmony, &quot;just now what?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Just now, worthy Socrates and wise Pythagoras,
I have three whole florins in my wallet, and my most pressing
creditor died a month ago -- shot by a Spanish arquebuse at the
storming of Breda -- he fell like a hero -- God rest his soul!
But as to me I can afford a little while -- at any rate for to-night!
-- to act like a gentleman rather than a common thief.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah!&quot; came in muffled and gruff
tones of disgust, &quot;you might lend me those three florins
-- 'twere the act of a gentleman . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;An act moreover which would eventually
free me from further scruples, eh?&quot; laughed the other gaily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The place is dull,&quot; interposed the
flute-like tones, &quot;'twill be duller still if unworthy scruples
do cause us to act like gentlemen.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why! 'tis the very novelty of the game
that will save our lives from dullness,&quot; said Diogenes lightly,
&quot;just let us pretend to be gentlemen for this one night.
I assure you that good philosophers though ye both are, you will
find zest in the entertainment.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It is doubtful whether this form of argument
would have appealed to the two philosophers in question. The point
was never settled, for at that precise moment Chance took it on
herself to forge the second link in that remarkable chain of events
which I have made it my duty to relate.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">From across the Grootemarkt, there where stands
the cathedral backed by a network of narrow streets, there came
a series of ear-piercing shrieks, accompanied by threatening cries
and occasional outbursts of rough, mocking laughter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A row,&quot; said Socrates laconically.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A fight,&quot; suggested Pythagoras.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes said nothing. He was already half
way across the Markt. The others followed him as closely as they
could. His figure, which was unusually tall and broad, loomed
weirdly out of the darkness and out of the fog ahead of them,
and his voice with that perpetual undertone of merriment rippling
through it, called to them from time to time.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Now he stopped, waiting for his companions.
The ear-piercing shrieks, the screams and mocking laughter came
more distinctly to their ears, and from several by-streets that
gave on the Market Place, people came hurrying along, attracted
by the noise.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let us go round behind the Fleishmarkt,&quot;
said Diogenes, as soon as his two friends had come within earshot
of him, &quot;and reach the rear of the cathedral that way. Unless
I am greatly mistaken the seat of yonder quarrel is by a small
postern gate which I spied awhile ago at the corner of Dam Straat
and where methinks I saw a number of men and women furtively gaining
admittance: they looked uncommonly like Papists, and the postern
gate not unlike a Romanist chapel door.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then there undoubtedly will be a row,&quot;
said Socrates dryly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And we are no longer likely to find the
place dull,&quot; concluded Pythagoras in a flute-like voice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And the three men, pulling their plumed hats
well over their eyes, turned without hesitation in the wake of
their leader. They had by tacit understanding unsheathed their
swords and were carrying them under the folds of their mantles.
They walked in single file, for the street was very narrow, the
gabled roofs almost meeting overhead at their apex, their firm
footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet of snow. The street
was quite deserted and the confused tumult in the Dam Straat only
came now as a faint and distant echo.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Thus walking with rapid strides the three men
soon found themselves once more close to the cathedral: it loomed
out of the fog on their left and the cries and the laughter on
ahead sounded more clear and shrill.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The words &quot;for the love of Christ&quot;
could be easily distinguished; uttered pleadingly at intervals
by a woman's voice they sounded ominous, more especially as they
were invariably followed by cries of &quot;Spaniards! Spies! Papists!&quot;
and a renewal of loud and ribald laughter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The leader of the little party had paused once
more, his long legs evidently carried him away faster than he
intended: now he turned to his friends and pointed with his hand
and sword on ahead.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Now, wise Pythagoras,&quot; he said,
&quot;wilt thou not have enjoyment and to spare this night? Thou
didst shower curses on this fog-ridden country, and call it insufferably
dull. Lo! what a pleasing picture doth present itself to our gaze.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whether the picture was pleasing or not depended
entirely from the point of view of spectator or participant. Certes
it was animated and moving and picturesque; and as three pairs
of eyes beneath three broad-brimmed hats took in its several details,
three muffled figures uttered three simultaneous gurgles of anticipated
pleasure.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the fog that hung thickly in the narrow
street it was at first difficult to distinguish exactly what was
going on. Certain it is that a fairly dense crowd, which swelled
visibly every moment as idlers joined in from many sides, had
congregated at the corner of Dam Straat, there where a couple
of resin torches, fixed in iron brackets against a tall stuccoed
wall, shed a flickering and elusive light on the forms and faces
of a group of men in the forefront of the throng.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The faces thus exposed to view appeared flushed
and heated -- either with wine or ebullient temper -- whilst the
upraised arms, the clenched fists and brandished staves showed
a rampant desire to do mischief.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was a low postern gate in the wall just
below the resin torches. The gate was open and in the darkness
beyond vague moving forms could be seen huddled together in what
looked like a narrow unlighted passage. It was from this huddled
mass of humanity that the wails and calls for divine protection
proceeded, whilst the laughter and the threats came from the crowd.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">From beneath three broad-brimmed hats there
once more came three distinct chuckles of delight, and three muffled
figures hugged naked swords more tightly under their cloaks.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter II -- THE FRACAS BY THE
POSTERN GATE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Thus am I proved right in saying that but for
the conglomeration of minor circumstances within the past half
hour, the great events which subsequently linked the fate of a
penniless foreign adventurer with that of a highly honorable and
highly esteemed family of Haarlem never would or could have occurred.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For had the three philosophers adhered to their
usual custom of retiring to the warmth and comfort of the Lame
Cow, situate in the Kleine Hout Straat, as soon as the as the
streets no longer presented an agreeable lolling place, they would
never have known the tumult that went on at this hour under the
very shadow of the cathedral.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But seeing it all going on before them, what
could they do but join in the fun?</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The details of the picture which had the low
postern gate for its central interest were gradually becoming
more defined. Now the figure of a woman showed clearly under the
flickering light of the resin torches, a woman with rough, dark
hair that hung loosely round her face, and bare arms and legs,
of which the flesh, blue with cold, gleamed weirdly against the
dark oak paneling of the gate.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was stooping forward, with arms outstretched
and feet that vainly tried to keep a foothold of the ground which
snow and frost had rendered slippery. The hands themselves were
not visible, for one of them was lost in the shadows behind her
and the other disappeared in the grip of six or eight rough hands.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Through the mist and in the darkness it was
impossible to see whether the woman was young or old, handsome
or ill-favored, but her attitude was unmistakable. The men in
the forefront of the crowd were trying to drag her away from the
shelter of the gate to which she clung with desperate obstinacy.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her repeated cries of &quot;For the love of
Christ!&quot; only provoked loud and bibulous laughter. Obviously
she was losing her hold on the ground, and was gradually being
dragged out into the open.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the love of Christ, let me go, kind
sirs!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Come out quietly then,&quot; retorted
one of the men in front, &quot;let's have a look at you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We only want to see to color of your
eyes,&quot; said another with mock gallantry.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you Spanish spies or are you not?
that's all that we want to know,&quot; added a third. &quot;How
many black-eyed wenches are there among ye? Papists we know you
are.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Papists! Spanish spies!&quot; roared
the crowd in unison.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Shall we bait the Papists too, O Diogenes?&quot;
came in dulcet tones from out the shadow of the stuccoed wall.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah! women and old men, and only twenty
of these,&quot; said his companion with a laugh and a shrug of
his broad shoulders, &quot;whilst there are at least an hundred
of the others.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;More amusing certainly,&quot; growled
Socrates under the brim of his hat.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the love of Christ,&quot; wailed
the woman piteously, as her bare feet buried in the snow finally
slid away from the protecting threshold, and she appeared in the
full light of the resin torches, with black unkempt hair, ragged
shift and kirtle and a wild terror-stricken look in her black
eyes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Black eyes! I guessed as much!&quot;
shouted one of the men excitedly. &quot;Spaniards I tell you,
friends! Spanish spies all of them! Out you come, wench! out you
come!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Out you come!&quot; yelled the crowd.
&quot;Papists! Spanish spies!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The woman gave a scream of wild terror as half
a dozen stones hurled from the rear of the crowd over the heads
of the ringleaders came crashing against the wall and the gate
all around her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">One of these stones was caught in mid air.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I thank thee, friend,&quot; cried a loud,
mocking voice that rang clearly above the din, &quot;my nose was
itching and thou didst strive to tickle it most effectually. Tell
me does thine itch too? Here's a good cloth wherewith to wipe
it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And the stone was hurled back into the thick
of the crowd by a sure and vigorous hand even whilst a prolonged
and merry laugh echoed above the groans and curses of the throng.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For an instant after that the shouts and curses
were still, the crowd -- as is usual in such cases -- pausing
to see whence this unexpected diversion had come. But all that
could be seen for the moment was a dark compact mass of plumed
hats and mantles standing against the wall, and a triple glint
as of steel peeping from out the shadows.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By St. Bavon, the patron saint of this
goodly city, but here's a feast for philosophers,&quot; said that
same laughter-loving voice, &quot;four worthy burghers grappling
with a maid. Let go her arm I say, or four pairs of hands will
presently litter the corner of this street, and forty fingers
be scattered amongst the refuse. Pythagoras, wilt take me at two
guilders to three that I can cut off two of these ugly, red hands
with one stroke of Bucephalus whilst Socrates and thou thyself
wilt only account for one apiece?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whilst the merry voice went rippling on in
pleasant mocking tones, the crowd had ample time to recover itself
and to shake off its surprise. The four stalwarts on in front
swore a very comprehensive if heterogeneous oath. One of them
did certainly let go the wench's arm somewhat hastily, but seeing
that his companions had recovered courage and the use of their
tongue, he swore once again and more loudly this time.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By that same St. Bavon,&quot; he shouted,
&quot;who is this smeerlap whose interference I for one deeply
resent? Come out, girl, and show thyself at once, and we'll deal
with thy protector later.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After which there were some lusty shouts of
applause at this determined attitude, shouts that were interrupted
by a dulcet high-pitched voice saying quietly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I take thee, friend Diogenes. Two guilders
to three: do thou strike at the pair of hands nearest to thee
and while I count to three . . . &quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">From the torches up above there came a sharp
glint of light as it struck three steel blades, that swung out
into the open.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;One -- two -- &quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Four pairs of hands, which had been dragging
on the woman's arm with such determined force, disappeared precipitately
into the darkness, and thus suddenly released, the woman nearly
fell backwards against the gate.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Pity,&quot; said the dulcet voice gently,
&quot;that bet will never be decided now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">An angry murmur of protest rose from the crowd.
The four men who had been the leaders of the gang were pushed
forward from the rear amidst shouts of derision and brandishing
of fists.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Cowards! cowards! cowards! Jan Tiele,
art not ashamed? Piet, go for them! There are only three! Cowards
to let yourselves be bullied!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The crowd pushed from behind. The street being
narrow, it could only express its desire for a fight by shouts,
it had no elbow-room for it, and could only urge those in the
forefront to pick a quarrel with the interfering strangers.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The blessing of God upon thee, stranger,
and of the Holy Virgin . . .&quot; came in still quivering accents
from out the darkness of the passage.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let the Holy Virgin help thee to hold
thy tongue,&quot; retorted he who had the name Diogenes, &quot;and
do thou let my friend Socrates close this confounded door.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jan Tiele!&quot; shouted some one in
the crowd, &quot;dost see what they are doing? the gate is being
closed . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And bolted,&quot; said a flute-like voice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Stand aside, strangers!&quot; yelled
the crowd.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are not in your way,&quot; came in
calm response.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The three muffled figures side by side in close
if somewhat unnumerical battle array had taken their stand in
front of the postern gate, the heavy bolts of which were heard
falling into their sockets behind them with a loud clang. A quivering
voice came at last from behind the iron judas in the door.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;God will reward ye, strangers! we go
pray for you to the Holy Virgin . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nay!&quot; rejoined Diogenes lightly,
&quot;twere wiser to pray for Jan Tiele, or for Piet or their
mates -- some of them will have need of prayers in about five
minutes from now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Shame! cowards! plepshurk! At them, Jan!
Piet! Willem!&quot; shouted the crowd lustily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once more stones were freely hurled, followed
by a regular fusillade of snowballs. One of these struck the crown
of a plumed hat and knocked it off the wearer's head. A face,
merry, a trifle fleshy perhaps, but with fine, straight brow,
eyes that twinkled and mocked and a pair of full, joyous lips
adorned by a fair upturned moustache, met the gaze of an hundred
glowering eyes and towered half a head above the tallest man there.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">As his hat fell to the ground, the man made
a formal bow to the yelling and hooting crowd:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Since one of you has been so kind as
to lift my hat for me, allow me to formally present myself and
my friends here. I am known to my compeers and to mine enemies
as Diogenes,&quot; he said gravely, &quot;a philosopher of whom
mayhap ye have never heard. On my left stands Pythagoras, on my
right Socrates. We are all at your service, including even my
best friend who is slender and is made of steel and hat name Bucephalus
-- he tells me that within the next few minutes he means to become
intimately acquainted with Dutch guts, unless ye disperse and
go peaceably back to church and pray God to forgive ye this act
of cowardice on New Year's eve!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The answer was another volley of stones, one
of which hit Socrates on the side of the head.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;With the next stone that is hurled,&quot;
continued Diogenes calmly, &quot;I will smash Jan Tiele's nose:
and if more than one come within reach of my hand, then Willem's
nose shall go as well.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The warning was disregarded: a shower of stones
came crashing against the wall just above the postern gate.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How badly these Dutchmen throw,&quot;
growled Socrates in his gruff voice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This present from thy friends in the
rear, Jan Tiele,&quot; rejoined Diogenes, as he seized that worthy
by the collar and brandished a stone which he had caught in its
flight. &quot; 'Tis they obviously who do not like the shape of
thy nose, else they had not sent me this wherewithal to flatten
it for thee.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I'll do that, good Diogenes,&quot; said
Pythagoras gently, as he took both the stone and the struggling
Jan Tiele from his friend's grasp, &quot;and Socrates will see
to Willem at the same time. No trouble, I give thee my word --
I like to do these kind of jobs for my friends.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">An awful and prolonged howl from Jan Tiele
and from Willem testified that the jobs had been well done.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Papists! Spaniards! Spies!&quot; roared
the crowd, now goaded to fury.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bucephalus, I do humbly beg thy pardon,&quot;
said Diogenes as he rested the point of his sword for one moment
on the frozen ground, then raised it and touched it with his forehead
and with his lips, &quot;I apologize to thee for using thee against
such rabble.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;More stones please,&quot; came in a shrill
falsetto from Pythagoras, &quot;here's Piet whose nose is itching
fit to make him swear.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He was a great adept at catching missiles in
mid-air. These now flew thick and fast, stones, short staves,
heavy leather pouches as well as hard missiles made of frozen
snow. But the throwers were hampered by one another: they had
no elbow-room in this narrow street.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The missiles for the most part fell wide of
the mark. Still! the numbers might tell in the end. Socrates'
face was streaming with blood: a clump of mud and snow had extinguished
one of the torches, and a moment ago a stone had caught Diogenes
on the left shoulder.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The three men stood close together, sword in
hand. To the excited gaze of the crowd they scarcely seemed to
be using their swords or to heed those of their aggressors who
came threateningly nigh. They stood quite quietly up against the
wall, hardly making a movement, their sword hand and wrist never
appeared to stir, but many who had been in the forefront had retired
howling and the snow all around was deeply stained with red: Jan
Tiele and Willem had broken noses, and Piet had lost one ear.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The three men were hatless and the faces of
two of them were smeared with blood. The third, taller and broader
than the others -- stood between them, and with those that passed
him closely he bandied mocking words.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Spaniards! Papists!&quot; yelled the
crowd.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If I hear those words again,&quot; he
retorted pleasantly, &quot;I'll run three of you through on Bucephalus
as on a spit, and leave you thus ready for roasting in hell. We
are no Spaniards. My father was English, and my friend Pythagoras
here was born in a donkey-shed, whilst Socrates first saw the
light of day in a traveling menagerie. So we are none of us Spaniards,
and you can all disperse.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Papists!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And if I hear that again I'll send the
lot of you to hell.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Art thou Samson then, to think thyself
so strong?&quot; shouted a shrill voice close to him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Give me thy jawbone and I'll prove thee
that I am,&quot; he retorted gaily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Spies!&quot; they cried.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen!&quot; he shouted in his
turn, swearing lustily, &quot;I am tired of this rabble. Disperse!
disperse, I tell ye! Bucephalus, my friend wilt have a taste of
Dutch guts? Another ear? a nose or two? What, ye will not go?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Spaniards! Spies! Papists!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The crowd was gathering unto itself a kind
of fury that greatly resembled courage. Those that were behind
pushed and those that were in front could no longer retreat. Blood
had begun to flow more freely and the groans of the wounded had
roused the bellicose instincts of those whose skin was still whole.
One or two of the more venturesome had made close and gruesome
acquaintance with the silent but swift Bucephalus, whilst from
the market place in the rear the numbers of the crowd thus packed
in this narrow street corner swelled dangerously. The new-comers
did not know what had happened before their arrival. They could
not see over the heads of the crowd what was going on at this
moment. So they pushed from behind and the three combatants with
their backs against the wall had much difficulty in keeping a
sufficiently wide circle around them to allow their swords free
play.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Already Socrates, dizzy from the blood that
was streaming down his sharp, hooked nose, had failed to keep
three of his foremost assailants at bay: he had been forced to
yield one step and then another, and the elbow of his sword arm
was now right up against the wall. Pythagoras, too, was equally
closely pressed, and Diogenes had just sent an over-bold lout
sprawling on the ground. The noise was deafening. Every one was
shouting, many were screaming or groaning. The town guard, realizing
at last that a tumult of more than usual consequence was going
on in some portion of the city, had decided to go and interfere;
their slow and weighty steps and the clang of their halberds could
be heard from over the Grootemarkt during the rare moments when
shouts and clamor subsided for a few seconds only to be upraised
again with redoubled power.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then suddenly cries of &quot;Help!&quot; were
raised from the further end of Dam Straat, where it debouches
on the bank of the Spaarne. It was a woman's voice that raised
the cry, but men answered it with calls for the guard. The tumult
in front of the postern gate now reached its climax, for the pressure
from behind had become terrible, and men and women were being
knocked down and trampled on. It seemed as if the narrow street
could not hold another human soul, and yet apparently more and
more were trying to squeeze into the restricted space. The trampled,
frozen snow had become as slippery as a sheet of glass, and if
the guard with their wonted ponderous clumsiness charged into
the crowd with halberds now, then Heaven help the weak who could
not elbow a way out for themselves; they would be sure to be trampled
under foot.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Every one knew that on such occasions many
a corpse littered the roads when finally the crowd disappeared.
Those of sober sense realized all this, but they were but small
units in this multitude heated up with its own rage, and intoxicated
with the first hope of victory. The three strangers who, bare-headed,
still held their ground with their backs to the wall were obviously
getting exhausted. But a little more determination -- five minutes
respite before the arrival of the guard, a few more stones skillfully
hurled and the Papists, Spaniards or Spies -- whatever they were
-- would have paid dearly for their impudent interference.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Papists, have ye had enough?&quot; yelled
the crowd in chorus as a stone well thrown hit the sword arm of
the tallest of the three men -- he whose mocking voice had never
ceased its incessant chatter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not nearly enough,&quot; he replied loudly,
as he quietly transferred faithful Bucephalus from his right hand
to his left.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are just beginning to enjoy ourselves,&quot;
came in dulcet tones from the small man beside him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At them! at them! Papists! Spies!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once more a volley of stones.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen! but methinks we might vary
the entertainment,&quot; cried Diogenes lustily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Quicker than a flash of lightening he turned,
and once more grasping Bucephalus in the partially disabled hand
he tore with the other the resin torch out of its iron socket,
and shouting to his two companions to hold their ground he, with
the guttering lighted torch, charged straight into the crowd.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A wild cry of terror was raised, which echoed
and re-echoed from one end of the street to the other, reverberated
against the cathedral walls, and caused all peaceable citizens
who had found refuge in their homes to thank the Lord that they
were safely within.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes, with fair hair fluttering over his
brow, his twinkling eyes aglow with excitement, held the torch
well in front of him, the sparks flew in all directions, the lustiest
aggressors fled to right and left, shrieking with horror. Fire
-- that most invincible weapon -- had accomplished what the finest
steel never could have done; it sobered and terrified the crowd,
scattered it like a flock of sheep, sent it running hither and
thither, rendering it helpless by fear.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the space of three minutes the circle round
the three combatants was several metres wide, five minutes later
the corner of the street was clear, except for the wounded who
lay groaning on the ground and one or two hideous rags of flesh
that lay scattered among heaps of stones, torn wallets, staves
and broken sticks.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">From the precincts of the Grootemarkt the town
guard were heard using rough language, violent oaths and pikes
and halberds against the stragglers that were only too eager now
to go peaceably back to their homes. The fear of burnt doublets
or kirtles had effectually sobered these overflowing tempers.
There had been enough Papist baiting to please the most inveterate
seeker after excitement this night.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A few youths, who mayhap earlier in the evening
had indulged too freely in the taverns of the Grootemarkt, were
for resuming the fun after the panic had subsided. A score of
them or so talked it over under the shadow of the cathedral, but
a detachment of the town guard spied their maneuvers and turned
them all back into the market place.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The bell of the cathedral slowly struck the
last hour of this memorable year; and through the open portals
of the sacred edifice the cathedral choir was heard intoning the
First Psalm.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Like frightened hens that have been scared,
and now venture out again, the worthy burghers of Haarlem sallied
out from the by-streets into the Grootemarkt, on their way to
watch-night service: Mynheer the burgomaster, and mynheer the
town advocate, and the mevrouws their wives, and the town councilors
and the members of the shooting guilds, and the governors and
governesses of the Almshouses. With ponderous Bibles and prayer-books
under their arms, and cloaks of fur closely wrapped round their
shoulders, they once more filled the Grootemarkt with the atmosphere
of their solemnity. Their serving men carried the torches in front
of them, waiting women helped the mevrouws in their unwieldy farthingales
to walk on the slippery ground with becoming sobriety.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The cathedral bells sent forth a merry peal
to greet the incoming year.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 3</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter III -- AN INTERLUDE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And at the corner of Dam Straat, where the
low postern gate cuts into the tall stuccoed wall, there once
more reigned silence as of the grave.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Those that were hurt and wounded had managed
to crawl away, the town guard had made short work of it all; the
laws against street brawling and noisy assemblies were over severe
just now; it was best just to hide a wound and go nurse it quietly
at home. Fortunately the fog favored the disturbers of the peace.
Gradually they all contrived to sneak away, and later on in the
night to sally forth again for watch-night revelries, looking
for all the world as if nothing had happened.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Tumult? Papist baiting? Was there really
any Papist baiting this night? Ah! those foreign adventurers do
fill our peaceful city with their noise.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the Dam Straat the fog and the darkness
reigned unchallenged. The second torch lay extinguished on the
ground, trampled out under the heel of a heavy boot. And in the
darkness three men were busy readjusting their mantles and trying
to regain possession of their hats.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A very unprofitable entertainment,&quot;
growled Socrates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Total darkness, not a soul in sight and
cold fit to chill the inner chambers of hell,&quot; assented Pythagoras.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And no chance of adding anything to the
stock of three guilders which must suffice us for to-night,&quot;
concluded Diogenes, airily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He was carefully wiping the shining blade of
Bucephalus with the corner of Pythagoras' mantle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Verrek jezelf! and what the d--l?&quot;
queried the latter in a high falsetto.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My mantle is almost new,&quot; said Diogenes
reproachfully; &quot;thou would'st not have me soil it so soon?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have a hole in my head fit to bury
those three guilders in,&quot; murmured Socrates with a sigh.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And I a bruised shoulder,&quot; laughed
Diogenes, &quot;which hath engendered an unquenchable thirst.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I wouldn't sell my thrust for any money
this night,&quot; assented Pythagoras.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To the 'Lame Cow', then, O Pythagoras,
and I'll toss thee for the first drink of hot ale.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ugh! but my head feels mightily hot and
thick,&quot; said Socrates, somewhat huskily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Surely thou canst walk as far as the
'Lame Cow'?&quot; queried Pythagoras, anxiously.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I doubt me,&quot; sighed the other.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ale!&quot; whispered Diogenes, encouragingly;
&quot;warm, sparkling, spicy ale!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hm! hm!&quot; assented the wounded man
feebly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Easy! easy, my friend,&quot; said Diogenes,
for his brother philosopher had fallen heavily against him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What are we going to do?&quot; moaned
Pythagoras, in his dulcet tones. &quot;I have a thirst . . . and
we cannot leave this irresponsible fool to faint here in the fog.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hoist him up by the seat of his breeches
then, on to my back,&quot; retorted Diogenes lightly. &quot;The
'Lame Cow' is not far, and I too have a thirst.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Socrates would have protested. He did not relish
the idea of being tossed like a bale of goods on his friend's
back. But he could only protest by word of mouth, to which the
others paid no heed; and when he tried to struggle he rolled,
dizzy and faint, almost to the ground.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There's nothing for it,&quot; piped Pythagoras
with consummate philosophy. &quot;I couldn't carry him if I tried.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes bent his broad back and rested his
hands on his thighs, getting as firm a hold of the slippery ground
as he could. Socrates for the moment was like a helpless log.
There was much groping about in the darkness, a good deal of groaning,
and a vast amount of swearing. Socrates had, fortunately, not
fainted, and after a little while was able to settle down astride
on his friend's back, his arms around the latter's neck, Pythagoras
giving vigorous pushes from the rear.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When Diogenes, firmly grasping the wounded
man's legs, was at last able to straighten himself out again,
and did so to the accompaniment of a mighty groan and still more
mighty oath, he found himself confronted by two lanthorns which
were held up within a few inches of his nose.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen!&quot; he ejaculated loudly,
and nearly dropped his half-conscious and swaying burden on the
ground.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is it now, Jakob?&quot; queried
a woman's voice peremptorily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot see clearly, lady,&quot; replied
one of the lanthorn-bearers -- &quot;two men, I think.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then do thy thoughts proclaim the a liar,
friend,&quot; said Diogenes lightly, &quot;there are three men
here at this lady's service, though one is sick, the other fat,
and the third a mere beast of burden.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me see them, Jakob,&quot; ordered
the woman, &quot;I believe they are the same three who . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The lanthorn-bearers made way for the lady,
still holding the lanthorns up so that the light fell fully on
the quaint spectacle presented by the three philosophers. There
was Socrates perched aloft, his beard-like face smeared with blood,
his eyes rolling in their effort to keep open, his thin back bent
nearly double so that indeed he looked like a huge plucked crow
the worse for a fight, and perched on an eminence where he felt
none to secure. And below him his friend with broad shoulders
bending under the burden, his plumed hat shading his brow, his
merry, twinkling eyes fixed a little in front of him, his mocking
lips ready framed for a smile or an oath, his hands which supported
the legs of poor wounded Socrates struggling visibly toward the
hilt of his sword. And peeping round from behind him the short,
rotund form of Pythagoras, crowned with a tall sugar-loaf hat
which obviously had never belonged to him until now, for it perched
somewhat insecurely above his flat, round face, with the small,
upturned nose slightly tinged with pink and the tiny eyes, round
and bright as new crowns.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Undoubtedly the sight was ludicrous in the
extreme, and the woman who looked on it now burst into a merry
peal of laughter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;O Maria! dost see them?&quot; she said,
turning to her companion, an elderly woman in sober black gown
and coif of tinsel lace. &quot;Hast ever seen anything so quaint?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She herself was young, and in the soft light
of the two lanthorns appeared to the three philosophers as passing
fair.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Socrates, thou malapert,&quot; said Diogenes
sternly, &quot;take my hat off my head at once, and allow me to
make obeisance to the lady, or I'll drop thee incontinently on
thy back.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The, as Socrates half mechanically lifted the
plumed hat from his friend's head, the latter bowed as well as
he could under the circumstances and said gallantly --</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thy servants, lady, and eternally grateful
are we for a sight of thee at this moment when the world appeared
peculiarly fog-ridden and unpleasant. Having been the fortunate
cause of thy merriment, might we now crave thy permission to continue
our way. The weight of my friend up there is greater than his
importance warrants, and I don't want to drop him ere we reach
a haven of refuge, where our priceless thirst will soon, I hope,
find solace.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The delicate face of the young girl had suddenly
become more grave.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your pardon, gentle sirs,&quot; she said,
with a pretty mixture of imperiousness and humility; &quot;my
levity was indeed misplaced. I know ye now for the same three
brave fellows who were fighting a few moments ago against overwhelming
odds, in order to protect a woman against a rowdy crowd. Oh, it
was a valorous deed! My men and I were on our way to watch-night
service, and saw it all from a distance. We dared not come nigh,
the rabble looked so threatening. All I could do was to shout
for help, and summon the town guard to come to you aid. It was
you, was it not?&quot; she added, regarding with great wondering
blue eyes the three curious figures who stood somewhat sheepishly
before her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, fair lady,&quot; piped Pythagoras,
in his neatest falsetto, &quot;we were the three men who, in face
of well-nigh overwhelming odds, did save a defenseless woman from
the insolent rabble. My friend who is perched up there was severely
wounded in the fray, I myself received so violent a blow in the
stomach that a raging thirst has since taken possession of my
throat and, --&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He stopped abruptly and murmured a comprehensive
oath. He had just received a violent kick in the shins from Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What the h--?&quot; he muttered.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But Diogenes paid no heed to him; looking on
the dainty picture before him, with eyes that twinkled whilst
they did not attempt to conceal the admiration which he felt,
he said, with elaborate gallantry, which his position under the
burden of Socrates' swaying figure rendered inexpressibly droll
--</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the help rendered to us all at the
moment of distress, deign to accept, mejuffrouw, our humble thanks.
For the rest, believe me, our deed was not one of valor, and such
as it was is wholly unworthy of the praise thou dost deign to
bestow upon it. I would tell thee more,&quot; he added whimsically,
&quot;only that my friend behind me is violently kicking the calves
of my legs, which renders the elegant flow of language well-nigh
impossible. I stopped him talking just now -- he retaliates .
. . it is but just.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gentle sir,&quot; said the girl, who
obviously had much ado to preserve her gravity, &quot;your modesty
doth but equal your gallantry. This do I see quite plainly. But
if at any time I can do aught to express in a more practical manner
the real admiration which I feel your worth I pray you command
me. Alas! brave men are few these days! But my father's name is
known throughout Holland; his wealth and influence are vast. I
pray you tell me, can I do aught for you now?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She spoke so artlessly and at the same time
with such gentle dignity, it was small wonder that for the nonce
even the most talkative of all philosophers was dumb, and that
his habitual mocking banter failed to cross his lips. The girl
was young and exquisitely pretty; the stiff, unwieldy costume
of the time failed to conceal altogether the graceful slenderness
of her figure, just as the prim coif of gold and silver tissue
failed to hold the unruly golden curls in bondage. The light from
the lanthorns fell full on her face, and round her throat, beneath
her fur-lined cloak, there was a glimmer of starched linen and
lace, whilst gems in her ears and on her breast lent her an air
of elegance and even of splendor.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Pythagoras in the rear heaved a deep sigh;
he drew in his breath preparatory to a long and comprehensive
oration. &quot;Can I do aught for ye?&quot; the lady had said:
a lady who was rich and influential and willing. Ye thunders and
lightnings! when but three guilders stood between three philosophers
and absolute penury! Ye hails and storms! what an opportunity!
He would have approached the lady, only Diogenes' wide shoulders
blocked him out from her view.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Can I do aught for you now?&quot; she
reiterated gently.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Raise thy hand to my lips,&quot; said
Diogenes lightly; &quot;momentarily I have not the use of my own.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She hesitated, but only for a brief moment,
then did just what he asked. She held her hand to his lips, mayhap
one second longer than was absolutely necessary, and her eyes,
large, deep, and shy, looked for that one second into a pair of
merry mocking ones. Then she sighed, whether with satisfaction
or embarrassment I would not undertake to say, and asked with
a gracious smile --</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what is your next wish, gentle sir?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thy leave to continue our journey to
the 'Lame Cow,'&quot; he replied airily; &quot;my friend up there
is getting damnably heavy.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She drew back, visibly surprised and hurt.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not detain ye,&quot; she said curtly,
and without another word she turned to her lanthorn-bearers and
ordered them to precede her; she also called to her duenna to
follow; but she did not bestow another look on the three men,
nor did she acknowledge the respectful farewell which came from
the lips of the beast of burden.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The next moment she had already crossed the
road toward the cathedral, and she and her escort were swallowed
up by the fog.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well, of all the d--d idiots that ever
. . .&quot; swore Pythagoras, in his shrillest tones.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Even Socrates pulled himself together in order
to declare emphatically that Diogenes was a confounded fool.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I pray thee raise they hand to my lips,&quot;
mimicked Pythagoras mockingly. &quot;Verrek jezelf!&quot; he muttered
under his breath.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If you do not hold your tongue, O wise
Pythagoras,&quot; retorted Diogenes with all his wonted merriment,
&quot;I'll even have to drop Socrates on top of you in order to
break your head.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But 'tis a fortune -- the promise of
a fortune which you let slip so stupidly.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is a certain wisdom even in stupidity
sometimes, Pythagoras, as you will discover one day, when your
nose is less red and your figure less fat. Remember that I have
three guilders in my pocket, and that our thirst hath not grown
less. Follow me now, we've talked enough for to-night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he started walking down the street with
long and rapid strides, Socrates up aloft swaying about like a
dummy figure in carnival time, and Pythagoras -- still muttering
a series of diversified oaths -- bringing up the rear.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER IV -- WATCH-NIGHT</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And am I not proved fully justified in my statement
that but for many seemingly paltry circumstances, the further
events which I am about to place on record, and which have been
of paramount importance to the history of no less than two great
and worthy families, never would have shaped themselves as they
did.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For who could assert that but for the presence
of three philosophers on the Grootemarkt on the eve of the New
Year, and their subsequent interference in the fray outside the
Papist convent door in the Dam Straat, who could assert, I say,
that but for these minor circumstances Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn
would have condescended to exchange half a dozen words with three
out-at-elbows, homeless, shiftless, foreign adventurers who happened
to have drifted into Haarlem--the Lord only knew for what purpose
with what hopes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn had been well and rigidly
brought up; she was well educated, and possessed more knowledge
than most young girls of her social standing or of her age. Mynheer
Beresteyn, her father, was a gentleman of vast consideration in
Haarlem, and as his two children had been motherless as soon as
the younger one saw the light of day, he had been doubly careful
in his endeavours that his daughter should in no way feel the
lack of that tender supervision of which it had pleased God to
deprive her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Thus she had been taught early in life to keep
herself aloof from all persons save those approved of by her father
or her brother--a young man of sound understanding, some half
dozen ears older than herself. As for the strangers who for purposes
of commerce of other less avowable motives filled the town of
Haarlem with their foreign ways -- which oft were immoral and
seldom sedate -- she had been strictly taught to hold these in
abhorrence and never to approach such men either with word or
gesture.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Was it likely, then, that she ever would have
spoken to three thriftless knaves? -- and this at a late hour
of the night -- but for the fact that she had witnessed their
valour from a distance, and with queenly condescension hoped to
reward them with a gracious word.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The kiss imprinted upon her hand by respectful,
if somewhat bantering, lips had greatly pleased her: such she
imagined would be the homage of a vassal proud to have attracted
the notice of his lady paramount. The curtly expressed desire
to quit her presence, in order to repair to a tavern, had roused
her indignation and her contempt.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was angered beyond what the circumstance
warranted, and while the minister preached an admirable and learned
watch-night sermon she felt her attention drifting away from the
discourse and the solemnity of the occasion, whilst her wrath
against a most unworthy object was taking the place of more pious
and charitable feelings.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The preacher had taken for his text the sublime
words from the New Testament: &quot;The greatest of these is charity.&quot;
He thought that the first day of the New Year was a splendid opportunity
for the good inhabitants of Haarlem to cast of all gossiping and
back-biting ways and to live from this day forth in greater amity
and benevolence with one another. &quot;Love thy neighbour as
thyself,&quot; he adjured passionately, and the burghers, with
their vrouws in their Sunday best, were smitten with remorse of
past scandal-mongering, and vowed that in the future they would
live in perfect accord and good-will.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn, too, thought of all
her friends and acquaintances with the kindliest of feelings,
and she had not a harsh thought for anyone in her heart . . .
not for anyone, at any rate, who was good and deserving . . .
As for that knavish malapert with the merry, twinkling eyes and
the mocking smile, God would not desire her to be in charity with
him; a more ungrateful, more impertinent wretch, she had never
met, and it was quite consoling to think of all that Mynheer Beresteyn's
influence could have done for those three ragamuffins, and how
in the near future they must all suffer abominable discomfort,
mayhap with shortage of food and drink, or absence of shelter,
when no doubt one of them at least would remember with contrition
the magnanimous offer of help made to him by gracious lips, and
which he had so insolently refused.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">So absorbed was Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn in
these thoughts that she never even noticed that the watch-night
service was over, and the minister already filing out with the
clerk. The general exodus around her recalled her to herself and
also to a sense of contrition for the absent way in which she
had assisted at this solemn service.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She whispered to Maria to wait for her outside
the church with the men.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I must yet pray for a little while alone,&quot;
she said. &quot;I will join you at the north door in a quarter
of an hour.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And she fell on her knees, and was soon absorbed
in prayer.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Maria found the two serving men in the crowd,
and transmitted to them her mistress's orders. The cathedral had
been very full for the service, and the worshippers took a long
time filing out; they lingered about in the aisles, exchanging
bits of city gossip and wishing one another a happy New Year.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The verger had much ado to drive the goodly
people out of the edifice, no sooner had he persuaded one group
of chatterers to continue their conversation on the Groote-markt
outside, than another batch seemed to loom out of the shadows,
equally determined to conclude its gossip here in the warmth,
before sallying forth once more into the foggy midnight air.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I must close the cathedral for the night,&quot;
the worthy man repeated piteously, &quot;do you think that I don't
want to get home and eat my watch-night supper at a reasonable
hour. Move on there, my masters, move out please! My orders are
to have the church closed before one o'clock.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He came on a group of men who sat together
in the shadow of a heavy pillar close behind the pulpit.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Now then, mynheers,&quot; he said, &quot;
'tis closing time.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But those that were there made no sign to obey.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All right, Perk,&quot; said one of them
in a whisper, &quot;we are not going just yet.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye, but ye are,&quot; retorted the verger
gruffly, for he was cross now and wanting his supper,&quot; what
should I allow ye to stay for?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the memory of Jan!&quot; was the
whispered response.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The verger's manner changed in an instant,
the few words evidently bore some portentous meaning of which
he held the key -- and I doubt not but that the key was made of
silver.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All right, mynheers, &quot; he said softly,
&quot;the church will be clear in a few minutes now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Go round, Perk,&quot; said he who had
first spoken, &quot;and let us know when all is safe.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The verger touched his forelock and silently
departed. Those that were there in the shadow by the great pillar
remained in silence awaiting his return. The congregation was
really dispersing now, the patter of leather shoes on the flagstones
of the floor became gradually more faint; then it died out altogether.
That portion of the Grote Kerk where is situate the magnificent
carved pulpit was already quite dark and wholly deserted save
for that group of silent, waiting figures that looked like shadows
within the shadows.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Anon the verger returned. He had only been
absent a few minutes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Quite safe now, mynheers,&quot; he said,
&quot;the last of them has just gone through the main door. I
have locked all the doors save the West. If you want anything
you will find me there. I can leave this one light for you, the
others I must put out.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Put them out, Perk, by all means,&quot;
was the ready response. &quot;We can find our way about in the
dark.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The verger left them undisturbed; his shuffling
steps were heard gliding along the flagstones until their murmur
died away in the vastness of the sacred edifice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The group of men who sat behind the pulpit
against the heavy pillar, now drew their rush chairs closer to
one another.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There were six of them altogether, and the
light from the lamp above illumined their faces, which were stern
looking, dark and of set determination. All six of them were young'
only one amongst them might have been more than thirty years of
age; that a great purpose brought them here to-night was obvious
from their attitude, the low murmur of their voices, that air
of mystery which hung round them, fostered by the dark cloaks
which they held closely wrapped round their shoulders and the
shadows from the pillar which they sought.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">One of them appeared to be the centre of their
interest, a man, lean and pallid-looking, with hollow purple-rimmed
eyes, that spoke of night vigils or mayhap unavowed, consuming
thoughts. The mouth was hard and thin, and a febrile excitement
caused his lips to quiver and his hand to shake.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The others hung upon his words.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Tell us some of your adventures, Stoutenburg!&quot;
said one of them eagerly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg laughed harshly and mirthlessly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They would take years in telling,&quot;
he said, &quot;mayhap one day I'll write them down. They would
fill many a volume.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Enough that you did contrive to escape,&quot;
said another man, &quot;and that you are back here amongst us
once more.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes! in order to avenge wrongs that are
as countless by now as the grains of sand on the sea-shore,&quot;
rejoined Stoutenburg earnestly.<BR>
&quot;You know that you are not safe inside Holland,&quot; suggested
he who had first spoken.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye, my good Beresteyn, I know that well
enough,&quot; said Stoutenburg with a long and bitter sigh. &quot;Your
own father would send me to the gallows if he had the chance,
and you with me mayhap, for consorting with me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My father owes his position, his wealth,
the prosperity of his enterprise to the Stadtholder,&quot; said
Beresteyn, speaking with as much bitterness as his friend. &quot;He
looked upon the last conspiracy against the life of the Prince
of Orange as a crime blacker than the blackest sin that ever deserved
hell. . . . If he thought that I . . . at the present moment .
. .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes I know. But he has not the power
to make you false to me, has he, Nicolaes?&quot; asked Stoutenburg
anxiously. &quot;You are still at one with us?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;With you to the death!&quot; replied
Beresteyn fervently, &quot;so are we all.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye! That we are,&quot; said the four
others with one accord, whilst one of them added dryly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And determined not to fail like the last
time by trusting those paid hirelings, who will take your money
and betray you for more.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Last February we were beset with bunglers
and self-seekers,&quot; said Stoutenburg, &quot;my own brother
Grneveld was half-hearted in everything save the desire to make
money. Slatius was a vindictive boor, van Dyk was a busy-body
and Korenwinder a bloated fool. Well! they have paid their penalty.
Heaven have their souls! But for God's sake let us do the work
ourselves this time.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They say the Stadtholder is sick unto
death,&quot; said one of the men sombrely. &quot;Disease strikes
with a surer hand sometimes than doth the poniard of an enemy.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah! I have no time to waste waiting
for his death,&quot; retorted Stoutenburg roughly, &quot;there
is an opportunity closer at hand and more swift than the wear
watching for the slow ravages of disease. The Stadtholder comes
to Amsterdam next week, the burghers of his beloved city have
begged of him to be present at the consecration of the Western
Kerk, built by Mynheer van Keyser, as well as at the opening of
the East India Company's new hall. He plays up for popularity
just now. The festivals in connection with the double event at
Amsterdam have tempted him to undertake the long journey from
the frontier, despite his failing health. His visit to this part
of the country is a golden opportunity which I do not intend to
miss.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will find it very difficult to get
near the Stadtholder on such an occasion,&quot; remarked Beresteyn.
&quot;He no longer drives about unattended as he used to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All the escort in the world will not
save him from my revenge,&quot; said Stoutenburg firmly. &quot;Our
position now is stronger than it has ever been. I have adherents
in every city of Holland and of Zealand, aye, and in the south
too as far as Breda and in the east as far as Arnhem. I tell you,
friends, that I have spread a net over this country out of which
Maurice of Orange cannot escape. My organisation too is better
than it was. I have spies within the camp at Sprang, a knot of
determined men all along the line between Breda and Amsterdam,
at Gouda, at Delft . . . especially at Delft.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why specially there?&quot; asked Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because I have it in my mind that mayhap
we need not take the risks of accomplishing our coup in Amsterdam
itself. As you say it might be very difficult and very dangerous
to et at the Stadtholder on a public occasion . . . But Delft
is on the way . . . Maurice of Orange is certain to halt at Delft,
if only in order to make a pilgrimage to the spot where his father
was murdered. He will, I am sure, sleep more than one night at
the Prinsenhof. . . . And from Delft the way leads northwards
past Ryswyk -- Ryswyk close to which I have had my headquarters
three weeks past -- Ryswyk, my friends!&quot; he continued, speaking
very rapidly almost incoherently in his excitement, &quot;where
I have arms and ammunition, Ryswyk, which is the rallying point
for all my friends . . . the molens! You remember? . . . close
to the wooden bridge which spans the Schie . . . I have enough
gunpowder stored at that molens to blow up twenty wooden bridges
. . . and the Stadtholder with his escort must cross the wooden
bridge which spans the Schie not far from the molens where I have
my headquarters. . . . I have it all in my mind already. . . .
I only wait to hear news of the actual day when the Stadtholder
leaves his camp. . . . I can tell you more to-morrow, but in the
meanwhile I want to know if there are a few men about here on
whom I can rely at a moment's notice . . . whom I can use as spies
or messengers . . . or even to lend me a hand at Ryswyk in case
of need . . . thirty or forty would be sufficient . . . if they
are good fighting men. . . . I said something about this in my
message to you all.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And I for one acted on your suggestion
at once,&quot; said one of the others. &quot;I have recruited
ten stout fellows: Germans and Swiss, who know not a word of our
language. I pay them well and they ask no questions. They will
fight for you, spy for you, run for you, do anything you choose,
and can betray nothing, since they know nothing. They are at your
disposal at any moment.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That is good, and I thank you, my dear
Heemskerk.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have half a dozen peasants on my own
estate on whom I can rely,&quot; said another of Stoutenburg's
friends. &quot;They are good fighters, hard-headed and ready to
go through fire and water for me. They are as safe as foreign
mercenaries, for they will do anything I tell them and will do
it without asking the reason why.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have another eight or ten foreigners
to offer you,&quot; said a third, &quot;they come from a part
of Britain called Scotland so I understand. I picked them up a
week ago when they landed at Scheveningen and engaged them in
my service then and there.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And I can lay my hand at any moment on
a dozen or so young apprentices in my father's factory,&quot;
added a fourth, &quot;they are always ready for a frolic or a
fight and ready to follow me to hell if need be.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You see that you can easily count on
three dozen men,&quot; concluded Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Three dozen men ready to hand,&quot;
said Stoutenburg, &quot;for our present needs they should indeed
suffice. Knowing that I can reckon on them I can strike the decisive
blow when and how I think it best. It is the blow that counts,&quot;
he continued between set teeth, &quot;after that everything is
easy enough. The waverers hang back until success is assured.
But our secret adherents in Holland can be counted by the score,
in Zealand and Utrecht by the hundred. When Maurice of Orange
has paid with his own blood the penalty which his crimes have
incurred, when I can proclaim myself over his dead body Stadtholder
of the Northern Provinces, Captain and Admiral General of the
State, thousands will rally round us and flock to our banner.
Thousands feel as we do, think as we do, and know what we know,
that John of Barneveld will not rest in his grave till I, his
last surviving son, have avenged him. Who made this Republic what
she is? My father. Who gave the Stadtholder the might which he
possesses? My father. My father whose name was revered and honoured
throughout the length and breadth of Europe and whom an ingrate's
hand hath branded with the mark of traitor. The Stadtholder brought
my father to the scaffold, heaping upon him accusations of treachery
which he himself must have known were groundless. When the Stadtholder
sent John of Barneveld to the scaffold he committed a crime which
can only be atoned for by his own blood. Last year we failed.
The mercenaries whom we employed betrayed us. My brother, our
friends went the way my father led, victims all of them of the
rapacious ambition, the vengeful spite of the Stadtholder. But
I escaped as by a miracle! -- a miracle I say it was, my friends,
a miracle wrought by the God of vengeance, who hath said: 'I will
repay!' He hath also said that whosoever sheds the blood of man,
by man shall his blood be shed! I am the instrument of his vengeance.
Vengeance is mine! 'tis I who will repay!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had never raised his voice during this long
peroration, but his diction had been none the less impressive
because it was spoken under his breath. The others had listened
in silence, awed, no doubt, by the bitter flood of hate which
coursed through every vein of this man's body and poured in profusion
from his lips. The death of father and brother and of many friends,
countless wrongs, years of misery, loss of caste, of money and
of home had numbed him against every feeling save that of revenge.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This time I'll let no man do the work
for me,&quot; he said after a moment's silence, &quot;if you will
all stand by me, I will smite the Stadtholder with mine own hand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">This time he had raised his voice, just enough
to wake the echo that slept in the deserted edifice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hush!&quot; whispered one of his friends,
&quot;Hush! For God's sake!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah! The church is empty,&quot; retorted
Stoutenburg, &quot;and the verger too far away to hear. I'll say
it again, and proclaim it loudly now in this very church before
the altar of God: I will kill the Stadtholder with mine own hand!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Silence in the name of God!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">More than one muffled voice had uttered the
warning and Beresteyn's hand fell heavily on Stoutenburg's arm.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hush, I say!&quot; he whispered hoarsely,
&quot;there's something moving there in the darkness.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A rat mayhap!&quot; quoth Stoutenburg
lightly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no . . . listen! . . . some one moves
. . . some one has been there . . . all along. . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A spy!&quot; murmured the others under
their breath.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In a moment every man there had his hand on
his sword: Stoutenburg and Beresteyn actually drew theirs. They
did not speak to one another for they had caught one another's
swift glance, and the glance had in it the forecast of a grim
resolve.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whoever it was who thus moved silently out
of the shadows -- spy or merely indiscreet listener -- would pay
with his life for the knowledge which he had obtained. These men
here could no longer afford to take any risks. The words spoken
by Stoutenburg and registered by them all could be made the stepping
stones to the scaffold if strange ears had caught their purport.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They meant death to someone, either to the
speakers or to the eavesdropper; and six men were determined that
it should be the eavesdropper who must pay for his presence here.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They forced their eyes to penetrate the dense
gloom which surrounded them and one and all held their breath,
like furtive animals that await their prey. They stood there silent
and rigid, a tense look on every face; the one light fixed in
the pillar above them played weirdly on their starched ruffs scarce
whiter than the pallid hue of their cheeks.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then suddenly a sound caught their ears, which
caused each man to start and to look at his nearest companion
with set inquiring eyes; it was the sound of a woman's skirt swishing
against the stone-work of the floor. The seconds went by leaden-footed
and full of portentous meaning. Each heart-beat beneath the vaulted
roof of the cathedral to-night seemed like a knell from eternity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">How slow the darkness was in yielding up its
secret!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At last as the conspirators gazed, they saw
the form of a woman emerging out of the shadows. At first they
could only see her starched kerchief and a glimmer of jewels beneath
her cloak. Then gradually the figure -- ghostlike in this dim
light -- came more fully into view; the face of a woman, her lace
coif, the gold embroidery of her stomacher all became detached
one by one, but only for a few seconds, for the woman was walking
rapidly, nor did she look to right or left, but glided along the
floor like a vision -- white, silent, swift -- which might have
been conjured up by a fevered brain.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A ghost!&quot; whispered one of the young
men hoarsely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No. A woman,&quot; said another, and
the words came like a hissing sound through his teeth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn and Stoutenburg said nothing for
a while. They looked silently on one another, the same burning
anxiety glowing in their eyes, the same glance of mute despair
passing from one to the other.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda!&quot; murmured Stoutenburg at
last.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The swish of the woman's skirt had died away
in the distance; not one of the men had attempted to follow her
or to intercept her passage.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn, no spy of course,
just a chance eavesdropper! But possessed nevertheless now of
a secret which meant death to them all!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How much did she hear think you?&quot;
asked Stoutenburg at last.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had replaced his sword in his scabbard with
a gesture that expressed his own sense of fatality. He could not
use his sword against a woman -- even had that woman not been
Gilda Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She cannot have heard much,&quot; said
one of the others, &quot;we spoke in whispers.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If she had heard anything she would have
known that only the west door was to remain open. Yet she has
made straight for the north portal,&quot; suggested another.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If she did not hear the verger speaking
she could not have heard what we said,&quot; argued a third somewhat
lamely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Every one of them had some suggestion to put
forward, some surmise to express, some hope to urge. Only Beresteyn
said nothing. He had stood by, fierce and silent ever since he
had first recognized his sister; beneath his lowering brows the
resolve had not died out of his eyes, and he still held his sword
unsheathed in his hand.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg now appealed directly to him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you think of it, Beresteyn?&quot;
he asked.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I think that my sister did hear something
of our conversation,&quot; he answered quietly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Great God!&quot; ejaculated the others.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But,&quot; added Beresteyn slowly, &quot;I
pledge you mine oath that she will not betray us.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How will you make sure of that?&quot;
retorted Stoutenburg, not without a sneer.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That is mine affair.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And ours too. We can do nothing, decide
on nothing until we are sure.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then I pray you wait for me here,&quot;
concluded Beresteyn. &quot;I will bring you a surety before we
part this night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me go and speak to her,&quot; urged
Stoutenburg.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no, 'tis best that I should go.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg made a movement as if he would
detain him, then seemed to think better of it, and finally let
him go.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn did not wait for further comment
from his friends but quickly turned on his heel. The next moment
he was speeding away across the vast edifice and his tall figure
was soon swallowed up by the gloom.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER V -- BROTHER AND SISTER</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The verger on guard at the west door had quietly
dropped to sleep. He did not wake apparently when Jongejuffrouw
Beresteyn slipped past him and out through the door.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn followed close on his sister's heels.
He touched her shoulder just as she stood outside the portal,
wrapping her fur cloak more snugly over her shoulders and looking
round her, anxious where to find her servants.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis late for you to be out this night,
Gilda,&quot; he said, &quot;and alone.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am only alone for the moment,&quot;
she replied quietly. &quot;Maria and Jakob and Piet are waiting
for me at the north door. I did not know it would be closed.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But why are you so late?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I stayed in church after the service.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But why?&quot; he insisted more impatiently.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I could not pray during service,&quot;
she said. &quot;My thoughts wandered. I wanted to be alone for
a few moments with God.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Did you not know then that you were not
alone?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No. Not at first.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But . . . afterwards . . . ?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your voice, Nicolaes, struck on my ear.
I did not want to hear. I wanted to pray.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yet you listened?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No. I did not wish to listen.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But you heard?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She gave no actual reply, but he could see
her profile straight and white, the curved lips firmly pressed
together, the brow slightly puckered, and from the expression
of her face and of her whole attitude, he knew that she had heard.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He drew in his breath, like one who has received
a blow and has not yet realized how deeply it would hurt. His
right hand which was resting on his hip tore at the cloth of his
doublet, else mayhap it would already have wandered to the hilt
of his sword.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had expected it of course. Already when
he saw Gilda gliding out of the shadows with that awed, tense
expression on her face, he knew that she must have heard . . .
something at least . . . something that had horrified her to the
soul.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But now of course there was no longer any room
for doubt. She had heard everything and the question was what
that knowledge, lodged in her brain, might mean to him and to
his friends.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Just for a moment the frozen, misty atmosphere
took on a reddish hue, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth,
a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He looked around him furtively, fearfully,
wondering whence came that hideous, insinuating whisper which
was freezing the marrow in his bones. No doubt that had she spoken
then, had she reproached or adjured, he would have found it impossible
to regain mastery over himself. But she looked so unimpassioned,
so still, so detached, that self-control came back to him, and
for the moment she was safe.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will you tell me what you did hear?&quot;
he asked after awhile, with seeming calm, though he felt as if
his words must choke him, and her answer strike him dead.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I heard,&quot; she said, speaking very
slowly and very quietly, &quot;that the Lord of Stoutenburg has
returned and is trying to drag you and others into iniquity to
further his own ambitious schemes.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You wrong him there, Gilda. The Lord
of Stoutenburg has certain wrongs to avenge which cry aloud to
Heaven.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We will not argue about that, Nicolaes,&quot;
she said coldly. &quot;Murder is hideous, call it what you will.
The brand of Cain doth defame a man and carries its curse with
it. No man can justify so dastardly a crime. 'Tis sophistry to
suggest it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then in sending Barneveld to the scaffold
did the Prince of Orange call that curse upon himself, a curse
which -- pleas the God of vengeance! -- will come home to him
now at last.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis not for you, Nicolaes, to condemn
him, who has heaped favours, kindness, bounties upon our father
and upon us. 'Tis not for you, the Stadtholder's debtor for everything
you are, for everything that you possess, 'tis not for you to
avenge Barneveld's wrongs.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis not for you, my sister,&quot; he
retorted hotly, &quot;to preach to me your elder brother. I alone
am responsible for mine actions, and have no account to give to
any one.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You owe an account of your actions to
your father and to me, Nicolaes, since your dishonour will fall
upon us too.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Take care, Gilda, take care!&quot; he
exclaimed hoarsely, &quot;you speak of things which are beyond
your ken, but in speaking them you presume on my forebearance
. . . and on your sex.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is no one in sight,&quot; she said
calmly, &quot;you may strike me without fear. One crime more or
less on your conscience will soon cease to trouble you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda!&quot; he cried with sudden passionate
reproach.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At this involuntary cry -- in which the expression
of latent affection for her struggled with that of his rage and
of his burning anxiety -- all her own tender feelings for him,
her womanliness, her motherly instincts were reawakened in an
instant. They had only been dormant for awhile, because of her
horror of what she had heard. And that horror of a monstrous deed,
that sense of shame that he -- her brother -- should be so ready
to acquiesce in a crime had momentarily silenced the call of sisterly
love. But this love once re-awakened was strong enough to do battle
in her heart on his behalf: the tense rigidity of her attitude
relaxed, her mouth softened, her eyes filled with tears. The next
moment she had turned fully to him and was looking pleadingly
into his face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Little brother,&quot; she murmured gently,
&quot;tell me that it is not true. That it was all a hideous dream.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He looked down on her for a moment. It pleased
him to think that her affection for him was still there, that
at any rate his personal safety might prove a potent argument
against the slightest thought of indiscretion on her part. She
tried to read his thoughts, but everything was dark around them
both, the outline of his brow and mouth alone stood clearly out
from the gloom: the expression of his eyes she could not fathom.
But womanlike she was ready to believe that he would relent. It
is so difficult for a woman to imagine that one whom she loves
is really prone to evil. She loved this brother dearly, and did
not rasp the fact that he had reached a point in his life when
a woman's pleading had not the power to turn him from his purpose.
She did not know how deeply he had plunged into the slough of
conspiracy, and that the excitement of it had fired his blood
to the exclusion of righteousness and of loyalty. She hoped --
in the simplicity of her heart -- that he was only misled, that
evil counsels had only temporarily prevailed. Like a true woman
she still saw the child in this brother who had grown to manhood
by her side.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Therefore she appealed and she pleaded, she
murmured tender words and made fond suggestions, all the while
that his heart was hard to everything except to the one purpose
which she was trying to thwart.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Not unkindly but quite firmly he detached her
clinging arms from round his neck.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let us call it a dream, little sister,&quot;
he said firmly, &quot;and do you try and forget it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That I cannot, Nicolaes,&quot; she replied,
&quot;unless you will promise me. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To betray my friends?&quot; he sneered.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would not ask you to do that: but you
can draw back . . . it is not too late. . . . For our father's
sake, and for mine, Nicolaes,&quot; she pleaded once more earnestly.
&quot;Oh think, little bother, think! It cannot be that you could
countenance such a hideous crime, you who were always so loyal
and brave! I remember when you were quite a tiny boy what contempt
you had for little Jakob Steyn because he told lies, and how you
thrashed Frans van Overstein because he ill-treated a dog. . .
. Little brother, when our father was ruined, penniless, after
that awful siege of Haarlem, which is still a hideous memory to
him, the Prince of Orange helped him with friendship and money
to re-establish his commerce, he stood by him loyally, constantly,
until more prosperous days dawned upon our house. Little brother,
you have oft heard our father tell the tale, think . . . oh, think
of the blow you would be dealing him if you lent a hand to conspiracy
against the Prince. Little brother, for our father's sake, for
mine, do not let yourself be dragged into the toils of that treacherous
Stoutenburg.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You call him treacherous now, but you
loved him once.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is because I loved him once,&quot;
she rejoined earnestly, &quot;that I call him treacherous now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He made no comment on this, for he knew in
his heart of hearts that what she said was true. He knew nothing
of course of the events of that night in the early spring of the
year when Gilda had sheltered and comforted the man who had so
basely betrayed her; but for her ministration to him then, when
exhausted and half-starved he sought shelter under her roof, in
her very room -- he would not have lived for this further plotting
and this further infamy, nor yet to drag her brother down with
him into the abyss of his own disgrace.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Of this nocturnal visit Gilda had never spoken
to anyone, not even to Nicolaes who she knew was Stoutenburg's
friend, least of all to her father, whose wrath would have fallen
heavily on her had he known that she had harboured a traitor in
his house</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Stoutenburg lied to me, Nicolaes,&quot;
she now said, seeing that still her brother remained silent and
morose, &quot;he lied to me when he stole my love, only to cast
it away from him as soon as ambition called him from my side.
And as he lied then, so will he lie to you, little brother, he
will steal your allegiance, use you for his own ends and cast
you ruthlessly from him if he find you no longer useful. Yes,
I did love him once,&quot; she continued earnestly, &quot;when
he thought of staining his hands with murder my love finally turned
to contempt. This new infamy which he plots hath filled the measure
of my hate. Turn from him, little brother, I do entreat you with
my whole soul. He has been false to his God, false to his prince,
false to me! He will be false to you!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is too late, Gilda,&quot; he retorted
sombrely, &quot;even if I were so minded, which please God! I
am not.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is never too late to draw back from
such an abyss of shame.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Be silent, girl,&quot; he said more roughly,
angered that he was making no headway against her obstinacy. &quot;God-verdomme!
But I am a fool indeed to stand and parley here with you, when
grave affairs wait upon my time. You talk at random and of things
you do not understand: I had no mind to argue this matter out
with you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not detain you, Nicolaes,&quot;
she said simply with a sigh of bitter disappointment. &quot;If
you will but call Maria and the men who wait at the north door,
I can easily relieve you of my presence.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes and you can go home to your pots
and pans, to your sewing and your linen-chest, and remember to
hold your tongue, as a woman should do, for if you breathe of
what you have heard, if you betray Stoutenburg who is my friend,
it is me -- your only brother -- whom you will be sending to the
scaffold.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would not betray you, Nicolaes,&quot;
she said.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Or any of my friends?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Or any of your friends.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You swear it?&quot; he urged.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is no need for an oath.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, there is a pressing need for an
oath, Gilda,&quot; he retorted sternly. &quot;My friends expect
it of you, and you must pledge yourself to them, to forget all
that you heard to-night and never to breathe of it to any living
soul.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot swear,&quot; she replied, &quot;to
forget that which my memory will retain in spite of my will: nor
would I wish to forget, because I mean to exert all the power
I possess to dissuade you from this abominable crime, and because
I mean to pray to God with all my might that He may prevent the
crime from being committed.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You may pray as much as you like,&quot;
he said roughly, &quot;but I'll not have you breathe a word of
it to any living soul&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My father has the right to know of the
disgrace that threatens him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You would not tell him?&quot; he exclaimed
hoarsely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not unless. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Unless what?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot say. 'Tis all in God's hands
and I do not know yet what my duty is. As you say I am only a
woman, and my place is with my pots and pans, my sewing and my
spindle. I have no right to have thoughts of mine own. Perhaps
you are right, and in that case my father must indeed be the one
to act. But this I do swear to you, Nicolaes, that before you
stain your hand with the blood of one who, besides being your
sovereign lord, is your father's benefactor and friend, I will
implore God above, that my father and I may both die ere we see
you and ourselves so disgraced.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Before he could detain her by word or gesture
she had slipped past him and turned to walk quickly toward the
fa&ccedil;ade of the cathedral. An outstanding piece of masonry
soon hid her from his view. For the moment he had thoughts of
following her. Nicolaes Beresteyn was not a man who liked being
thwarted, least of all by a woman, and there was a sense of insecurity
for him in what she had said at the last. His life and that of
his friends lay in the hands of that young girl who had spoken
some very hard words to him just now. He loved her as a brother
should, and would not for his very life have seen her in any danger,
but he had all a man's desire for mastery and hatred of dependence:
she had angered and defied him, and yet remained in a sense his
master.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He and his friends were dependent on her whim
-- he would not call it loyalty or sense of duty to be done --
it was her whim that would hold the threads of a conspiracy which
he firmly believed had the welfare of Holland and of religion
for its object, and it was her whim that would hold the threat
of the scaffold over himself and Stoutenburg and the others. The
situation was intolerable.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He ground his heel upon the stone and muttered
an oath under his breath. If only Gilda had been a man how simple
would his course of action have been. A man can be coerced by
physical means, but a woman . . . and that woman his own sister!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was hard for Nicolaes Beresteyn, to have
to think the situation out calmly, dispassionately, to procrastinate,
to let the matter rest at any rate until the next day. But this
he knew that he must do. He felt that he had exhausted all the
arguments, all the reasonings that were consistent with his own
pride; and how could he hope to coerce her into oaths or promises
of submission here in the open street and with Maria and Jakob
and Piet close by -- eavesdropping mayhap?</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda was obstinate and had always been allowed
more latitude in the way of thing things out for herself than
was good for any woman; but Nicolaes knew that she would not take
any momentous step in a hurry. She would turn the whole of the
circumstances over in her mind and as she said do some praying
too. What she would do afterwards he dared not even conjecture.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For the moment he was forced to leave her alone,
and primarily he decided to let his friends know at once ho the
matter stood.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He found them waiting anxiously for his return.
I doubt if they had spoken much during his absence. A chorus of
laconic inquiry greeted him as soon as his firm step rang out
upon the flagstones.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She has heard everything,&quot; he said
quietly, &quot;but, she will not betray us. To this I pledge ye
my word.&quot;</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter VI -- THE COUNSELS OF PRUDENCE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Neither Stoutenburg nor any of the others had
made reply to Beresteyn's firmly spoken oath. They were hard-headed
Dutchmen, every one of them: men of action rather than men of
words: for good or ill the rest of the world can judge them for
ever after by their deeds alone.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Therefore when the spectre of betrayal and
of subsequent death appeared so suddenly before them they neither
murmured nor protested. They could not in reason blame Beresteyn
for his sister's presence in the cathedral this night, nor yet
that her thoughts and feelings in the matter of the enmity between
the Stadtholder and the Barneveld family did not coincide with
their own.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Silently they walked across the vast and lonely
cathedral and filed one by one out of the western door where Perk
still held faithful watch. Stoutenburg, their leader, had his
lodgings in a small house situate at the top of the Kleine Hout
Straat, close to the well-known hostelry at the sign of the &quot;Lame
Cow.&quot; This latter was an hostelry of unimpeachable repute
and thither did the six friends decide to go ere finally going
home for the night.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It had been decided between them some time
ago that those who were able to do so would show themselves in
public as much as possible during the next few days, so as to
ward off any suspicion of intrigue which their frequent consorting
in secluded places might otherwise have aroused.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Out in the open they thought it best to disperse,
electing to walk away two and two rather than in a compact group
which might call forth the close attention of the night watchmen.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg linked his arm in that of Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let the others go on ahead,&quot; he
said confidentially, &quot;you and I, friend, must understand
one another ere we part for this night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then as Beresteyn made no immediate reply,
he continued calmly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This will mean hanging for the lot of
us this time, Nicolaes!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I pray to God . . .&quot; exclaimed the
other hoarsely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;God will have nought to say in the matter,
my friend,&quot; retorted Stoutenburg dryly, &quot; 'tis only
the Stadtholder who will have his say, and do you think that he
is like to pardon . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda will never . . . &quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh, yes, she will,&quot; broke in Stoutenburg
firmly; &quot;be not deluded into thoughts of security. Gilda
will think the whole of this matter over for four and twenty hours
at the longest, after which, feeling herself in an impasse between
her affection for you and her horror of me, she will think it
her duty to tell your father all that she heard in the cathedral
to-night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Even then,&quot; said Beresteyn, hotly,
&quot;my father would not send his only son to the gallows.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you care to take that risk?&quot;
was the other man's calm retort.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What can I do?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You must act decisively and at once,
my friend,&quot; said Stoutenburg dryly, &quot;an you do not desire
to see your friends marched off to torture and the scaffold with
yourself following in their wake.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But how? How?&quot; exclaimed Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His was by far the weaker nature of the two:
easily led, easily swayed by a will stronger than his own. Stoutenburg
wielded vast influence over him; he had drawn him into the net
of his own ambitious schemes, and had by promises and cajolery
won his entire allegiance. Now that destruction and death threatened
Nicolaes through his own sister -- whom he sincerely loved --
he turned instinctively to Stoutenburg for help and for advice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is quite simple,&quot; said the latter
slowly. &quot;Gilda must be temporarily made powerless to do us
any harm.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How?&quot; reiterated Beresteyn helplessly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Surely you can think of some means yourself,&quot;
retorted Stoutenburg somewhat impatiently. &quot;Self-preservation
is an efficient sharpener of wits as a rule, and your own life
is in the hands of a woman now, my friend.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You seem to forget that that woman is
my sister. How can I conspire to do her bodily harm?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who spake of bodily harm, you simpleton?&quot;
quoth Stoutenburg with a harsh laugh, &quot; 'tis you who seem
to forget that if Gilda is your sister she is also the woman whom
I love more than my life . . . more than my ambition . . . more
even than my revenge . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He paused a moment, for despite his usual self-control
his passion at this moment threatened to master him. His voice
rose harsh and quivering, and was like to attract the notice of
passers-by. After a moment or two he conquered his emotion and
said more calmly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Friend, we must think of our country
and of our faith; we must think of the success of our schemes:
and, though Gilda be dear to us both -- infinitely dear to me
-- she must not be allowed to interfere with the great object
which we hope to attain. Think out a way therefore of placing
her in such a position that she cannot harm us: have her conveyed
to some place where she can be kept a prisoner for a few days
until I have accomplished what I have set out to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then as Beresteyn said nothing, seeming to
be absorbed in some new train of thought, Stoutenburg continued
more persuasively:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would I could carry her away myself
and hold her -- a beloved prisoner -- while others did my work
for me. But that I cannot do: for 'twere playing the part of a
coward and I have sworn before the altar of God that I would kill
the Stadtholder with mine own hand. Nor would I have the courage
so to offend her: for let me tell you this, Nicolaes, that soaring
even above my most ambitious dreams, is the hope that when these
have been realized, I may ask Gilda to share my triumph with me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nor would I have the courage so to offend
my sister . . . my father,&quot; said Beresteyn. &quot;You speak
of carrying her off, and holding her a prisoner for eight days
perhaps, or even a fortnight. How can I, her own brother, do that?
'Tis an outrage she would never forgive: my father would curse
me . . . disinherit me . . . turn me out of house and home . .
.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And will he not curse you now, when he
knows -- when to-morrow mayhap, Gilda will have told him that
you, his son, have joined hands with the Lord of Stoutenburg in
a conspiracy to murder the Prince of Orange -- will he not disinherit
you then? Turn you out of house and home?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hold on for mercy's sake,&quot; exclaimed
Beresteyn, who bewildered by the terrible alternative thus put
ruthlessly before him, felt that he must collect his thoughts,
and just -- for the moment at any rate -- put away from him the
tempter who insinuated thoughts of cowardice into his brain.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I'll say no more, then,&quot; said Stoutenburg
quietly, &quot;think it all over, Nicolaes. My life, your own,
those of all our friends are entirely in your hands: the welfare
of the state, the triumph of our faith depend on the means which
you will devise for silencing Gilda for a few brief days.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After which there was silence between the two
men. Beresteyn walked more rapidly along, his fur-lined cloak
wrapped closely round him, his arms folded tightly across his
chest and his hands clenched underneath his cloak. Stoutenburg
on the other hand was also willing to let the matter drop and
to allow the subtle poison which he had instilled into his friend's
mind to ferment and bring forth such thoughts as would suit his
own plans.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He knew how to gauge exactly the somewhat vacillating
character of Nicolaes Beresteyn, and had carefully touched every
string of that highly nervous organization till he left it quivering
with horror at the present and deathly fear for the future.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda was a terrible danger, of that there
could be no doubt. Nicolaes had realized this to the full: the
instinct of self-preservation was strong in him: he would think
over Stoutenburg's bold suggestion and would find a way how to
act on it. And at the bottom of his tortuous heart Stoutenburg
already cherished the hope that this new complication which had
dragged Gilda into the net of his own intrigues would also ultimately
throw her -- a willing victim -- into his loving arms.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter VII &shy; THREE PHILOSOPHERS
AND THEIR FRIENDS</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whereupon Chance forged yet another link in
the chain of a man's destiny.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">I pray you follow me now to the tapperij of
the &quot;Lame Cow.&quot; I had not asked you to accompany me
thither were it not for the fact that the &quot;Lame Cow&quot;
situate in the Kleine Hout Straat not far from the Cathedral,
was a well-ordered and highly respectable tavern, where indeed
the sober merry-makers of Haarlem as well as the gay and gilded
youth of the city were wont to seek both pleasure and solace.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">You all know the house with its flat fa&ccedil;ade
of red brick, its small windows and tall, very tall gabled roof
that ends in a point high up above the front door. The tapperij
is on your left as you enter. It is wainscotted with oak which
was already black with age in the year 1623; above the wainscot
the walls are white-washed, and Mynheer Beek, the host of the
&quot;Lame Cow,&quot; who is a pious man, has hung the walls round
with scriptural texts, appropriate to his establishment, such
as: &quot;Eat, drink and be merry!&quot; and &quot;Drink thy wine
with a merry heart!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">From which I hope that I have convinced you
that the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; was an eminently orderly place of
conviviality, where worthy burghers of Haarlem could drink ale
and hot posset in the company of mevrouws, their wives.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And it was to this highly praised and greatly
respected establishment that three tired-out and very thirsty
philosophers repaired this New Year's night, instead of attending
the watch-night service at one of the churches.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes, feeling that three guilders still
reposed safely in his wallet, declared his intention of continuing
his career as a gentleman, and a gentleman of course could not
resort to one of those low-class taverns which were usually good
enough for foreign adventurers.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And thus did Fate have her will with him and
brought him here this night.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Moreover the tap-room of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot;
wore a very gay appearance always on New Year's night. It was
noted for its client&egrave;le on that occasion, for the good
Rhenish wine which it dispensed, and for the gay sight engendered
by the Sunday gowns of the burghers and their ladies who came
here after service for a glass of wine and multifarious relish.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">As the night was fine, despite the hard frost,
Mynheer Beek expected to be unusually busy. Already he had arranged
on the polished tables the rows of pewter platters heaped up with
delicacies which he knew would be in great request when the guests
would begin to arrive: smoked sausage garnished with horseradish,
roasted liver and slabs of cheese.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The serving wenches with the sleeves of their
linen shifts tucked well up above their round red arms, their
stolid faces streaming with perspiration, were busy polishing
tables that already were over-polished and making pewter mugs
to shine that already shone with a dazzling radiance.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For the nonce the place was still empty and
the philosophers when they entered were able to select the table
at which they wished to sit -- one near the hearth in which blazed
gigantic logs, and at which they could stretch out their limbs
with comfort.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At Diogenes' suggestion they all made hasty
repairs to their disordered toilet, and readjusted the set of
their collars and cuffs with the help of the small mirror that
hung close by against the wall.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Three strange forms of a truth that were thus
mirrored in turns.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Socrates with a hole in his head, now freshly
bandaged with a bit of clean linen by the sympathetic hand of
a serving maid: his hooked nose neatly washed till it shone like
the pewter handle of a knife, his pointed cranium but sparsely
furnished with lanky black hair peeping out above the bandage
like a yellow wurzel in wrappings of paper. His arms and legs
were unusually long and unusually thin, and he had long lean hands
and long narrow feet, but his body was short and slightly bent
forward as if under the weight of his head, which also was narrow
and long. His neck was like that of a stork that has been half-plucked,
it rose from out the centre of his ruffled collar with a curious
undulating movement, which suggested that he could turn it right
round and look at the middle of his own back. He wore a brown
doublet of duffle and brown trunks and hose, and boots that appeared
to be too big even for his huge feet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beside him Pythagoras looked like the full
stop in a semi-colon, for he was but little over five feet in
height and very fat. His doublet of thick green cloth had long
ago burst its buttons across his protuberent chest. His face,
which was round as a full moon, was highly coloured even to the
tip of his small upturned nose, and his forehead, crowned by a
thick mass of red-brown hair which fell in heavy and lanky waves
down to his eyebrows, was always wet and shiny. He had a habit
of standing with legs wide apart, his abdomen thrust forward and
his small podgy hands resting upon it. His eyes were very small
and blinked incessantly. Below his double chin he wore a huge
bow of starched white linen, which at this moment was sadly crumpled
and stained, and his collar which also had seen more prosperous
days was held together by a piece of string.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Like his friend Socrates, his trunk and hose
were of worsted, and he wore high leather boots which reached
well above the knee and looked to have been intended for a much
taller person. The hat, with the tall sugar-loaf crown, which
he had picked up after the fray in the Dam Straat, was much too
small for his big round head. He tried, before the mirror, to
adjust it at a becoming angle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In strange contrast to these two worthies was
their friend whom they called Diogenes. He himself, had you questioned
him ever so closely, could not have told you from what ancestry
or what unknown parent had come to him that air of swagger and
of assurance which his avowed penury had never the power to subdue.
Tall above the average, powerfully built and solidly planted on
firm limbs he looked what he easily might have been, a gentleman
to the last inch of him. The brow was fine and broad, the nose
sensitive and well shaped, the mouth a perfect expression of gentle
irony. The soft brown hair, abundant and unruly, lent perhaps
a certain air of untamed wildness to the face, whilst the upturned
moustache and the tiny tuft below the upper lip accentuated the
look of devil-may-care independence which was the chief characteristic
of the mouth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But the eyes were the most remarkable feature
of all. They shone with an unconquerable merriment, they twinkled
and sparkled, and smiled and mocked, they winked and they beckoned.
They were eyes to which you were obliged to smile in response,
eyes that made you laugh if you felt ever so sad, eyes that jested
even before the mouth had spoken, and the mouth itself was permanently
curved into a smile.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Unlike his two companions, Diogenes was dressed
not only with scrupulous care but with a show of elegance. His
doublet though well-worn was fashioned of fine black cloth, the
slashed sleeves still showed remnants of gold embroidery, whilst
the lace of his pleated collar was of beautiful design.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Having completed their toilet the three friends
sat at their table and sipped their ale and wine in comparative
silence for a time. Socrates, weary with his wound, soon fell
asleep with his arms stretched out before him and his head resting
in the bend of his elbow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Pythagoras too nodded in his chair; but Diogenes
remained wide awake, and no doubt Mynheer Beek's wine gave him
pleasing thoughts, for the merry look never fled from his eyes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Half an hour later you would scarce have recognised
the tapperij from its previous orderly silence, for at about one
o'clock it began to fill very fast. Mynheer Beek's guests were
arriving.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was still bitterly cold and they all came
into the warm room clapping their hands together and stamping
the frozen snow off their feet, loudly demanding hot ale or mulled
wine, to be supplemented later on by more substantial fare.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two serving wenches were more busy, hotter
and more profusely streaming with moisture than they had ever
been before. It was &quot;K&auml;thi here!&quot; and &quot;Luise,
why don't you hurry?&quot; all over the tapperij now; and every
moment the noise became louder and more cheery.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Every corner of the low, raftered room was
filled to overflowing with chairs and tables. People sat everywhere
where a perch was to be found -- on the corners of the tables
and on the window sill and many sat on the floor who could not
find room elsewhere. The women sat on the men's knees, and many
of them had children in their arms as well. For indeed, on watch-night,
room had to be found for every one who wanted to come in; no one
who wanted to drink and to make merry must be left to wander out
in the cold.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A veritable babel of tongues made the whitewashed
walls echo from end to end, for Haarlem now was a mightily prosperous
city, and there were a great many foreign traders inside her walls,
and some of these had thought to make merry this night in the
famed tap-room of the &quot;Lame Cow,&quot; French merchants with
their silks, English ones with fine cloths and paper, then there
were the Jew dealers from Frankfurt and Amsterdam, and the Walloon
cattle drovers from Flanders.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Here and there the splendid uniform of a member
of one of the shooting guilds struck a note of splendour among
the drabs and russets of worsted doublets and the brilliant crimson
or purple sashes gleamed in the feeble light of the tallow candles
which spluttered and flickered in their sconces.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then amongst them all were the foreign mercenaries,
from Italy or Brabant or Germany, or from God knows where, loud
of speech, aggressive in appearance, carrying swords and wearing
spurs, filling the place with their swagger and their ribaldry.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They had come to the Netherlands at the expiration
of the truce with Spain, offering to sell their sword and their
skin to the highest bidder. They seemed all to be friends and
boon companions together, called each other queer, fantastic names
and shouted their rough jests to one another across the width
of the room. Homeless, shiftless, thriftless, they knew no other
names save those which chance or the coarse buffoonery of their
friends had endowed them with. There was a man here to-night who
was called Wry-face and another who went by the name of Gutter-rat.
Not one amongst them mayhap could have told you who his father
was or who his mother, nor where he himself had first seen the
light of day; but they all knew of one another's career, of one
another's prowess in the field at Prague or Ghent or Madgeburg,
and they formed a band of brothers -- offensive and defensive
-- which was the despair of the town-guard whenever the law had
to be enforced against any one of them.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was at the hour when Mynheer Beek was beginning
to hope that his guests would soon bethink themselves of returning
home and leaving him to his own supper and bed, that a party of
these worthies made noisy interruption into the room. They brought
with them an atmosphere of boisterous gaiety with their clanking
spurs and swords, their loud verbiage and burly personality.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hech da!&quot; yelled one of these in
a stentorian voice, &quot;whom have we there, snug and cosy in
the warmest corner of this hole but our three well-beloved philosophers.
Diogenes, old compeer,&quot; he shouted still louder than before,
&quot;is there room in your tub for your friends?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Plenty round this table, O noble Gutter-rat,&quot;
shouted Diogenes in joyful response, &quot;but let me give you
warning that space as well as common funds are running short,
and that every newcomer who wants to sit must stand the others
a draught of ale apiece; that is the price of a corner of this
bench on which ye may sit if ye have a mind.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Done with you,&quot; agreed all the newcomers
lustily, and with scant ceremony they pushed their way through
the closely packed throng.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They took no notice of the mutterings of more
sober customers, angered at seeing their mantles crushed or feeling
their toes trodden on. It suddenly seemed as if the whole place
belonged to these men and that the peaceful burghers of the city
were only here on suffrance.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The three philosophers had already called for
some old Rhenish wine on draught. K&auml;thi and Luise brought
pewter jugs and more goblets along. Soon Gutter-rat and his friends
were installed at the table, squeezed against one another on the
narrow wooden benches. Pythagoras had already rolled off his corner
seat and was sitting on the floor; Diogenes was perched on the
corner of the table.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Socrates roused by the noise, opened a pair
of heavy eyes and blinked round him in astonishment. Gutter-rat
deposited his bulky form close beside him and brought his large
and grimy hand down on the shoulder of the sleepy philosopher.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hello, wise Socrates,&quot; he cried
in his rough, husky voice, &quot;I hope you have been having pleasant
dreams.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, I have not,&quot; growled Socrates
laconically.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Take no heed of him,&quot; laughed Diogenes,
&quot;he has a hole in his head through which his good temper
has been oozing out bit by bit. And yet if you'll all believe
me he has been reposing there so peacefully and snoring so lustily
that I thought he must be dreaming of Heaven and the last trumpet
call.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I was dreaming of all the chances which
Pythagoras and I have missed to-night owing to your d--d nonsense,&quot;
said Socrates, who was more sulky now than he had been before
he went to sleep.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Pythagoras uttered a prolonged sigh and gazed
meditatively down into the depths of his mug of ale. Gutter-rat
and the others looked inquiringly from one philosopher to the
other.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Diogenes been at his tricks again?&quot;
asked Gutter-rat.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Socrates and Pythagoras nodded in their gloomy
response.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gallantry, eh? some beauteous damsel,
to succour whom we throw our life, our best chances away?&quot;
continued the other with ironical sympathy, the while Diogenes'
entire face was wreathed in one huge, all-embracing smile. Gutter-rat
admonished him with solemn voice and uplifted finger.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Conduct unworthy a philosopher,&quot;
he said.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If he had only injured himself,&quot;
growled Socrates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And let us enjoy the gifts which a beneficent
goddess was ready to pour into our lap,&quot; added Pythagoras
dulcetly from the floor.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let's hear the story,&quot; concluded
Gutter-rat.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The others clapped their mugs against the table-top
and shouted: &quot;The story! the story!&quot; to the accompaniment
of din that drowned all other noises in the room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Pythagoras from his lowly position began his
narrative in a faint, injured tone of voice. He related the incidents
of this night from the moment when the chance of possessing oneself
with but little trouble of a tulip bulb worth fifteen thousand
florins was so airily flouted, down to the awful moment when a
young and beauteous lady made offers of influence and money which
were equally airily refused.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gutter-rat and the others listened attentively.
They specially relished the exciting incidents connected with
the affray in Dam Straat, the breaking of Jan Tiele's nose and
the dispersal of the mob with the aid of a lighted torch.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bravo! Splendid!&quot; they shouted at
intervals and loudly expressed their regret at having missed such
furious fun.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Socrates threw in a word or two now and then,
when Pythagoras did not fully explain his own valourous position
in the fight, but Diogenes said nothing at all; he allowed his
comrade to tell the tale his own way; the recollection of it seemed
to afford him vast amusement for he hummed a lively tune to himself
all the while.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Pythagoras now was mimicking his friend, throwing
into this performance all the disgust which he felt.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Raise thy hand to my lips, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said mincing his words, &quot;momentarily I have not the use
of mine own.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His round, beady eyes appealed to his listeners
for sympathy, and there is no doubt that he got that in plenty.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gutter-rat more especially highly disapproved
of the d&eacute;nouement of what might have proved a lucrative
adventure.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The rich jongejuffrouw might even have
fallen in love with you,&quot; he said sternly to Diogenes, &quot;and
endowed you with her father's wealth and influence.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That's just my complaint,&quot; said
Pythagoras, &quot;but no! what else do you think he said earlier
in the evening?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Tonight we'll behave like gentlemen,&quot;
quoted the other with ever-growing disgust, &quot;and not like
common thieves.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why to-night?&quot; queried Gutter-rat
in amazement. &quot;Why more especially to-night?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Pythagoras and Socrates both shrugged their
shoulders and suggested no explanation. After which there was
more vigorous clapping of mugs against the table-top and Diogenes
was loudly summoned to explain.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why to-night? why tonight?&quot; was
shouted at him from every side.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes' face became for one brief moment
quite grave -- quite grave be it said, but for his eyes which
believe me could not have looked grave had they tried.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because,&quot; he said at last when the
shouts around him had somewhat subsided, &quot;I had three guilders
in my wallet, because my night's lodging is assured for the next
three nights and because my chief creditor has died like a hero.
Therefore, O comrades all! I could afford the luxury.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What luxury?&quot; sneered Gutter-rat
in disgust, &quot;to refuse the patronage of an influential burgher
of this city, backed by the enthusiasm of the beauteous damsel,
his daughter?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To refuse all patronage, good comrade.&quot;
assented Diogenes with emphasis.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah! for twenty-four hours! . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes! for twenty-four hours, friend Gutter-rat,
while those three florins last and I have a roof over my head
for which I have already paid . . . I can for those four and twenty
hours afford the luxury of doing exactly and only what it pleases
me to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He threw up his head and stretched out his
massive limbs with a gesture of infinite satisfaction, his merry
mocking glance sweeping over the company of watch-night revellers,
out-at-elbows ragamuffins, and sober burghers with their respectable
vrouws, all of whom were gaping on him open-mouthed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For four and twenty hours, my dear Gutter-rat,&quot;
he continued after a long sigh of contentment, &quot;that is during
this day which has just dawned and the night which must inevitably
follow it, I am going to give myself the luxury of speaking only
when I choose and of being dumb if the fancy so takes me . . .
while my three florins last and I know that I need not sleep under
the stars, I shall owe my fealty only to my whim -- I shall dream
when and what I like, sing what I like, walk in company or alone.
For four and twenty hours I need not be the ivy that clings nor
the hose that is ragged at the knee. I shall be at liberty to
wear my sash awry, my shoes unbuckled, my hat tilted at an angle
which pleases me best. Above all, O worthy rat of the gutter,
I need not stoop for four and twenty hours one inch lower than
I choose, or render aught to C&aelig;sar for C&aelig;sar will
have rendered naught to me. On this the first day of the New Year
there is no man or woman living who can dictate to me what I shall
do, and to-night in the lodgings for which I have paid, when I
am asleep I can dream that I am climbing up the heights toward
a mountain top which mayhap doth not quite stretch as far as the
clouds, but which I can reach alone. To-day and to-night I am
a man and not a bit of ribbon that flutters at the breath of man
or woman who has paid for the fluttering with patronage.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gradually as he spoke and his fresh young voice,
sonorous with enthusiasm rang clearly from end to end of the raftered
room, conversation, laughter, bibulous songs were stilled and
every one turned to look at the speaker, wondering who he could
be. The good burghers of Haarlem had no liking for the foreign
mercenaries for whom they professed vast contempt because of their
calling, and because of the excesses which they committed at the
storming of these very walls, which event was within the memory
of most. Therefore, though they were attracted by the speaker,
they were disgusted to find that he belonged to that rabble; but
the women thought that he was goodly to look upon, with those
merry, twinkling eyes of his, and that atmosphere of light-heartedness
and a gaiety which he diffused around him. Some of the men who
were there and who professed knowledge in such matters, declared
that this man's speech betrayed him for an Englishman.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I like not the race,&quot; said a pompous
man who sat with wife and kindred round a table loaded with good
things. &quot;I remember the English Leicester and his crowd,
men of loose morals and doubtful piety; braggarts and roisterers
we all thought them. This man is very like some of them in appearance.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou speakest truly, O wise citizen of
this worthy republic,&quot; said Diogenes, boldly answering the
man's low-spoken words, &quot;my father was one of the roisterers
who came in English Leicester's train. An Englishman he, of loose
morals and doubtful piety no doubt, but your sound Dutch example
and my mother's Dutch blood -- Heaven rest her soul -- have both
sobered me since then.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He looked round at the crowd of faces, all
of which were now turned toward him, kindly faces and angry ones,
contemptuous eyes and good-natured ones, and some that expressed
both compassion and reproof.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By the Lord,&quot; he said, and as he
spoke he threw back his head and burst into a loud and prolonged
fit of laughter, &quot;but I have never in my life seen so many
ugly faces before.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was a murmur and many angry words among
the assembly. One or two of the men half rose from their seats,
scowling viciously and clenching their fists. Master Beek perspiring
with anxiety saw these signs of a possible fray. The thought drove
him well-nigh frantic. An affray in his establishment on New Year's
morning! it was unthinkable! He rushed round to his customers
with a veritable dictionary of soothing words upon his tongue.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gentlemen! gentlemen,&quot; he entreated,
&quot;I beg of you to calm yourselves. . . . I humbly beseech
you to pay no heed to these men. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Plepshurk! Insolent rabble!&quot; quoth
a corpulent gentleman who was crimson with wrath.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, mynheer, yes, yes,&quot; stammered
Beek meekly, &quot;but they are foreigners . . . they . . . they
do not understand our Dutch ways . . . but they mean no harm .
. . they . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Some of the younger men were not easily pacified.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Throw them out, Beek,&quot; said one
of them curtly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They make the place insufferable with
their bragging and their insolence,&quot; muttered another.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes and his friends could not help but
see these signs of latent storm, and Mynheer Beek's feeble efforts
at pacifying his wrathful guests. Diogenes had laughed long and
loudly, now he had to stop in order to wipe his eyes which were
streaming; then quite casually he drew Bucephalus from its scabbard
and thoughtfully examined its blade.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Almost simultaneously the fraternity of merry-makers
at his table also showed a sudden desire to examine the blade
of their swords and immediately half a dozen glints of steel caught
the reflection of tallow candles.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">I would not assert that order was restored
because of these unconscious gestures on the part of the insolent
rabble aforesaid, but certain it is that within the next few seconds
decorum once more prevailed as if magic had called it forth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Mynheer Beek heaved a sigh of relief.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All that you said just now was well spoken,
sir,&quot; broke in a firm voice which proceeded from a group
of gentlemen who sat at a table next to the one occupied by the
philosophers and their friends, &quot;but 'twere interesting to
hear what you propose doing on the second day of this New Year.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes was in no hurry to reply. The man
who had just spoken sat directly behind him, and Bucephalus --
so it seemed -- still required his close attention. When he had
once more replaced his faithful friend into its delicately wrought
scabbard he turned leisurely round and from the elevated position
which he still occupied on the corner of the table he faced his
interlocutor.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What I propose doing?&quot; he quoth
politely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why yes. You said just now that for four
and twenty hours you were free to dream and to act as you will,
but how will it be to-morrow?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To-morrow, sir,&quot; rejoined Diogenes
lightly, &quot;I shall be as poor in pocket as the burghers of
Haarlem are in wits, and then . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes? and then?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why then, sir, I shall once more become
an integral portion of that rabble to which you and your friends
think no doubt that I rightly belong. I shall not have one silver
coin in my wallet and in order to obtain a handful I shall be
ready to sell my soul to the devil, my skin to the Stadtholder.
. . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And your honour, sir?&quot; queried the
other with a sneer, &quot;to whom will you sell that precious
guerdon to-morrow?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To you, sir,&quot; retorted Diogenes
promptly, &quot;an you are short of the commodity.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">An angry word rose to the other man's lips,
but his eyes encountered those of his antagonist and something
in the latter's look, something in the mocking eyes, the merry
face, seemed to disarm him and to quench his wrath. He even laughed
good-humouredly and said:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well spoken, sir. You had me fairly there
with the point of your tongue. No doubt you are equally skilful
with the point of your rapier. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It shall be at your service after to-morrow,
sir,&quot; rejoined Diogenes lightly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You live by the profession of arms, sir?
No offence, 'tis a noble calling, though none too lucrative I
understand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My wits supply, sir, what my sword cannot
always command.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are ambitious?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I told my friends just now wherein lay
my ambition.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Money -- an independent competence .
. . so I understand. But surely at your age, and -- if you will
pardon mine outspokenness -- with your looks, sir, women or mayhap
one woman must play some part in your dreams of the future.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Women, sir,&quot; retorted Diogenes dryly,
&quot;should never play a leading r&ocirc;le in the comedy of
a philosopher's life. As a means to an end -- perhaps . . . the
final d&eacute;nouement. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Always that one aim I see -- a desire
for complete independence which the possession of wealth alone
can give.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Always,&quot; replied the other curtly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And beyond that desire, what is your
chief ambition, sir?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To be left alone when I have no mind
to talk,&quot; said Diogenes with a smile which was so pleasant,
so merry, so full of self-deprecating irony that it tempered the
incivility of his reply.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Again the other bit his lip, checking an angry
word; for some unexplained reason he appeared determined not to
quarrel with this insolent young knave. The others stared at their
friend in utter astonishment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What fly hath bitten Beresteyn's ear?&quot;
whispered one of them under his breath. &quot;I have never known
him so civil to a stranger or so unwilling to take offence.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Certainly the other man's good humour did not
seem to have abated one jot; after an imperceptible moment's pause,
he rejoined with perfect suavity:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You do not belie your name, sir, I heard
your friends calling you Diogenes, and I feel proud that you should
look on me as Alexander and call on me to stand out of your sunshine.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I crave your pardon, sir,&quot; said
Diogenes somewhat more seriously, &quot;my incivility is unwarrantable
in the face of your courtesy. No doubt it had its origin in the
fact that like my namesake I happened to want nothing at the moment.
To-morrow, sir, an you are minded to pay for my services, to ask
for my sword, my soul or my wits, and in exchange will offer me
the chance of winning a fortune or of marrying a wife who is both
rich and comely, why sir, I shall be your man, and will e'en endeavour
to satisfy you with the politeness of my speech and the promptness
and efficiency of my deeds. To-morrow, sir, you and the devil
will have an equal chance of purchasing my soul for a few thousand
guilders, my wits for a paltry hundred, my skin for a good supper
and a downy bed -- to-morrow the desire will seize me once again
to possess wealth at any cost, and my friends here will have no
cause to complain of my playing a part which becomes a penniless
wastrel like myself so ill -- the part of a gentleman. Until then,
sir, I bid you good-night. The hour is late and Mynheer Beek is
desirous of closing this abode of pleasure. As for me, my lodgings
being paid for I do not care to leave them unoccupied.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whereupon he rose and to Mynheer Beek -- who
came to him with that same ubiquitous smile which did duty for
all the customers of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; -- he threw the
three silver guilders which the latter demanded in payment for
the wine and ale supplied to the honourable gentleman: then as
he met the mocking glance of his former interlocutor he said with
a recrudescence of gaiety:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I still have my lodgings, gentle sir,
and need not sell my soul or my skin until after I have felt a
gnawing desire for breakfast.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With a graceful flourish of his plumed hat
he bowed to the assembled company and walked out of the tap-room
of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; with swagger that would have befitted
the audience chamber of a king.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In his wake followed the band of his boon companions,
they too strode out of the place with much jingle of steel and
loud clatter of heavy boots and accoutrements. They laughed and
talked loudly as they left and gesticulated with an air of independence
which once more drew upon them the wrathful looks and contemptuous
shrugs of the sober townsfolk.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes alone as he finally turned once again
in the doorway encountered many a timid glance levelled at him
that were soft and kindly. These glances came from the women,
from the young and from the old, for women are strange creatures
of whims and of fancies, and there was something in the swaggering
insolence of that young malapert that made them think of breezy
days upon the sea-shore, of the song of the soaring lark, of hyacinths
in bloom and the young larches on the edge of the wood.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And I imagine that their sluggish Dutch blood
yielded to these influences and was greatly stirred by memories
of youth.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter VIII -- THE LODGINGS WHICH
WERE PAID FOR</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And once again Chance set to with a will and
forged yet another link in that mighty chain which she had in
hand.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For was it not in the natural course of things
that the three philosophers, weary and thirsty as they were, should
go and seek solace and material comfort under the pleasing roof
of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; -- which as I remarked before was
reputed one of the best conducted hostelries in Haarlem, and possessing
a cellar full of wines and ales which had not its equal even in
Amsterdam.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And was it not equally natural since the Lord
of Stoutenburg lodged not far from that self-same hostelry --
again I repeat one of the soberest in Haarlem -- that his friends
should choose to join him in the tap-room there ere parting from
one another on this eventful night.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg and his family were but little
known in these parts and the hue and cry after the escaped traitor
had somewhat abated these few months past: moreover he was well
disguised with beard and cloak and he kept a broad-brimmed hat
pulled well down over his brow. On watch-night too, the burghers
and their vrouws as well as the civic and military dignitaries
of the town had plenty to do to think on their own enjoyment and
the entertainment of their friends: they certes were not on the
look-out for conspiracies and dangerous enemies within their gates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg had sat well screened from general
observation within a dark recess of the monumental fireplace.
Nicolaes Beresteyn, the most intimate of all his friends, sat
close to him, but neither of them spoke much. Beresteyn was exceptionally
moody; he appeared absorbed in thought and hardly gave answer
to those who attempted to draw him into conversation. Stoutenburg,
on the other hand affected a kind of grim humour, and made repeated
allusions to scaffold or gallows as if he had already wholly resigned
himself to an inevitable fate.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The others sipped their mulled wine and tried
to chat themselves out of the burning anxiety which Jongejuffrouw
Beresteyn's presence in the cathedral had awakened in their hearts.
They had made great efforts not to seem pre-occupied and to be
outwardly at least as gay as any of the other watch-night revellers
in the room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But with their thoughts fixed upon that vision
of awhile ago -- a woman appearing before them within twenty paces
of the spot where death to the Stadtholder had just been loudly
proclaimed amongst them -- with that vision fixed upon their minds,
they found light conversation and ordinary manner very difficult
to keep up.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The peroration of the young adventurer had
proved a welcome diversion: it had immediately aroused Stoutenburg's
interest. He it was who first drew Beresteyn's attention to it,
and he again who checked the angry words which more than once
rose to his friend's lips at the insolent attitude affected by
the knave.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And now when the latter finally swaggered out
of the room it was Stoutenburg who made a sign to Beresteyn and
then immediately rose to go.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn paid his account and went out too,
in the wake of his friend.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With the advent of the small morning hours
the snow once more began to fall in large sparse flakes that lay
thick and glistening where they fell. At the end of the Kleine
Hout Straat where the two men presently found themselves, the
feeble light of a street lamp glimmered through this white fluttering
veil: with its help the group of foreign mercenaries could be
dimly seen in the distance as they took leave of one another.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The tall form of Diogenes, crowned with his
plumed hat, was easily distinguishable amongst them. He with his
two special friends, fat Pythagoras and lean Socrates, remained
standing for a few moments at the corner of the street after the
others had departed: then only did the three of them turn and
walk off in the direction of the Oude Gracht.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For some reason, as unexplainable as that which
had guided their conduct at the &quot;Lame Cow,&quot; Beresteyn
and Stoutenburg, quite unconscious of the cold, elected to follow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Was it not Chance that willed it so? Chance
who was busy forging a chain and who had need of these two men's
extraordinary interest in a nameless adventurer in order to make
the links of that chain fit as neatly as she desired.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At the bottom of the Klein Hout Straat, where
it abuts on the Oude Gracht, the three philosophers had again
paused, obviously this time in order to take leave of one another.
The houses here were of a peculiarly woe-be-gone appearance, with
tiny windows which could not possibly have allowed either air
or light to penetrate within, and doors that were left ajar and
were creaking on their hinges, showing occasional glimpses of
dark unventilated passages beyond and of drifts of snow heaped
up against the skirting of the worm-eaten, broken-down wooden
floors. They were miserable lodging-houses of flimsy construction
and low rentals, which the close proximity of the sluggish canal
rendered undesirable.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The ground floor was in most instances occupied
by squalid-looking shops, from which fetid odours emanated through
the chinks and cracks of the walls. The upper rooms were let out
as night-lodgings to those who were too poor to afford better
quarters.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes with all his swagger and his airs
of an out-at-elbows gentleman evidently was one of those, for
he was now seen standing on the threshold of one of these dilapidated
houses and his two friends were finally bidding him good-night.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">By tacit consent Beresteyn and Stoutenburg
drew back further into the shadow of the houses opposite. There
appeared to be some understanding between these two men, an understanding
anent a matter of supremely grave import, which caused them to
stand here on the watch with feet buried in the snow that lay
thick in the doorways, silently taking note of every word spoken
and of every act that occurred on the other side of this evil-smelling
street.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There seemed to be no need for speech between
them; for the nonce each knew that the other's thoughts were running
in the same groove as his own; and momentarily these thoughts
were centered into a desire to ascertain definitely if it was
the tallest and youngest of those three knaves over there who
lodged in that particular house.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was only when the fat man and the lean one
had finally turned away and left their comrade on the doorstep
that the watchers appeared satisfied and nodding silently to one
another made ready to go home. They had turned their steps once
more toward the more salubrious and elegant quarter of the city,
and had gone but a few steps in that direction when something
occurred behind them which arrested their attention and caused
them to look back once more.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Something was a woman's cry, pitiful in
the extreme: not an unusual sound in the streets of a prosperous
city surely, and one which under ordinary circumstances would
certainly not have aroused Stoutenburg's or Beresteyn's interest.
But the circumstances were not ordinary; the cry came from the
very spot where the two men had last seen the young stranger standing
in the doorway of his lodgings and the appeal was obviously directed
toward him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Kind sir,&quot; the woman was saying
in a quavering voice, &quot;half a guilder I entreat you for the
love of Christ.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Half a guilder, my good woman,&quot;
Diogenes said in response, &quot; 'Tis a fortune to such as I.
I have not a kreutzer left in my wallet, 'pon my honour!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whereupon the two men who watched this scene
from the opposite side of the street saw that the woman fell on
her knees, and that beside her there stood an old man who made
ready to follow her example.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It's no use wearing out your stockings
on this snow-covered ground, my good girl,&quot; said Diogenes
good-humouredly. &quot;All the kneeling in the world will not
put half a guilder into my pocket nor apparently into yours.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And father and I must sleep under the
canal bridge and it is so bitterly cold,&quot; the woman moaned
more feebly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Distinctly an uncomfortable place whereat
to spend a night,&quot; rejoined the philosopher, &quot;I have
slept there myself before now, so I know.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Seemingly he made an attempt to turn incontinently
on his heel, for the woman put out her hands and held on to his
cloak.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Father is crippled with ague, kind sir,
he will die if he sleeps out there to-night,&quot; she cried.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am afraid he will,&quot; said Diogenes
blandly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the meanwhile, Pythagoras and Socrates,
who evidently had not gone very far, returned in order to see
what was going on, on their friend's doorstep. It was Pythagoras
who first recognized the wench.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thunder and lightning,&quot; he exclaimed,
&quot; 'tis the Papist!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Which Papist?&quot; queried Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, gentle sirs,&quot; said the woman
piteously, &quot;you rescued me nobly this evening from that awful,
howling mob. My father and I were able to go to midnight mass
in peace. May God reward you all. But,&quot; she added na&iuml;vely,
&quot; 'twas no good preventing those horrid men from killing
us, if we are to die from cold and hunger under the bridge of
the canal.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All of which was not incomprehensible to the
two men on the watch who had heard a graphic account of the affray
in Dam Straat as it was told by Pythagoras in the tap-room of
the &quot;Lame Cow.&quot; And they both drew a little nearer so
as not to lose a word of the scene which they were watching with
ever growing interest. Neither of them attempted to interfere
in it, however, though Beresteyn at any rate could have poured
many a guilder in the hands of those two starving wretches, without
being any the poorer himself and though he was in truth not a
hard-hearted man.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The wench is right,&quot; now said Diogenes
firmly, &quot;the life which we helped to save, we must not allow
to be frittered away. I talked of stockings, girl,&quot; he added
lightly, &quot;but I see thy feet are bare . . . Brrr! I freeze
when I look at thee. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For a quarter guilder father and I could
find a lodging. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But Dondersteen!&quot; he exclaimed,
&quot;did I not tell thee that I have not one kreutzer in my wallet,
and unless my friends can help thee. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Diogenes thou speakest trash,&quot; interposed
Pythagoras softly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We must both starve of cold this night,&quot;
moaned the woman in despair.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nay ye shall not!&quot; said Diogenes
with sudden decision. &quot;There is a room in this very house
which has been paid for three nights in advance. Go to it, wench,
'tis at the very top of the stairs, crawl thither as fast as thou
canst, dragging thy ramshackle parent in thy wake. What ho there!&quot;
he shouted at the top of his ringing voice, &quot;what ho my worthy
landlord! What ho!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And with his powerful fists he began pounding
against the panels of the door which swung loosely under the heavy
blows.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg and Beresteyn drew yet a little
nearer: they were more deeply interested than ever in all that
was going on outside this squalid lodging house.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The three philosophers were making a sufficiency
of noise to wake half the street and within a very few minutes
they succeeded in their purpose. Through one or two of the narrow
frames overhead heads appeared enveloped in shawls or cloaks,
and anon the landlord of the house came shuffling down the passage,
carrying a lighted, guttering taper.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two silent watchers could not see this
man, but they could hear him grumbling and scolding audibly in
short jerky sentences which he appeared to throw somewhat tentatively
at his rowdy lodger.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Late hour of the night,&quot; they heard
him muttering. &quot;New Year's morning . . . Respectable house
. . . noise to attract the town guard. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hadst thou turned out of thy bed sooner,
O well-beloved lord of this abode of peace,&quot; said Diogenes
cheerily, &quot;there would have been less noise outside its portals.
Had I not loved thee as I do, I would not have wakened thee from
thy sleep, but would have acted in accordance with my rights and
without bringing to thy ken a matter which would vastly have astonished
thee in the morning.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The man continued to mutter, more impatiently
this time:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;New Year's morning . . . respectable
citizen . . . work to do in the morning . . . undesireable lodgers.
. . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All lodgers are desirable who pay for
their lodging, O wise landlord,&quot; continued Diogenes imperturbably,
&quot;I have paid thee for mine, for three nights from this day
and I herewith desire thee to place my palatial residence at the
disposal of this jongejuffrouw and of mynheer her father.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The man's mutterings became still more distinct.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Baggage . . . how do I know? . . . not
bound to receive them. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nay! but thou are a liar, Master Landlord,&quot;
quoth Diogenes still speaking quite pleasantly, &quot;for the
lodgings being mine, I have the right to receive in them anybody
whom I choose. Therefore now do I give thee the option, either
to show my guests straightway and with meticulous politeness into
my room, or to taste the power and weight of my boot in the small
of thy back and the hardness of my sword-hilt across thy shoulders.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">This time the man's mutterings became inaudible.
Nicolaes Beresteyn and Stoutenburg could only guess what was passing
in the narrow corridor of the house opposite. The one moment there
was a heart-rending howl, which suggested that the landlord's
obduracy had lasted a few moments too long for the impatient temper
of a philosopher; but the howl was not repeated and soon Diogenes'
clear voice rang out lustily again:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There! I knew that gentle persuasion
would prevail. Dearly beloved landlord, now I pray thee guide
the jongejuffrouw and mynheer her father to my sleeping chamber.
It is at thy disposal, wench, for three nights,&quot; he added
airily, &quot;make the most of it; and if thou hast aught to complain
of my friend the landlord, let me know. I am always to be found
at certain hours of the day within the congenial four walls of
the 'Lame Cow'. Good-night then and pleasant dreams.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">What went on after that the watchers could,
of course, not see. The wench and the old man had disappeared
inside the house, where, if they had a spark of gratitude in them,
they would undoubtedly be kneeling even now at the feet of their
whimsical benefactor.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The next moment the interested spectators of
this stirring little scene beheld the three philosophers once
more standing together at the corner of the street under the feebly
flickering lamp and the slowly falling snow; the door of the lodging-house
had been slammed to behind them and the muffled heads had disappeared
from out the framework of the windows above.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And now, perhaps you will tell us what
you are going to do,&quot; said Pythagoras in flute-like tones.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is not a bed vacant in the dormitory
where I sleep,&quot; said Socrates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nor would I desire to sleep in one of
those kennels fit only for dogs which I cannot imagine how you
both can stomach,&quot; quoth Diogenes lightly; &quot;the close
proximity of Pythagoras and yourself and of al those who are most
like you in the world would chase pleasing sleep from mine eyelids.
I prefer the Canal.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You cannot sleep out of doors in this
h--l of a cold night,&quot; growled Socrates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And I cannot go back to the 'Lame Cow'
for I have not a kreutzer left in my wallet wherewith to pay for
a sip.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then what the d--l are you going to do?&quot;
reiterated Pythagoras plaintively.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have a friend,&quot; said Diogenes
after a slight pause.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hm?&quot; was the somewhat dubious comment
on this fairly simple statement.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He will give me breakfast early in the
morning.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hm!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis but a few hours to spend in lonely
communion with nature.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hm!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The cathedral clock has struck three,
at seven my good Hals will ply me with hot ale and half his hunk
of bread and cheese.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hals?&quot; queried Socrates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Frans Hals,&quot; replied Diogenes; &quot;he
paints pictures and contrives to live on the proceeds. If his
wife does not happen to throw me out, he will console me for the
discomforts of this night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah!&quot; ejaculated Pythagoras in disgust,
&quot;a painter of pictures!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And a brave man when he is sober.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;With a scold for a wife! Ugh! what about
your playing the part of a gentleman now?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The play was short, O wise Pythagoras,&quot;
retorted Diogenes with imperturbable good humour, &quot;the curtain
has already come down upon the last act. I am once more a knave,
a merchant ready to flatter the customer who will buy his wares:
Hech there, sir, my lord! what are your needs? My sword, my skin,
they are yours to command! so many guilders, sir, and I will kill
your enemy for you, fight your battles, abduct the wench that
pleases you. So many guilders! and when they are safely in my
pocket I can throw my glove in your face lest you think I have
further need of your patronage.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis well to brag,&quot; muttered Pythagoras,
but you'll starve with cold this night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But at dawn I'll eat a hearty breakfast
offered me by my friend Frans Hals for the privilege of painting
my portrait.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Doth he really paint thy portrait, O
handsome Diogenes?&quot; said Pythagoras unctuously.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye! thou ugly old toad. He has begun
a new one, for which I have promised to sit. I'll pay for the
breakfast he gives me, by donning a gorgeous gold embroidered
doublet which he once stole from somewhere, by putting my hand
on my hip, tilting my hat at a becoming angle, and winking at
him by the hour whilst he paints away.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hm! after a night of wandering by the
canal in the fog and snow and sharing the meagre breakfast of
a half-starved painter, methinks the portrait will be that of
a knight of the rueful countenance.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed not, old compeer,&quot; said Diogenes
with a hearty laugh, &quot;it shall be the portrait of a Laughing
Cavalier.&quot;</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 9</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter IX -- The Painter of Pictures</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After this episode Chance had little to do
with the further events of this veracious chronicle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Men took their destiny in their own hands and
laughed at Fate and at the links of the chain which she had been
forging so carefully and so patiently ever since she began the
business on the steps of the Stadhuis a few short hours ago.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn and Stoutenburg walking home together
in the small hours of New Year's morning spoke very little together
at first. They strode along side by side, each buried in his own
thoughts, and only a few curt remarks passed at intervals between
them.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But something lay on the minds of both -- something
of which each desired to speak to the other, yet neither of them
seemed willing to be the first to broach the absorbing topic.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was Stoutenburg who at last broke the silence.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A curious personality, that knave,&quot;
he said carelessly after awhile, &quot;an unscrupulous devil as
daring as he is reckless of consequences I should say . . . yet
trustworthy withal . . . what think you?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A curious personality as you say,&quot;
replied Beresteyn vaguely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He might have been useful to us had we
cared to pay for his services . . . but now 'tis too late to think
of further accomplices . . . new men won or bought for our cause
only mean more victims for the gallows.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You take a gloomy view of the situation,&quot;
said Beresteyn sombrely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! only a fatalistic one. With our secret
in a woman's keeping . . . and that woman free and even anxious
to impart it to one of my most bitter enemies . . . I can see
nought that can ward off the inevitable.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Except. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, of course,' rejoined Stoutenburg
earnestly. &quot;If you, Nicolaes, are ready to make the sacrifice
which alone could save us all.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is a sacrifice which will involve
my honour, my sister's love for me, my father's trust. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If you act wisely and circumspectly,
my friend,&quot; retorted Stoutenburg dryly, &quot;neither your
father nor Gilda herself need ever know that you had a share in
. . . in what you propose to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn made no reply and he and his friend
walked on in silence until they reached the small house close
to the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; where Stoutenburg had his lodgings.
Here they shook hands before parting and Stoutenburg held his
friend's hand in his tightly grasped for a moment or two while
he said earnestly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is only for a few days, Nicolaes,
a few days during which I swear to you that -- though absent and
engaged in the greatest task that any man can undertake on this
earth -- I swear to you that I will keep watch over Gilda and
defend her honour with my life. If you will make the sacrifice
for me and for my cause, Heaven and your country will reward you
beyond your dreams. With the death of the Stadtholder my power
in the Netherlands will be supreme, and herewith, with my hand
in yours, I solemnly plight my troth to Gilda. She was the first
woman I ever loved, and I have never ceased to love her. Now she
fills my heart and soul even -- at times -- to the exclusion of
my most ambitious hopes. Nicolaes -- my friend -- it is in your
power to save my life as well as your own: an you will do it,
there will be no bounds to my gratitude.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Beresteyn replied calmly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The sacrifice which you ask of me I will
make: I will take the risk for the sake of my country and of my
faith. To-morrow at noon I will come to your lodgings and tell
you in detail all the arrangements which I shall have made by
then. I have no fear for Gilda. I believe that Heaven has guided
my thoughts and footsteps to-night for the furtherance of our
cause.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After which the two men took final leave of
one another: Stoutenburg's tall lean form quickly disappeared
under the doorway of the house, whilst Beresteyn walked rapidly
away up the street.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Now it was close on ten o'clock of New Year's
morning. Nicolaes Beresteyn had spent several hours in tossing
restlessly under the warm eiderdown and between the fine linen
sheets embroidered by his sister's deft hands. During these hours
of sleeplessness a plan had matured in his mind which though it
had finally issued from his own consciousness had really found
its origin in the reckless brain of Willem van Stoutenburg.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn now saw himself as the saviour of
his friends and of their patriotic cause. He felt that in order
to carry out the plan which he firmly believed that he himself
had conceived, he was making a noble sacrifice for his country
and for his faith, and he was proud to think that it lay in his
power to offer the sacrifice. That this same sacrifice would have
his own sister for victim, he cared seemingly very little. He
was one of those men in whose hearts political aims outweigh every
tender emotion, and he firmly believed that Gilda would be richly
rewarded by the fulfilment of that solemn promise made by Stoutenburg.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Exquisite visions of satisfied ambition, of
triumph and of glory chased away sleep: he saw his friend as supreme
ruler of the State, with powers greater than the Princes of Orange
had ever wielded: he saw Gilda -- his sister-- grateful to him
for the part which he had played in re-uniting her to the man
whom she had always loved, she too supreme in power as the proud
wife of the new Stadtholder. And he saw himself as the Lord High
Advocate of the Netherlands standing in the very shoes of that
same John of Barneveld whose death he would have helped to avenge.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">These and other thoughts had stirred Nicolaes
Beresteyn's fancy while he lay awake during these the first hours
of the New Year, and it was during those self-same hours that
a nameless stranger whom his compeers called Diogenes had tramped
up and down the snow-covered streets of Haarlem trying to keep
himself warm.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">I am very sorry to have to put it on record
that during that time he swore more than once at his own softheartedness
which had caused him to give up his hard but sheltered paillasse
to a pair of Papists who were nothing to him and whom probably
he would never see again.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I begin to agree with that bloated puff-ball
Pythagoras,&quot; he mused dejectedly once, when an icy wind,
blowing straight from the North Sea, drove the falling snow into
his boots, and under his collar, and up his sleeves, and nearly
froze the marrow in his bones, &quot;it is but sorry pleasure
to play at being a gentleman. And I had not many hours of it either,&quot;
he added ruefully.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Even the most leaden-footed hours do come to
an end however. At one half after six Diogenes turned his steps
toward the Peuselaarsteeg where dwelt his friend Frans Hals, the
painter of pictures. Fortunately Mevrouw Hals was in a fairly
good temper, the last portrait group of the officers of St. Joris'
Shooting Guild had just been paid for, and there was practically
a new commission to paint yet another group of these gentlemen.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Mynheer van Zeller the deputy bailiff had
bought the fancy picture too, for which that knave Diogenes had
sat last year, so Mevrouw Hals was willing to provide the young
man with a savoury and hot breakfast if he were willing once again
to allow Frans to make a picture of his pleasant face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Mevrouw Hals being in rare good humour, the
breakfast was both substantial and savoury. Diogenes, who was
starved with cold as well as with hunger, did great honour to
all that was laid before him: he ate heartily while recounting
his adventures of the past night to his friend.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All that trouble for a Papist wench,&quot;
said the painter as contemptuously as Pythagoras himself would
have done, &quot;and maybe a Spaniard too.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Good-looking girl,&quot; quoth Diogenes
dryly, &quot;and would make you a good model, Frans. For a few
kreutzers she'd be glad enough to do it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I'll have none of these vixens inside
my house,&quot; interposed Mevrouw Hals decisively, &quot;and
don't you teach Frans any of your loose ways, my man.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes made no reply, he only winked at his
friend. No doubt he thought that Hals no longer needed teaching.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two men repaired to the studio, a huge
bare room littered with canvases, but void of furniture, save
for an earthenware stove in which fortunately a cheerful fire
was blazing, a big easel roughly fashioned of deal, a platform
for the model to stand on, and two or three rush-bottomed chairs:
there was also a ramshackle dowry chest, black with age, which
mayhap had once held the piles of homemade linen brought as a
dowry by the first Mevrouw Hals: now it seemed to contain a heterogeneous
collection of gaudy rags, together with a few fine articles of
attire, richly embroidered relics of more prosperous days.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The artist went straight up to the chest and
from out the litter he selected a bundle of clothes which he handed
over to his friend.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Slip into them as quickly as you can,
old compeer,&quot; he said, &quot;my fingers are itching to get
to work,&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And while he fixed the commenced picture on
the easel and set out his palette, Diogenes threw off his shabby
clothes and donned the gorgeous doublet and sash which the painter
had given him.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter X -- The Laughing Cavalier</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">We all know every fold of that doublet now,
with its magnificent sleeves, crimson-lined and richly embroidered,
its slashings which afford peeps of snowy linen, and its accessories
of exquisite lace; the immortal picture then painted by Frans
Hals, and which he called the Laughing Cavalier, has put its every
line on record for all times.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes wore it with delight. Its splendour
suited his swaggering air to perfection: its fine black cloth,
delicate lace and rich silk sash set off to perfection his well-proportioned
massive figure.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A joy to the artist every bit of him, the tone,
the pose, the line, the colour and that face full of life, of
the joy of living, that merry twinkle in the eyes, that laugh
that for ever hovers on the lips.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">We all stand before it, marvelling at the artist's
skill, for we know that the portrait is true to the life; we know
that it is true, because we know the man; his whole character
is there indelibly writ upon the canvas by the master-hand of
a genius: -- Diogenes the soldier of fortune is there, the man
who bows to no will save to his own, too independent to bow to
kindred or to power, the man who takes life as he finds it, but
leavens it with his own gaiety and the priceless richness of his
own humour: we know him for his light-hearted gaiety, we condone
his swagger, we forgive his reckless disregard of all that makes
for sobriety and respectability. The eyes twinkle at us, the mouth
all but speaks, and we know and recognize every detail as true;
only the fine, straight brow, the noble forehead, the delicate
contour of the nose and jaw puzzle us at times, for those we cannot
reconcile with the man's calling or with his namelessness, until
we remember his boast in the tavern of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot;
on New Year's morning: &quot;My father was one of those who came
in English Leicester's train.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">So we see him now standing quite still, while
the artist is absorbed in his work: his tall figure very erect,
the head slightly thrown back, the well-shaped hand resting on
the hip and veiled in folds of filmy lace. And so did Mynheer
Nicolaes Beresteyn see him as he entered the artist's studio at
ten o'clock of that same New Year's morning.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A happy New Year to you, my good Hals,&quot;
he said with easy condescension. &quot;Vervloekte weather, eh
-- for the incoming year! there must be half a foot of snow in
the by-streets by now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With that same air of graciousness he acknowledged
the artist's obsequious bow. His father Mynheer Councillor Beresteyn
was an avowed patron of Frans Hals and the hour had not yet struck
in civilized Europe when wealth would go hat in hand bowing to
genius and soliciting its recognition. In this year of grace 1624
genius had still to hold the hat and to acknowledge if not to
solicit the kindly favours of wealth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes Beresteyn did not know exactly how
to greet the man with whom he had a few hours ago bandied arguments
in the tap room of a tavern, and whom -- to tell the truth --
he had expressly come to find. The complaisant nod which he had
bestowed on Frans Hals did not somehow seem appropriate for that
swaggering young knight of industry, who looked down on him from
the high eminence of the model's platform so that Nicolaes was
obliged to look well up, if he wished to meet his glance at all.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was the obscure soldier of fortune who relieved
the pompous burgher of his embarrassment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Fate hath evidently not meant that we
should remain strangers, sir,&quot; he said lightly, &quot;this
meeting after last night's pleasing amenities is indeed unexpected.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And most welcome, sir, as far as I am
concerned,&quot; rejoined Nicolaes pleasantly. &quot;My name is
Nicolaes Beresteyn and right glad am I to renew our acquaintance
of last night. I had no idea that my friend Hals could command
so perfect a model. No wonder that his pictures have become the
talk of the town.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He turned back to Hals now with a resumption
of his patronizing manner.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I came to confirm my father's suggestion,
my good Hals, that your should paint his portrait and at the price
you named yourself. The officers of St. Joris' Guild are also
desirous, as I understand, of possessing yet another group from
your brush.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I shall be honoured,&quot; said the artist
simply</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis many an ugly face you'll have to
paint within the next few months, my friend,&quot; added Diogenes
lightly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My father is reckoned one of the handsomest
men in Holland,&quot; retorted Beresteyn with becoming dignity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And the owner of the finest tulip bulbs
in the land,&quot; said the other imperturbably. &quot;I heard
him tell last night that he had just given more florins for one
bit of dried onion than I have ever fingered in the whole course
of my life.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Fortune, sir, has not dealt with you
hitherto in accordance with your deserts.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! 'tis my sternest reproach against
her.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is always a tide, sir, in a man's
fortunes.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Mine I feel, sir, is rising at your call.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was a moment's pause now while the two
men looked on one another eye to eye, appraising one another,
each counting on his opponent's worth. Then Nicolaes suddenly
turned back to Frans Hals.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My good Hals,&quot; he said, &quot;might
I crave a favour from your friendship?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am at your service, mynheer, now as
always as you know,&quot; murmured the artist, who indeed was
marvelling what favour so illustrious a gentleman could ask of
a penniless painter of portraits.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis but a small matter to you,&quot;
rejoined Nicolaes, &quot;but it would be of great service to me.
I desire to hold private conversation with this gentleman. Could
I do so in your house without attracting anybody's attention?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Easily, sir. This room though none too
comfortable is at your disposal. I have plenty of work to do in
another part of my house. No one will come in here. You will be
quite undisturbed.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am infinitely obliged to you. &quot;
'Tis but half-an-hour's privacy I desire . . . providing this
gentleman will grant me the interview.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Like my friend Hals,&quot; rejoined Diogenes
suavely, &quot;I am, sir, at your service. The tides are rising
around me, I feel them swelling even as I speak. I have an overwhelming
desire to ride on the crest of the waves, rather than to duck
under them against my will.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">I hope this intrusion will not retard your
work too much, my good Hals,&quot; said Beresteyn with somewhat
perfunctory solicitude when he saw that the artist finally put
his brushes and palatte on one side, and in an abstracted manner
began to dust a couple of rickety chairs and then place them close
to the stove.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh!&quot; interposed Diogenes airily,
&quot;the joy of being of service to so bountiful a patron will
more than compensate Frans Hals for this interruption to his work.
Am I not right, old friend?&quot; he added with just a soup&ccedil;on
of seriousness in the mocking tones of his voice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Hals murmured a few words under his breath
which certainly seemed to satisfy Beresteyn for the latter made
no further attempt at apology, and only watched with obvious impatience
the artist's slow progress out of the room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">As soon as the heavy oaken door had fallen-to
behind the master of this house, Beresteyn turned with marked
eagerness to Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Now, sir,&quot; he said, &quot;will you
accord me your close attention for a moment. On my honour it will
be to your advantage so to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And to your own, I take it, sir,&quot;
rejoined Diogenes, as he stepped down from the elevated platform
and sat himself astride one of the ricketty chairs facing his
interlocutor who had remained standing. &quot;To your own too,
sir, else you had not spent half an hour in that vervloekte weather
last night pacing an insalubrious street in order to find out
where I lodged.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes bit his lip with vexation.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You saw me?&quot; he asked.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have eyes at the back of my head,&quot;
replied the young man. &quot;I knew that you followed me in company
with a friend all the way from the door of the 'Lame Cow' and
that you were not far off when I announced my intention of sleeping
under the stars and asking my friend Frans Hals for some breakfast
later on.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn had quickly recovered his equanimity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have no cause to deny it,&quot; he
said.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;None,&quot; assented Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Something, sir, in your manner and your
speech last night aroused my interest. Surely you would not take
offence at that.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Certainly not.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And hearing you speak, a certain instinct
prompted me to try and not lose sight of you if I could by some
means ascertain where you lodged. My friend and I did follow you:
I own it, and we witnessed a little scene which I confess did
you infinite credit.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes merely bowed his head this time in
acknowledgement.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It showed, sir,&quot; resumed Nicolaes
after a slight pause, &quot;that you are chivalrous to a fault,
brave and kindly: and these are just the three qualities which
I -- even like your illustrious namesake -- have oft sought for
in vain.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Shall we add, also for the sake of truth,
sir,&quot; said Diogenes pleasantly, &quot;that I am obviously
penniless, presumably unscrupulous and certainly daring, and that
these are just the three qualities which you . . . and our friend
. . . most require at the present moment in the man whom you wish
to pay for certain services.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You read my thoughts, sir.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have I not said that I have eyes at the
back of my head?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Nicolaes Beresteyn wondered if that second
pair of eyes were as merry and mocking and withal as inscrutable
as those that met his now.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well,&quot; he said as if with suddenly
conceived determination, &quot;again I see no cause why I should
deny it. Yes, sir, you have made a shrewd guess. I have need of
your services, of your chivalry and of your valour and . . . well,
yes,&quot; he added after an instant's hesitation, &quot;of your
daring and your paucity of scruples too. As for your penury, why,
sir, if you like, its pangs need worry you no longer.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It all sounds very tempting, sir,&quot;
said Diogenes with his most winning smile, &quot;suppose now that
we put preliminaries aside and proceed more directly with our
business.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;As you will.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes Beresteyn now took the other chair
and brought it close to his interlocutor. Then he sat down and
sinking his voice to a whisper he began:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I will be as brief and to the point as
I can, sir. There are secrets as you know the knowledge of which
is oft-times dangerous. Such an one was spoken of in the cathedral
last night after watch-night service by six men who hold their
lives in their hands and are ready to sacrifice it for the good
of their country and of their faith.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In other words,&quot; interposed Diogenes
with dry humour, &quot;six men in the cathedral last night decided
to murder some one for the good of this country and of their faith
and for the complete satisfaction of the devil.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis false!&quot; cried Beresteyn involuntarily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Be not angered, sir, I was merely guessing
-- and not guessing methinks very wide of the mark. I pray you
proceed. You vastly interest me. We left then six men in the cathedral
after watch-night service plotting for the welfare of Holland
and the established Faith.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Their lives, sir,&quot; resumed Beresteyn
more calmly, &quot;depend on the inviolability of their secret.
You are good at guessing --will you guess what would happen to
those six men if their conversation last night had been overheard
and their secret betrayed.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The scaffold,&quot; said Diogenes laconically.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And torture.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course. Holland always has taken the
lead in civilization of late.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Torture and death, sir,&quot; reiterated
Beresteyn vehemently. &quot;There are six men in this city to-day
whose lives are at the mercy of one woman.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oho! 'twas a woman then who surprised
those six men in their endeavour to do good to Holland and to
uphold the Faith.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Rightly spoken, sir! To do good to Holland
and to uphold the Faith! those are the two motives which guide
six ardent patriots in their present actions and cause them to
risk their lives and more, that they may bring about the sublime
end. A woman has surprised their secret, a woman pure and good
as the stars but a woman for all that, weak in matters of sentiment
and like to be swayed by a mistaken sense of what she would call
her duty. A woman now, sir, holds the future happiness of Holland,
the triumph of Faith and the lives of six stalwart patriots in
the hollow of her hand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And 'tis with the lives of six stalwart
patriots that we are most concerned at the moment, are we not?&quot;
asked Diogenes blandly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Put it as you will, sir, I cannot expect
you -- a stranger -- to take the welfare of Holland and of her
Faith so earnestly as we Dutchmen do. Our present concern is with
the woman.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Is she young?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Pretty?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What matter?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I don't know. The fact might influence
mine actions. For of course you wish to put the woman out of the
way.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Only for a time and from my soul I wish
her no harm. I only want to place her out of the reach of doing
us all a grievous wrong. Already she has half threatened to speak
of it all to my father. The idea is unthinkable. I want her out
of the way for a few days, not more than ten days at most. I want
her taken out of Haarlem, to a place of safety which I will point
out to you anon, and under the care of faithful dependents who
would see that not a hair on her head be injured. You see, sir,
that what I would ask of you would call forth your chivalry and
need not shame it; it would call forth your daring and your recklessness
of consequences and if you will undertake to do me service in
this, my gratitude and that of my friends as well as the sum of
2,000 guilders will be yours to command.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;About a tenth part of the money in fact
which your father, sir, doth oft give for a bulb.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Call it 3,000, sir,&quot; said Nicolaes
Beresteyn, &quot;we would still be your debtors.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are liberal, sir.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It means my life and that of my friends,
and most of us are rich.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But the lady -- I must know more about
her. Ah sir! this is a hard matter for me -- A lady -- young --
presumably fair -- of a truth I care naught for women, but please
God I have never hurt a woman yet.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who spoke of hurting her, man?&quot;
queried Nicolaes haughtily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This abduction -- the State secret --
the matter of life and death -- the faithful dependent -- how
do I know, sir, that all this is true?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;On the word of honour of a gentleman!&quot;
retorted Beresteyn hotly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A gentleman's honour is easily attenuated
where a woman is concerned.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The lady is my own sister, sir.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes gave a long low whistle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your sister!&quot; he exclaimed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My only sister and one who is dearly
loved. You see, sir, that her safety and her honour are dearer
to me than mine own.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yet you propose entrusting both to me,&quot;
said Diogenes with a mocking laugh, &quot;to me, a nameless adventurer,
a penniless wastrel whose trade lies in his sword and his wits.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Which must prove to you, sir, firstly
how true are my instincts, and secondly how hardly I am pressed.
My instinct last night told me that in this transaction I could
trust you. To-day I have realized more fully than I did last night
that my sister is a deadly danger to many, to our country and
to our Faith. She surprised a secret, the knowledge of which had
she been a man would have meant death then and there in the chapel
of the cathedral. Had it been a brother of mine instead of a sister
who surprised our secret, my friends would have killed him without
compunction and I would not have raised a finger to save him.
Being a woman she cannot pay for her knowledge with her life;
but her honour and her freedom are forfeit to me because I am
a man and she is a woman. I am strong and she is weak; she has
threatened to betray me and my friends and I must protect them
and our cause. I have decided to place her there where she cannot
harm us, but some one must convey her thither, since I must not
appear before her in this matter. Therefore hath my choice fallen
on you, sir, for that mission, chiefly because of that instinct
which last night told me that I could trust you. If my instinct
should prove me wrong, I would kill you for having cheated me,
but I would even then not regret what I had done.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He paused and for a moment looked straight
into the laughter-loving face of the man in whose keeping he was
ready to entrust with absolute callousness the safety and honour
of one whom he should have protected with his life. The whole
face, even now seemed still to laugh, the eyes twinkled, the mouth
was curled in a smile.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The next moment the young adventurer had risen
to his full height. He picked up his hat which lay on the platform
close beside him and with it in his hand he made an elaborate
and deep bow to Nicolaes Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Sir?&quot; queried the latter in astonishment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At your service, sir,&quot; said Diogenes
gaily, &quot;I am saluting a greater blackguard that I can ever
hope to be myself.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Insolent!&quot; exclaimed Nicolaes hotly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Easy, easy, my good sir,&quot; interposed
the other calmly, &quot;it would not suit your purpose or mine
that we should cut one another's throat. Let me tell you at once
and for the appeasing of your anxiety and that of your friends
that I will, for the sum of 4,000 guilders, take Jongejuffrouw
Beresteyn from this city to any place you may choose to name.
This should also ease your pride, for it will prove to you that
I also am a consummate blackguard and that you therefore need
not stand shamed before me. I have named a higher sum than the
one which you have offered me, not with any desire to squeeze
you, sir, but because obviously I cannot do this work single-handed.
The high roads are not safe. I could not all alone protect the
lady against the army of footpads that infest them, I shall have
to engage and pay an escort for her all the way. But she shall
reach the place to which you desire me to take her, to this I
pledge you my word. Beyond that . . . well! you have said it yourself,
by her knowledge of your secret she has forfeited her own safety;
you -- her own brother -- choose to entrust her to me. The rest
lies between you and your honour.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">An angry retort once more rose to Nicolaes
Beresteyn's lips, but commonsense forced him to check it. The
man was right in what he said. On the face of it his action in
entrusting his own sister into the keeping of a knight of industry,
a nameless wastrel whose very calling proclaimed him an unscrupulous
adventurer, was the action of a coward and of a rogue. Any man
with a spark of honour in him -- would condemn Nicolaes Beresteyn
as a blackguard for this deed. Nevertheless there was undoubtedly
something in the whole personality of this same adventurer that
in a sense exonerated Nicolaes from the utter dishonour of his
act.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On the surface the action was hideous, monstrous,
and cowardly, but beneath that surface there was the undercurrent
of trust in this one man, the firm belief born of nothing more
substantial than an intuition that this man would in this matter
play the part of a gentleman.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But it is not my business to excuse Nicolaes
Beresteyn in this. What guided him solely in his present action
was that primary instinct of self-preservation, that sense which
animals have without the slightest knowledge or experience on
their part and which has made men play at times the part of a
hero and at others that of a knave. Stoutenburg who was always
daring and always unscrupulous where his own ambitious schemes
were at stake had by a careful hint shown him a way of effectually
silencing Gilda during the next few days. Beresteyn's mind filled
to overflowing with a glowing desire for success and for life
had readily worked upon the hint.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he did honestly believe -- as hundreds
of misguided patriots have believed before and since -- that Heaven
was on his side of the political business and had expressly led
along his path this one man of all others who would do what was
asked of him and whom he could trust.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XI -- The Bargain</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There had been silence in the great, bare work-room
for some time, silence only broken by Beresteyn's restless pacing
up and down the wooden floor. Diogenes had resumed his seat, his
shrewd glance following every movement of the other man, every
varied expression of his face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At last Nicolaes came to a halt opposite to
him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Am I to understand then, sir,&quot; he
asked, looking Diogenes straight between the eyes and affecting
not to note the mocking twinkle within them, &quot;that you accept
my proposition and that you are prepared to do me service?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Absolutely, sir,&quot; replied the other.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then shall we proceed with the details?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;An it please you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will agree to do me service for the
sum of 4,000 guilders?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In gold.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course. For this sum you will convey
Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn out of Haarlem, conduct her with a suitable
escort and in perfect safety to Rotterdam and there deliver her
into the hands of Mynheer Ben Isaje -- the banker -- who does
a vast amount of business for me and is entirely and most discreetly
devoted to my interests. His place of business is situated on
the Schiedamsche Straat and is a house well known to every one
in Rotterdam seeing that Mynheer Ben Isaje is the richest money-lending
Jew in the city.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That is all fairly simple, sir,&quot;
assented Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will of course tender me your oath
of secrecy.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My word of honour, sir. If I break that
I would be as likely to break an oath.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Very well,&quot; said Beresteyn after
a moment's hesitation during which he tried vainly to scrutinize
a face which he had already learned was quite inscrutable. &quot;Shall
we arrange the mode of payment then?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If you please.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How to obtain possession of the person
of the jongejuffrouw is not my business to tell you. Let me but
inform you that to-day being New Year's day she will surely go
to evensong at the cathedral and that her way from our home thither
will lead her along the bank of the Oude Gracht between the Zijl
Straat where our house is situate and the Hout Straat which debouches
on the Groote Markt. You know the bank of the Oude Gracht better
than I do, sir, so I need not tell you that it is lonely, especially
at the hour when evensong at the cathedral is over. The jongejuffrouw
is always escorted in her walks by an elderly duenna whom you
will of course take to Rotterdam, so that she may attend on my
sister on the way, and by two serving men whose combined courage
is not, of course, equal to your own. This point, therefore, I
must leave you to arrange in accordance with your desire.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I thank you, sir.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In the same way it rests with you what
arrangements you make for the journey itself; the providing of
a suitable carriage and of an adequate escort I leave entirely
in your hands.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Again I thank you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am only concerned with the matter itself,
and with the payment which I make to you for your services. As
for your route, you will leave Haarlem by the Holy Cross gate
and proceed straight to Bennebrock, a matter of a league or so.
There I will meet you at the half-way house which stands at the
cross-roads where a signpost points the way to Leyden. The innkeeper
there is a friend of mine, whose natural discretion has been well
nurtured by frequent gifts from me. He hath name Praff, and will
see to the comfort of my sister and of her duenna, while you and
I settle the first instalment of our business, quite unbeknown
to her. There, sir, having assured myself that my sister is safe
and in your hands, I will give over to you the sum of 1,000 guilders,
together with a letter writ by me to the banker Ben Isaje of Rotterdam.
He knows Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn well by sight, and in my letter
I will ask him, secondly to see that she is at once conveyed,
still under your escort, to his private residence which is situate
some little distance out of the city between Schiedam and Overschie
on the way to Delft, and lastly, to hand over to you the balance
of 3,000 guilders still due then by me to you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He paused a moment to draw breath after the
lengthy peroration, then as Diogenes made no comment, he said
somewhat impatiently:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I hope, sir, that all these arrangements
meet with your approval!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They fill me with profound respect for
you, sir, and admiration for your administrative capacities,&quot;
replied Diogenes, with studied politeness.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed I do flatter myself . . .&quot;
quoth the other.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not without reason, sir. The marvellous
way in which you have provided for the safety of three-fourths
of your money, and hardly at all for that of your sister, fills
me with envy which I cannot control.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Insolent . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no, my good sir,&quot; interposed
Diogenes blandly, &quot;we have already agreed that we are not
going to quarrel, you and I . . . we have too great a need for
one another; for that 3,000 guilders -- which, after deductions,
will be my profit in this matter -- means a fortune to a penniless
adventurer, and you are shrewd enough to have gauged that fact,
else you had not come to me with such a proposal. I will do you
service, sir, for the 3,000 guilders which will enable me to live
a life of independence in the future, and also for another reason,
which I would not care to put into words, and which you, sir,
would fail to understand. So let us say no more about all these
matters. I agree to your proposals and you accept my services.
To-night at ten o'clock I will meet you at the half-way house
which stands in the hamlet of Bennebrock at the cross-roads where
a signpost points the way to Leyden.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To-night! That's brave!&quot; exclaimed
Beresteyn. &quot;You read my thoughts, sir, even before I could
tell you that delay in this affair would render it useless.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To-night then, sir,&quot; said Diogenes
in conclusion, &quot;I pray you have no fear of failure. The jongejuffrouw
will sleep at Leyden, or somewhere near there, this night. The
city is distant but half-a-dozen leagues, and we can ready it
easily by midnight. From thence in the morning we can continue
our journey, and should be in sight of Rotterdam twenty-four hours
later. For the rest, as you say, the manner of our journey doth
not concern you. If the frost continues and we can travel by sledge
all the way we could reach Rotterdam in two days; in any event,
even if a thaw were to set in we should not be more than three
days on the way.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He rose from his chair and stood now facing
Beresteyn. His tall figure, stretched to its full height, seemed
to tower above the other man, though the latter was certainly
not short; but Diogenes looked massive -- a young lion sniffing
the scent of the desert. The mocking glance, the curve of gentle
irony were still there in eyes and mouth, but the nostrils quivered
with excitement, with the spirit of adventure which never slept
so soundly but that it awakened at a word.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And now, sir,&quot; he said, &quot;there
are two matters both of equal importance, which we must settle
ere I can get to work.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What may these be, sir?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Firstly the question of money. I have
not the wherewithal to make preparations. I shall have to engage
a sleigh for to-night, horses, an escort as far as Leyden. I shall
have to make payments for promises of secrecy . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That is just, sir. Would 200 guilders
meet this difficulty?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Five hundred would be safer,&quot; said
Diogenes airily, &quot;and you may deduct that sum from your first
payment at Bennebrock.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn did not choose to notice the impertinent
tone which rang through the other man's speech. Without wasting
further words, he took a purse from his wallet, and sitting down
on one corner of the model's platform, he emptied the contents
of the purse upon it.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He counted out five hundred guilders, partly
in silver and partly in gold. These he replaced in the purse and
then handed it over to Diogenes. The latter had not moved from
his position during this time, standing as he did at some little
distance so that Beresteyn had to get up in order to hand him
the money. Diogenes acknowledged its receipt with a courteous
bow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what is the other matter, sir?&quot;
asked Nicolaes, after he had placed the rest of his money back
into his wallet, &quot;what is the other matter which we have
failed to settle?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The jongejuffrouw, sir. . . . I am a
comparative stranger in Haarlem. . . . I do not know the illustrious
lady by sight.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;True, I had not thought of that. But
this omission can very easily be remedied . . . if you, sir, will
kindly call our friend Hals; he has, an I mistake not, more than
one sketch of my sister in his studio and a half-finished portrait
of her as well.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then I pray you, sir,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes airily, &quot;do you go and acquaint our mutual friend
of your desire to show me the half-finished portrait of the jongejuffrouw,
for I must now exchange this gorgeous doublet of a prosperous
cavalier for one more suited to this day's purpose.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he immediately proceeded to undress without
paying the slightest heed to Beresteyn's look of offended dignity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was no use being angry with this independent
knave; Nicolaes Beresteyn had found that out by now, therefore
he thought it best to appear indifferent to this new display of
impudence and himself to go and seek out Frans Hals as if this
had been his own intention all along.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Inwardly fuming but without uttering another
word he turned on his heel and went out of the room, slamming
the door to behind him.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XII -- THE PORTRAIT</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When Beresteyn returned to the studio in the
company of Frans Hals they found Diogenes once more clad in his
own well-fitting and serviceable doublet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The artist looked bitterly disappointed at
the sight, but naturally forbore to give vent to his feelings
in the presence of his exalted patron.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Apparently he had been told what was required,
for he went straight up to a large canvas which stood at the further
end of the room with its face to the wall, and this he brought
out now and placed upon the easel.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is an excellent likeness of my sister,&quot;
said Nicolaes with his usual gracious condescension, to the artist,
&quot;and does your powers of faithful portraiture vast credit,
my good Hals. I pray you, sir,&quot; he added calling to Diogenes,
&quot;come and look at it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The latter came and stood in front of the easel
and looked on the picture which was there exhibited for his gaze.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Among the hard lessons which varying Fortune
teaches to those whom she most neglects, there is none so useful
as self-control. Diogenes had learned that lesson early in his
life, and his own good humour often had to act as a mask for deeper
emotions. Now, when in the picture he recognized the woman who
had spoken to him last night after the affray, in the Dam Straat,
his face in no sense expressed surprise, it still smiled and mocked
and twinkled, and neither of the two men who stood by guessed
that he had seen the original of this dainty picture under peculiar
circumstances not many hours before.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">That portrait of Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn is
one of the finest ever painted by Frans Hals, the intense naturalness
of the pose is perfect, the sweet yet imperious expression of
the face is most faithfully portrayed. Diogenes saw her now very
much as he had seen her last night, for the artist had painted
the young head against a dark background and it stood out delicate
as a flower, right out of the canvas and in full light.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The mouth smiled as it had done last night
when first she caught sight of the ludicrous apparition of one
philosopher astride on the shoulders of the other, the eyes looked
grave as they had done when she humbly, yet gracefully begged
pardon for her levity. The chin was uplifted as it had been last
night, when she made with haughty condescension her offers of
patronage to the penniless adventurer, and there was the little
hand soft and smooth as the petal of a rose which had rested for
one moment against his lips.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And looking on the picture of this young girl,
Diogenes remembered the words which her own brother had spoken
to him only a few moments ago; &quot;her honour and her safety
are forfeit to me. I would kill you if you cheated me, but I would
not even then regret what I had done.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The daughter of the rich city burgher was,
of course, less than nothing to the nameless carver of his own
fortunes; she was as far removed from his sphere of life as were
the stars from the Zuyder Zee, nor did women as a sex play any
serious part in his schemes for the future, but at the recollection
of those callous and selfish words, Diogenes felt a wave of fury
rushing through his blood; the same rage seized his temper now
as when he saw a lout once plucking out the feathers of a song
bird, and he fell on him with fists and stick and left him lying
bruised and half-dead in a ditch.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But the hard lesson learned early in life stood
him in good stead. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and
anon his well-shaped hand went up to his moustache and it almost
seemed as if the slender fingers smoothed away the traces of that
wave of wrath which had swept over him so unaccountably just now,
and only left upon his face those lines of mockery and of good-humour
which a nature redolent of sunshine had rendered indelible.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What think you of it, sir?&quot; asked
Beresteyn impatiently, seeing that Diogenes seemed inclined to
linger over long in his contemplation of the picture.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I think, sir,&quot; replied the other,
&quot;that the picture once seen would for ever be imprinted on
the memory.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah! it pleases me to hear you say that.
I think too that it does our friend Hals here infinite credit.
You must finish that picture soon, my good Frans. My father I
know is prepared to pay you well for it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then he turned once more to Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I'll take my leave now, sir,&quot; he
said, &quot;and must thank you for so kindly listening to my proposals.
Hals, I thank you for the hospitality of your house. We meet again
soon I hope.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He took up his hat and almost in spite of himself
he acknowledged Diogenes' parting bow with one equally courteous.
Patron and employ&eacute; stood henceforth on equal terms.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you desire to see me again to-day,
sir,&quot; he said before finally taking his leave, &quot;I shall
be in the tapperij of the 'Lame Cow' between the hours of four
and five and entirely at your service.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After that he walked out of the room escorted
by Frans Hals, and Diogenes who had remained alone in the big,
bare studio, stood in front of Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn's portrait
and had another long look at it.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A whimsical smile sat round his lips even as
they apostrophized the image that looked so gravely on him out
of the canvas.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You poor, young, delicate creature!&quot;
he murmured, &quot;what of your imperious little ways now? your
offers of condescension, your gracious wiping of your dainty shoes
on the commoner herd of humanity? Your own brother has thrown
you at the mercy of a rogue, eh? A rogue whose valour must needs
be rewarded by money and patronage! . . . Will you recognise him
to-night I wonder, as the rogue he really is? the rogue paid to
do work that is too dirty for the exalted gentlemen's hands to
touch? How you will loathe him after to-night!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He drew in his breath with a quaint little
sigh that had a thought of sadness in it, and turned away from
the picture just as Frans Hals re-entered the room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;When this picture is finished,&quot;
he said at once to his friend, &quot;your name, my dear Hals,
will ring throughout Europe.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis your picture I want to finish,&quot;
said the other reproachfully, &quot;I have such a fine chance
of selling it the day after to-morrow.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why the day after to-morrow?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The Burgomaster, Mynheer van der Meer,
comes to visit my studio. He liked the beginnings of the picture
very much when he saw it, and told me then that he would come
to look at it again and would probably buy it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I can be back here in less than a week.
You can finish the picture then. The Burgomaster will wait.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The artist sighed a plaintive, uncomplaining
little sigh and shrugged his shoulders with an air of hopelessness.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You don't know what these people are,&quot;
he said, &quot;they will buy a picture when the fancy seizes them.
A week later they will mayhap not even look at it. Besides which
the Burgomaster goes to Amsterdam next week. He will visit Rembrandt's
studio, and probably buy a picture there . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His speech meandered on, dully and tonelessly,
losing itself finally in incoherent mutterings. Diogenes looked
on him with good-natured contempt.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you would lick the boots of such
rabble,&quot; he said.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have a wife and a growing family,&quot;
rejoined the artist, &quot;we must all live.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I don't see the necessity,&quot; quoth
Diogenes lightly, &quot;not at that price in any case. You must
live of course, my dear Hals,&quot; he continued, &quot;because
you are a genius and help to fill this ugly grey world with your
magnificent works, but why should your wife and family live at
the expense of your manhood.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then seeing the look of horror which his tirade
had called forth in the face of his friend, he said with more
seriousness:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Would the price of that picture be of
such vital importance then?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is not the money so much,&quot; rejoined
Frans Hals, &quot;though God knows that that would be acceptable,
but 'tis the glory of it to which I had aspired. This picture
to hang in the Stanhuis, mayhap in the reception hall, has been
my dream these weeks past; not only would all the wealthy burghers
of Haarlem see it there, but all the civic dignitaries of other
cities when they come here on a visit, aye! and the foreign ambassadors
too, who often come to Haarlem. My fame then would indeed ring
throughout Europe. . . . It is very hard that you should disappoint
me so.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">While he went on mumbling in his feeble querulous
voice, Diogenes had been pacing up and down the floor apparently
struggling with insistent thoughts. There was quite a suspicion
of a frown upon his smooth brow, but he said nothing until his
friend had finished speaking. Then he ceased his restless pacing
and placed a hand upon Hals' shoulder.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Look here, old friend,&quot; he said,
&quot;this will never do. It seems as if I, by leaving you in
the lurch to-day, stood in the way of your advancement and of
your fortune. That of course will never do,&quot; he reiterated
earnestly. &quot;You the friend, who, like last night, are always
ready to give me food and shelter when I have been without a grote
in my pocket. You who picked me up ten years ago a shoeless ragamuffin
wandering homeless in the streets, and gave me a hot supper and
a bed, knowing nothing about me save that I was starving . . .
for that was the beginning of our friendship was it not, old Frans?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course it was,&quot; assented the
other, &quot;but that was long ago. You have more than repaid
me since then . . . when you had the means . . . and now there
is the picture. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To repay a debt is not always to be rid
of an obligation. How can I then leave you in the lurch now?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why cannot you stay and sit for me to-day.
. . . The light is fairly good . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot stay now, dear old friend,&quot;
said the other earnestly, &quot;on my honour I would do my duty
by you now if I only could. I have business of the utmost importance
to transact to-day and must see to it forthwith.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then why not to-morrow? . . . I could
work on the doublet and the lace collar to-day, by putting them
on a dummy model. . . . All I want is a good long sitting from
you for the head. . . . I could almost finish the picture to-morrow,&quot;
he pleaded in his peevish melancholy voice, &quot;and the Burgomaster
comes on the next day.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes was silent for awhile. Again that
puzzled frown appeared between his brows. To-morrow he should
be leaving Leyden on his way to Rotterdam; 1,000 guilders would
be in his pocket, and 3,000 more would be waiting for him at the
end of his journey. . . . To-morrow! . . .</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Frans Hals' keen, restless eyes followed every
varying expression in the face he knew so well.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why should you not give up your day to
me to-morrow?&quot; he murmured peevishly. &quot;You have nothing
to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why indeed not?&quot; said the other
with a sudden recrudescence of his usual gaiety. &quot;I can do
it, old compeer! Dondersteen, but I should be a smeerlap if I
did not. Wait one moment. . . . Let me just think. . . . Yes!
I have the way clear in my mind now. . . . I will be here as early
as I was to-day.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By half-past seven o'clock the light
is tolerable,&quot; said the artist.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By half-past seven then I shall have
donned the doublet, and will not move off that platform unless
you bid me, until the shadows have gathered in, in the wake of
the setting sun. After that,&quot; he added with his accustomed
merry laugh, &quot;let Mynheer, the Burgomaster come, your picture
shall not hang fire because of me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That's brave!&quot; said Frans Hals more
cheerily. &quot;If you will come I can do it. You will see how
advanced that sleeve and collar will be by half-past seven to-morrow.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His voice had quite a ring in it now; he fussed
about in his studio, re-arranged the picture on the easel, and
put aside the portrait of Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn; Diogenes watched
him with amusement, but the frown had not quite disappeared from
his brow. He had made two promises to-day, both of which he would
have to fulfil at all costs. Just now, it was in a flash, that
the thought came to him how he could help his friend and yet keep
his word to Beresteyn. A quick plan had formed itself in his mind
for accomplishing this -- he saw in a mental vision the forced
run on the ice back to Haarlem and back again in the wake of the
sleigh. It could be done with much pluck and endurance and a small
modicum of good luck, and already his mind was made up to it,
whatever the cost in fatigue or privations might be.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But time was pressing now. After a renewed
and most solemn promise he took leave of Frans Hals, who already
was too deeply absorbed in work to take much notice of his friend.
The glorious, self-centred selfishness of genius was in him. He
cared absolutely nothing for any worry or trouble he might cause
to the other man by his demand for that sitting on the morrow.
The picture mattered -- nothing else -- and the artist never even
asked his friends if he would suffer inconvenience or worse by
sacrificing his day to it to-morrow.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XIII -- THE SPANISH WENCH</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">An hour later in the tap-room of the &quot;Lame
Cow&quot; Diogenes had finished explaining to his brother philosophers
the work which ha had in hand and for which he required their
help. The explanation had begun with the words filled with portentous
charm:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There will be 500 guilders for each of
you at the end of our journey.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And they knew from many and varied experiences
of adventures undertaken in amicable trilogy that Diogenes would
be as good as these words.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For the rest they did not greatly trouble themselves.
There was a lady to be conveyed with respect and with safety,
out of Haarlem and as far as Rotterdam, and it was in Rotterdam
that the 500 guilders would reward each man for his obedience
to orders, his circumspection at all times and his valour if necessity
arose. From this hour onwards and throughout the journey friend
Diogenes would provide for everything and see that his faithful
compeers lacked in nothing. Temperance and sober conduct would
be the order paramount, but with that exception the adventure
promised to be as exciting as it was lucrative.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was good to hear the guilders jingling in
Diogenes' wallet, and though he was sparing of them in the matter
of heady ale or strong wines, he scattered them liberally enough
on smoked sausage, fried livers and the many other delicacies
for which his brother philosophers had a fancy and for which the
kitchen of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; was famous.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When they had all eaten enough and made merry
on a little good ale and the prospects of the adventure, they
parted on the doorstep of the tavern, Diogenes to attend to business,
the other two to see the horses and the sleigh for this night.
These were to be in readiness at the point where the street of
the Holy Cross abuts on the left bank of the Oude Gracht. Three
good saddle horses were wanted -- thick-set Flanders mares, rough
shod against the slippery roads; also a covered sledge, with two
equally reliable horses harnessed there to and a coachman of sober
appearance on the box. Socrates and Pythagoras were required to
scour the city for these, and to bespeak them for seven o'clock
this evening, Diogenes undertaking to make payment for them in
advance. There were also some warm rugs and wraps to be bought,
for the night would be bitterly cold and the lady not prepared
mayhap with a cloak sufficiently heavy for a lengthy journey.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All these matters having been agreed upon,
Socrates and Pythagoras started to walk toward the eastern portion
of the city where several posting inns were situated and where
they hoped to find the conveyance which they required as well
as the necessary horses. Diogenes on the other hand turned his
steps deliberately southwards.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After a few minutes brisk walking he found
himself at the further end of the Kleine Hout Straat, there where
stood the ricketty, half-mildewed and wholly insalubrious house
which had previously sheltered him. The door as usual was loose
upon its hinges and swinging backwards and forwards in the draught
with a squeaking, melancholy sound. Diogenes pushed it further
open and went in. The same fetid smells, peculiar to all the houses
in this quarter of the city, greeted his nostrils, and from the
depths of the dark and dank passage a dog gave a perfunctory bark.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Without hesitation Diogenes now began the ascent
of the creaking stairs, his heavy footfall echoing through the
silent house. On one or two of the landings as he mounted he was
greeted by pale, inquiring faces and round inquisitive eyes, whilst
ghostlike forms emerged out of hidden burrows for a moment to
look on the noisy visitor and then equally furtively vanished
again.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On the topmost landing he halted; here a small
skylight in the roof afforded a modicum of light. Two doors confronted
him, he went up to one of them and knocked on it loudly with his
fist.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then he waited -- not with great patience but
with his ear glued to the door listening to the sounds within.
It almost seemed as if the room beyond was the abode of the dead,
for not a sound reached the listener's ear. He knocked again,
more loudly this time and more insistently. Still no response.
At the other door on the opposite side of the landing a female
figure appeared wrapped in a worsted rag, and head half hidden
by a linen coif was thrust forward out of the darkness behind
it.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They's won't answer you,&quot; said the
apparition curtly. &quot;They are strangers . . . only came last
night, but all this morning when the landlord or his wife knocked
at the door they simply would not open it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But I am a friend,&quot; said Diogenes,
&quot;the best I fancy that these poor folk have.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You used to lodge here until last night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why yes. The lodgings are mine, I gave
them up to these poor people who had nowhere else to go.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They won't answer you,&quot; reiterated
the female apparition dolefully and once more retired into its
burrow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The situation was becoming irritating. Diogenes
put his mouth against the keyhole and shouted &quot;What ho, there!
Open!&quot; as lustily as his powerful lungs would allow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen!&quot; he exclaimed, when
even then he received no response.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But strange to relate no sooner was this expletive
out of his mouth, than there came a cry like that of a frightened
small animal, followed by a patter of naked feet upon a naked
floor; the next moment the door was thrown invitingly open, and
Diogenes was able to step across its thresh-hold.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen!&quot; he ejaculated again,
&quot;hadst thou not opened, wench, I would within the next few
seconds have battered in the door.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The woman stood looking at him with great,
dark eyes in which joy, surprise and fear struggled for mastery.
Her hair though still unruly was coiled around her head, her shift
and kirtle were neatly fastened, but her legs and feet were bare
and above the shift her neck and shoulders appeared colourless
and attenuated. Eyes and hair were dark, and her skin had the
olive tint of the south, but her lips at this moment looked bloodless,
and there was the look of starvation in her wan face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes walked past her into the inner room.
The old man was lying on the bed, and on the coverlet close to
him a much fingered prayer-book lay open. The woman slipped noiselessly
past the visitor and quietly put the prayer-book away.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You have come to tell us that we must
go,&quot; she said in an undertone as she suddenly faced the newcomer.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed, that was not my purpose,&quot;
he replied gaily, &quot;I have come on the contrary to bring you
good news, and it was foolish of you to keep me dangling on your
doorstep for so long.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The landlord hates us,&quot; she murmured,
&quot;because you forced him last night to take us in. He came
thundering at the door early this morning, and threatened to eject
us as vagabonds or to denounce us as Spanish spies. I would not
open the door to him, and he shouted his threats at us through
the keyhole. When you knocked just now I was frightened. I thought
that he had come back.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her voice was low and though she spoke Dutch
fluently her throat had in it the guttural notes of her native
land. A touch of the gipsy there must be in her, thought Diogenes
as he looked with suddenly aroused interest on the woman before
him, her dark skin, the long, supple limbs, the velvety eyes with
their submissive, terrified look.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With embarrassed movements she offered the
only chair in the room to her visitor, then cast shy, timorous
glances on him as he refused to sit, preferring to lean his tall
figure against the white-washed wall. She thought that never in
her life had she seen any man so splendid and her look of bold
admiration told him so without disguise.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well!&quot; he said with his quaint smile,
&quot;I am not the landlord, nor yet an enemy. Art thou convinced
of that?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, I am!&quot; she said with a little
sigh, as she turned away from him in order to attend to the old
man, who was moaning peevishly in bed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He has lost the use of speech,&quot;
she said to Diogenes as soon as she had seen to the old man's
wants, &quot;and to-day he is so crippled that he can scarcely
move. We ought never to have come to this horrible cold part of
the country,&quot; she added with a sudden tone of fierce resentment.
&quot;I think that we shall both die of misery before we leave
it again.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why did you come her then at all?&quot;
asked Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We wandered hither, because we heard
that the people in this city were so rich. I was born not far
from here, and so was my mother, but my father is a native of
Spain. In France, in Brabant where we wandered before, we always
earned a good living by begging at the church doors, but here
the people are so hard. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will have to wander back to Spain.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes,&quot; she said sullenly, &quot;as
soon as I have earned a little money and father is able to move,
neither of which seems very likely just now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah!&quot; he said cheerily, &quot;that
is, wench, where I proclaim thee wrong! I do not know when thy
father will be able to move, but I can tell thee at this very
moment where and how thou canst earn fifty guilders which should
take thee quite a long way toward Spain.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She looked up at him and once more that glance
of joy and of surprise crept into her eyes which had seemed so
full of vindictive anger just now. With the surprise and the joy
there also mingled the admiration, the sense of well-being in
his presence.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Already he had filled the bare, squalid room
with his breezy personality, with his swagger and with his laughter;
his ringing voice had roused the echoes that slept in the mouldy
rafters and frightened the mice that dwelt in the wainscoting
and now scampered hurriedly away.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I,&quot; she said with obvious incredulity,
&quot;I to earn fifty guilders! I have not earned so much in any
six months of my life.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Perhaps not,&quot; he rejoined gaily.
&quot;But I can promise thee this; that the fifty guilders will
be thine this evening, if thou wilt render me a simple service.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Render thee a service,&quot; she said,
and her low voice sounded quite cooing and gentle, &quot;I would
thank God on my knees if I could render thee a service. Didst
thou not save my life . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By thy leave we'll not talk of that matter.
'Tis over and done with now. The service I would ask of thee,
though 'tis simple enough to perform, I could not ask of anyone
else but thee. An thou'lt do it, I shall be more than repaid.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Name it, sir,&quot; she said simply.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dost know the bank of the Oude Gracht?&quot;
he asked.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well,&quot; she replied.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dost know the Oudenvrouwenhuis situated
there?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Next to its outer walls there is a narrow
passage which leads to the Remonstrant Chapel of St. Pieter.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is, sir. I know it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This evening at seven o'clock then thou'lt
take thy stand at the corner of this passage facing the Oude Gracht;
and there thou wilt remain to ask alms from the passers-by. Thou'rt
not afraid?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Afraid of what, sir?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The spot is lonely, the passage leads
nowhere except to the chapel, which has been deserted these past
five years.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am not afraid.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That's brave! After evensong is over
at the cathedral, one or two people will no doubt come thy way.
Thou'lt beg them for alms in the usual way. But anon a lady will
come accompanied by a duenna and preceded by two serving men carrying
lanthorns. From her thou must ask insistently, and tell her as
sad a tale of woe as thou canst think on, keeping well within
the narrow passage and inducing her to follow thee.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How shall I know the lady? There may
be others who go past that way, and who might also be escorted
by a woman and two serving men.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The men wear green and purple livery,
with peaked green caps trimmed with fur. Thou canst not mistake
them even in the dark, for the light of the lanthorns which they
carry will be upon them. But I will be in the passage close behind
thee. When I see her coming I will warn thee.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I understand,&quot; she said, nodding
her head slowly once or twice as if she were brooding over what
she thought. &quot;But surely that is not all that I can do for
thee.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed it is, and therefore none too
difficult. Having drawn the lady in the shadow by thy talk, contrive
to speak to her, telling her of thy troubles. If anything occurs
after that to surprise or mayhap frighten thee, pay no heed to
it, but take at once to thy heels and run straight home here,
without looking to right or left. No one will molest thee, I give
thee my word.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I understand!&quot; she reiterated once
more.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And wilt thou do as I ask?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course. My life is thine; thou didst
save it twice. Thou hast but to command and I will obey.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We'll call it that,&quot; he said lightly,
&quot;since it seems to please thee. To-night then at seven o'clock,
I too, will be on the spot to place the fifty guilders in thy
hand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Fifty guilders!&quot; she exclaimed almost
with ecstasy, and pressed her hands to her breast. &quot;My father
and I need not starve or be homeless the whole of this winter.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou'lt make tracks for Spain very soon,&quot;
he rejoined carelessly, for he had accomplished his business and
was making ready to go.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She threw him a strange look, half defiant
yet almost reproachful.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Perhaps!&quot; she said curtly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He took leave of her in his usual pleasant,
airy manner, smiling at her earnestness and at her looks that
reminded him of a starving dog which he had once picked up in
the streets of Prague and kept and fed for a time, until he found
it a permanent home. When he gave the dog away to some kindly
people who promised to be kind to it, it threw him, at parting,
just such a look as dwelt in the dark depths of this girl's eyes
now.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The old cripple on the bed had fallen into
a torpor-like sleep. Diogenes cast a compassionate glance on him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou canst take him to better quarters
in a day or two,&quot; he said, &quot;and mayhap give him some
good food . . . Dondersteen!&quot; he exclaimed suddenly, &quot;what
art doing, girl?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had stoop and kissed his hand. He drew
it away almost roughly, but at the timid look of humble apology
which she raised to him, he said gently:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By St. Bavon thou'rt a funny child! Well?
what is it now?&quot; he asked, for she stood hesitating before
him, with a question obviously hovering on her lips.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I dare not,&quot; she murmured.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Art afraid of me then?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A little.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yet there is something thou desirest
to ask?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is it? Quickly now, for I must be
going.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She waited for a moment or two trying to gain
courage, whilst he watched her, greatly amused.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is it?&quot; he reiterated more
impatiently.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then a whispered murmur escaped her lips.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The lady?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes. What of her?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou dost love her?&quot; she stammered,
&quot;and wilt abduct her to-night because of thy love for her?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For a second or two he looked on her in blank
amazement, marvelling if he had entrusted this vital business
to a semi-imbecile. Then seeing that indeed she appeared in deadly
earnest, and that her great, inquiring but perfectly lucid eyes
were fixed upon him with mute insistence, he threw back his head
and laughed till the very rafters of the low room shook with the
echo of his merriment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen!&quot; he said as soon as
he felt that he could speak again, &quot;but thou truly art a
strange wench. Whatever did put that idea into thy head?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou dost propose to abduct her, I know
that,&quot; she said more firmly. &quot;I am no fool, and I understand
I am to be the decoy. The dark passage, the lonely spot, thy presence
there . . . and then the occurrence, as thou saidst, that might
surprise or frighten me . . . I am no fool,&quot; she repeated
sullenly, &quot;I understand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Apparently,&quot; he retorted dryly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou dost love her?&quot; she insisted.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is it to thee?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No matter; only tell me this, dost thou
love her?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If I said 'yes' &quot; he asked with
his whimsical smile, &quot;wouldst refuse to help me?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh no!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And if I said 'no'?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I should be glad,&quot; she said simply.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then we'll say 'no!' &quot; he concluded
lightly, &quot;for I would like to see thee glad.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he had his wish, for quite a joyous smile
lit up her small, pinched face. She tripped quite briskly to the
door and held it open for him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If thou desirest to speak with me again,&quot;
she said, as he finally took his leave, &quot;give four raps on
the door at marked intervals. I would fly to open it then.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He thanked her and went down stairs, humming
a lively tune and never once turning to look on her again. And
yet she was learning over the ricketty banisters watching his
slowly descending figure, until it disappeared in the gloom.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XIV -- After Evensong</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn had spent many hours
in church this New Year's Day, 1624. In spite of the inclemency
of the weather she had attended Morning Prayer and Holy Communion
and now she was back again for Evensong.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The cathedral was not very full for it. Most
people were making merry at home to celebrate the festival; so
Gilda had a corner of the sacred building all to herself, where
she could think matters over silently and with the help of prayer.
The secret of which she had gained knowledge was weighing heavily
on her soul; and heart-rending doubts had assailed her all night
and throughout the day.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">How could she know what was the right thing
to do? -- to allow a crime of which she had fore-knowledge, to
be committed without raising a finger to prevent it? or to betray
her own brother and his friends -- a betrayal which would inevitably
lead them to the scaffold?</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her father was of course her great refuge,
and to-night through Evensong she prayed to God to guide her,
as to whether she should tell everything to her father or not.
She had warned Nicolaes that she might do so, and yet her very
soul shrank from the act which to many would seem so like betrayal.
Cornelius Beresteyn was a man of rigid principles and unyielding
integrity. What he might do with the knowledge of the conspiracy
in which his own son was taking a leading part, no one -- not
even his daughter -- could foresee. In no case would she act hurriedly.
She hoped against all hope that mayhap Nicolaes would see his
own treachery in its true light and turn from it before it was
too late, or that God would give her some unmistakable sign of
what He willed her to do.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Perplexed and wretched she stayed long on her
knees and left the church after every one else. The night was
dark and though the snow had left off falling momentarily, the
usual frosty mist hung over the city. Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn
wrapped her fur-lined cloak closely round her shoulders and started
on her homeward walk, with Maria by her side and Jakob and Piet
on in front carrying their lanthorns.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her way took her firstly across the Groote
Markt then down the Hout Straat until she reached the Oude Gracht.
Here her two serving men kept quite close in front of her for
the embankment was lonely and a well-known resort for evil doers
who found refuge in the several dark passages that run at right
angles from the canal and have no outlet at their further end.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn followed rapidly in
the wake of her lanthorn bearers and keeping Maria -- who was
always timorous on dark nights and in lonely places -- quite close
to her elbow. Every footstep of the way was familiar to her. Now
the ground was frozen hard and the covering of snow crisp beneath
her feet as she walked, but in the autumn and the spring the mud
here was ankle-deep, save on one or two rare spots in front of
the better houses or public buildings where a few stones formed
a piece of dry pavement. Such a spot was the front of the Oudenvrouwenhuis
with its wide oaken gateway and high brick walls. The unmade road
here was always swept neatly and tidily; during the rainy seasons
the mud was washed carefully away and in the winter it was kept
free from snow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beyond it was a narrow passage which led to
the Chapel of St. Pieter, now disused since the Remonstrants had
fallen into such bad odour after the death of Olden Barneveld
and the treachery of his sons. The corner of this passage was
a favourite haunt for beggars, but only for the humbler ones --
since there is a hierarchy even amongst beggars, and the more
prosperous ones, those known to the town-guard and the night-watchmen,
flocked around the church porches. In this spot where there were
but a few passers-by, only those poor wretches came who mayhap
had something to hide from the watchful eyes of the guardians
of this city, those who had been in prison or had deserted from
the army, or were known to be rogues and thieves.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda Beresteyn, who had a soft heart, always
kept a few kreutzers in the palm of her hand ready to give to
any of these poor outcasts who happened to beg for alms along
the embankment, but she never liked to stop here in order to give
those other alms, which she knew were oft more acceptable than
money -- the alms of kindly words.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To-night, however, she herself felt miserable
and lonely and the voice that came to her out of the darkness
of the narrow passage which leads to the Chapel of St. Pieter
was peculiarly plaintive and sweet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the love of Christ, gentle lady,&quot;
murmured the voice softly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda stopped, ready with the kreutzers in
her hand. But it was very dark just here and the snow appeared
too deep to traverse; she could not see the melancholy speaker,
though she knew of course that it was a woman.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bring the lanthorn a little nearer, Jakob,&quot;
she said.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do not stop, mejuffrouw, to parley with
any of these scamps,&quot; said Maria as she clung fearsomely
to her mistress's cloak.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the love of Christ, gentle lady!&quot;
sighed the pitiable voice out of the darkness again.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jakob brought the lanthorn nearer.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Some half a dozen steps up the passage a pathetic
little figure appeared to view, the figure of a woman -- a mere
girl -- with ragged shift and bare legs half buried in the depths
of the snow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda without hesitation went up to her, money
in hand, her own feet sinking in ankle deep into the cold, white
carpet below. The girl retreated as the kind lady advanced, apparently
scared by the two men who had paused one at each corner of the
passage holding their lanthorns well above their heads.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Don't be frightened, girl,&quot; said
Gilda Beresteyn gently, &quot;here's a little money. You look
so cold, poor child!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The next moment a double cry behind her caused
her to turn in a trice: she had only just time to take in the
terrifying fact that Piet and Jakob had dropped their lanthorns
to the ground even as thick dark cloths were thrown over their
heads -- before she found herself firmly seized round the waist
by a powerful arm whilst some kind of scarf was wound quickly
round her face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had not the time to scream, the enveloping
scarf smothered her cry even as it formed in her throat. The last
thing of which she was clearly conscious was of a voice -- which
strangely enough sounded familiar -- saying hurriedly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Here, take thy money, girl, and run home
now as fast as thy feet will take thee.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After that, though she was never totally unconscious,
she was only dimly aware of what happened to her. She certainly
felt herself lifted off the ground and carried for some considerable
distance. What seemed to her a long, long time afterwards she
became aware that she was lying on her back and that there was
a smell of sweet hay and fresh straw around her. Close to her
ear there was the sound of a woman moaning. The scarf still covered
her face, but it had been loosened so that she could breathe,
and presently when she opened her eyes, she found that the scarf
only covered her mouth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">As she lay on her back she could see nothing
above her. She was not cold for the straw around her formed a
warm bed, and her cloak had been carefully arranged so as to cover
her completely, whilst her feet were wrapped up snugly in a rug.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was only when complete consciousness returned
to her that she realized that she was lying in an object that
moved: she became conscious of the jingling of harness and of
occasional unpleasant jolting, whilst the darkness overhead was
obviously caused by the roof of a vehicle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She tried to raise herself on her elbow, but
she discovered that loose, though quite efficient bonds held her
pinioned down; her arms, however, were free and she put out her
hand in the direction whence came the muffled sound of a woman
moaning.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Lord! God Almighty! Lord in Heaven!&quot;
and many more appeals of a like character escaped the lips of
Gilda's companion in misfortune.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Maria! Is it thou?&quot; said Gilda in
a whisper. Her hand went groping in the dark until it encountered
firstly a cloak, then an arm and finally a head apparently also
enveloped in a cloth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Lord God Almighty!&quot; sighed the other
woman feebly through the drapery. &quot;Is it mejuffrouw?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, Maria, it is I!&quot; whispered
Gilda, &quot;whither are they taking us, thinkest thou?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To some lonely spot where they can conveniently
murder us!&quot; murmured Maria with a moan of anguish.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But what became of Piet and Jakob?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Murdered probably. The cowards could
not defend us.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda strained her ears to listen. She hoped
by certain sounds to make out at least in which direction she
was being carried away. Above the rattle and jingle of the harness
she could hear at times the measured tramp of horses trotting
in the rear, and she thought at one time that the sleigh went
over the wooden bridge on the Spaarne and then under the echoing
portals of one of the city gates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her head after awhile began to ache terribly
and her eyes felt as if they were seared with coal. Of course
she lost all count of time: it seemed an eternity since she had
spoken to the girl in the dark passage which leads to the chapel
of St. Pieter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Maria who lay beside her moaned incessantly
for awhile like a fretful child, but presently she became silent.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Perhaps she had gone to sleep. The night air
which found its way through the chinks of the hood came more keen
and biting against Gilda's face. It cooled her eyes and eased
the throbbing of her head. She felt very tired and as if her body
had been bruised all over.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The noises around her became more monotonous,
the tramping of the horses in the rear of the sleigh sounded muffled
and subdued. Drowsiness overcame Gilda Beresteyn and she fell
into a troubled, half-waking sleep.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XV -- THE HALT AT BENNEBROCK</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For a long time she had been half-awake, ever
since the vehicle had stopped, which must have been ages and ages
ago. She had lain in a kind of torpor, various sounds coming to
her ear as through the veil of dreams: there was Maria snoring
contentedly close by, and the horses champing their bits and pawing
the hard-frozen ground, also there was the murmur of voices, subdued
and muffled -- but she could not distinguish words.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Not for a long time at any rate -- an interminably
long time!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her body and limbs felt quite numb, pleasantly
warm under the rugs and cloaks, only her face rejoiced in the
cold blast that played around it and kept her forehead and eyes
cool.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once it seemed to her as if out of the darkness
more than one pair of eyes were looking down on her, and she had
the sense as of a warm rapid breath that mingled with the pure
frosty air. After which some one murmured:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She is still unconscious.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I think not,&quot; was the whispered
reply.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She lay quite still, in case those eyes came
to look on her again. The murmuring voices sounded quite close
to the sleigh now, and soon she found that by holding her breath,
and straining her every listening faculty she could detach the
words that struck her ear from all the other sounds around her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Two men, she thought, were speaking, but their
voices were never once raised above a whisper.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are satisfied?&quot; she heard one
of these saying quite distinctly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Entirely!&quot; was the response.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The letter to Ben Isaje?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am not like to lose it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hush! I heard a sound from under the
hood.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis only the old woman snoring.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I wish you could have found a more comfortable
sledge.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There was not to be had in Haarlem to-day.
But we'll easily get one in Leyden.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In Leyden! Gilda's numbed body quivered with
horror. She was being taken to Leyden and further on still by
sleigh! Her thoughts at present were still chaotic but gradually
she was sorting them out, one or two becoming more clear, more
insistent than the rest.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would like the jongejuffrouw to have
something to eat and drink,&quot; came once more in whispers from
out the darkness. &quot;I fear that she will faint!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! no!&quot; came the prompt, peremptory
reply, &quot;it would be madness to let her realize so soon where
she is. She knows this place well.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A halt on the way to Leyden! and thence a further
journey by sledge! Gilda's thoughts were distinctly less chaotic
already. She was beginning to marshal them up in her mind, together
with her recollections of the events of the past twenty-four hours.
The darkness around her, which was intense, and the numbness of
her body all helped her to concentrate her faculties on these
recollections first and on the obvious conclusions based upon
her position at the present moment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was being silenced effectually because
of the knowledge which she had gained in the cathedral last night.
The Lord of Stoutenburg, frightened for his plans, was causing
her to be put out of his way. Never for a moment did she suspect
her own brother in this. It was that conscienceless, ambitious,
treacherous Stoutenburg! at most her brother was blindly acquiescent
in this infamy.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda was not afraid. Not even when this conviction
became fully matured in her mind. She was not afraid for herself,
although for one brief moment the thought did cross her mind that
mayhap she had only been taken out of Haarlem in order that her
death might be more secretly encompassed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But she was cast in a firmer mould than most
women of her rank and wealth would be. She came of a race that
had faced misery, death and torture of over a century for the
sake of its own independence of life and of faith, and was ready
to continue the struggle for another hundred years if need be
for the same ideals, and making the same sacrifices in order to
attain them. Gilda Beresteyn gave but little thought to her own
safety. Life to her, if Stoutenburg's dastardly conspiracy against
the Stadtholder was successful and involved her own brother, would
be of little value to her. Nicolaes' act of treachery would break
her father's heart; what matter if she herself lived to witness
all that misery or not.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No! it was her helpless at this moment that
caused her the most excruciating soul-agony. She had been trapped
and was being cast aside like a noxious beast, that is in the
way of men. Like a child that is unruly and has listened at the
keyhole of the door, she was being punished and rendered harmless.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Indeed she had no fear for her safety; the
few words which she had heard, the presence of Maria, all tended
to point out that there would be no direct attempt against her
life. It was only of that awful crime that she thought, the crime
which she had so fondly hoped that she might yet frustrate: it
was of the Stadtholder's safety that she thought and of her brother's
sin.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She also thought of her poor father who, ignorant
of the events which had brought about this infamous abduction,
would be near killing himself with sorrow at the mysterious disappearance
of his only daughter. Piet and Jakob would tell how they had been
set on in the dark -- footpads would be suspected, the countryside
where they usually have their haunts would be scoured for them,
but the high road leading to Leyden would never mayhap be watched,
and certainly a sleigh under escort would never draw the attention
of the guardians of the peace.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">While these thoughts whirled wildly in her
brain it seemed that preparations had been and were being made
for departure. She heard some whispered words again:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Where will you put up at Leyden?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At the 'White Goat.' I know the landlord
well.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will he be awake at so late an hour?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I will ride ahead and rouse his household.
They shall be prepared for our coming.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You seem to forget, sir,&quot; came in
somewhat louder tones, &quot;that all the arrangements for this
journey were to be left entirely to my discretion.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For the moment Gilda could catch no further
words distinctly: whether a quarrel had ensued or not she could
not conjecture, but obviously the two speakers had gone some little
distance away from the sledge. All that she could hear was --
after a brief while of silence -- a quaint muffled laugh which
though it scarce was distinguishable from the murmur of the wind,
so soft was it, nevertheless betrayed to her keenly sensitive
ear an undercurrent of good-humored irony.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Again there seemed something familiar to her
in the sound.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After this there was renewed tramping of heavy
feet on the snow-covered ground, the clang of bits and chains,
the creaking of trace, the subdued call of encouragement to horses:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Forward!&quot; came a cheery voice from
the rear.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once more they were on the move; on the way
to Leyden -- distant six leagues from her home. Gilda could have
cried out now in her misery. She pictured her father -- broken-hearted
all through the night, sending messengers hither and thither to
the various gates of the city, unable no doubt to get satisfactory
information at this late hour: she pictured Nicolaes feigning
ignorance of the whole thing, making pretence of anxiety and grief.
Torturing thoughts kept her awake, though her body was racked
with fatigue. The night was bitterly cold, and the wind, now that
they had reached open country, cut at times across her face like
a knife.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The sledge glided along with great swiftness
now, over the smooth, thick carpet of snow that covered the long,
straight road. Gilda knew that the sea was not far off: but she
also knew that every moment now she was being dragged further
and further away from the chance of averting from her father and
from her house the black catastrophe of disgrace which threatened
them.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XVI -- LEYDEN</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It seemed that from some church tower far away
a clock struck the hour of midnight when the sledge at last came
to a halt.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Worn out with nerve-racking thoughts, as well
as with the cruel monotony of the past four hours, Gilda felt
her soul and body numb and lifeless as a stone. There was much
running and shouting round the vehicle, of horses' hoofs resounding
against rough cobble-stones, of calls for ostler and landlord.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then for awhile comparative quietude. Maria
still snored unperturbed, and Gilda, wide-eyed and with beating
heart, awaited further events. Firstly the hood of the sledge
in which she lay was lifted off: she could hear the ropes and
straps being undone, the tramp of feet all round her and an occasional
volley of impatient oaths. Then out of the darkness a pleasant
voice called her somewhat peremptorily by name.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Mejuffrouw Beresteyn!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She did not reply, but lay quite still, with
wide-open eyes like a bird that has been tracked and knows that
it is being watched. Maria uttered a loud groan and tried to roll
over on her side.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Where have those murderers taken us to
now?&quot; she muttered through the veil that still enveloped
her mouth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The pleasant voice close to Gilda's ear, now
called out more loudly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Here, Pythagoras, Socrates! lift the
mevrouw out of the sleigh and carry her up to the room which the
landlord hath prepared for the ladies.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Maria immediately gave vent to violent shrieks
of protest.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How dare ye touch me!&quot; she screamed
at the top of her voice, &quot;ye murdering devils dare but lay
a finger on a respectable woman and God will punish you with pestilence
and dislocation and . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It must be presumed that neither Pythagoras
nor Socrates were greatly upset by the mevrouw's curses, for Gilda,
who was on the alert for every movement and for every sound, was
well aware that Maria's highly respectable person was presently
seized by firm hands, that the shawl round her face was pressed
more tightly against her mouth -- for her screams sounded more
muffled -- and that despite her struggles, her cries and her kicking
she was lifted bodily out of the sledge.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When these disquieting sounds had died down
the same pleasant voice broke in once again on Gilda's obstinate
silence.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Mejuffrouw Beresteyn!&quot; it reiterated
once again.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen! but 'tis no use lying mum
there, and pretending to be asleep,&quot; it continued after awhile,
since Gilda certainly had taken no notice of the call, &quot;that
old woman made enough noise to wake the dead.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Still not a sound from Gilda, who -- more like
a cowering bird than ever -- was trying with widely-dilated eyes
to pierce the darkness around her, in order to see something of
the enemy. She saws the outline of a plumed hat like a patch of
ink against the sky above, and also a pair of very broad shoulders
that were stooping toward the floor of the sledge.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hey!&quot; shouted the enemy with imperturbable
cheerfulness, &quot;leave that door wide open, I'll carry the
jongejuffrouw in myself. She seems to be unconscious.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The words roused Gilda out of her attitude
of rigid silence, -- the words which she looked on as awful threat,
and also the sensation that the loose bonds which had pinioned
her down to the vehicle were being undone.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am not unconscious,&quot; she said
aloud and quite calmly, &quot;and was quite aware just now that
you laid rough hands on a helpless woman. Since I am equally helpless
and in your power I pray you to command what I must do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Come! that's brave! I knew that you could
not be asleep,&quot; rejoined the enemy with inveterate good-humour,
&quot;but for the moment, mejuffrouw, I must ask you to descend
from this sleigh. It has been a vastly uncomfortable vehicle for
you to travel in, I fear me, but it was the best that we could
get in Haarlem on New Year's day. An you will deign to enter this
humble hostelry you will find the mevrouw there, a moderately
good supper and something resembling a bed, all of which I am
thinking will be highly acceptable to you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">While the enemy spoke, Gilda had a few seconds
in which to reflect. Above all things she was a woman of sense
and one who valued her own dignity; she knew quite well that the
making of a scene outside an inn in a strange town and at this
hour of the night could but result in a loss of that dignity which
she so highly prized, seeing that she was entirely at the mercy
of men who were not likely to yield either to her protests or
to her appeals.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Therefore, when she felt that she was free
to move, she made every effort to raise herself; uncomfortably
these long hours of weary motionless lying on her back, had made
her limbs so numb that they refused her service. She made one
or two brave attempts to hide her helplessness, but when she wanted
to draw up her knees, she nearly cried with the pain of trying
to move them out of their cramped position.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It were wiser methinks,&quot; quoth the
enemy with a slight tone of mockery in his cheerful voice, &quot;it
were wiser to accept the help of my arms. They are strong, firm
and not cramped. Try them, mejuffrouw, you will have no cause
to regret it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Quite involuntarily -- for of a truth she shrank
from the mere touch of this rascal who obviously was in the pay
of Stoutenburg, and doing the latter's infamous work for him --
quite involuntarily then, she placed her hand upon the arm which
he had put out as a prop for her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was as firm as a rock. Leaning on it somewhat
heavily she was able to struggle to her knees. This made her venturesome.
She tried to stand up; but fatigue, the want of food, the excitement
and anxiety which she had endured, combined with the fact that
she had been in a recumbent position for many hours, caused her
to turn desperately giddy. She swayed like a young sapling under
the wind, and would have fallen but that the same strong arm firm
as a rock was there to receive her ere she fell.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">I suppose that dizziness deprived her of her
full senses, else she would never have allowed that knave to lift
her out of the sledge and then to carry her into a building, and
up some narrow and very steep stairs. but this Diogenes did do,
with but scant ceremony; he thought her protests foolish, and
her attempts at lofty disdain pitiable. She was after all but
a poor, helpless scrap of humanity, so slight and frail that as
he carried her into the house, there was grave danger of his crushing
her into nothingness as she lay in his arms.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Despite her pride and her aloofness he found
it in his heart to pity her just now. Had she been fully conscious
she would have hated to see herself pillowed thus against the
doublet of so contemptible a knave; and here she was absolutely
handed over body and soul to a nameless stranger, who in her sight,
was probably no better than a menial -- and this by the cynical
act of one who next to her father was her most natural protector.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Yes, indeed he did pity her, for she seemed
to him more than ever like that poor little song-bird whom a lout
had tortured for his own pleasure by lucking out its feathers
one by one. It seemed monstrous that so delicate a creature should
be the victim of men's intrigues and passions. Why! even! her
breath had the subtle scent of tulips as it fanned his cheeks
and nostrils when he stooped in order to look on her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the meanwhile he had been as good as his
word. He had pushed on to Leyden in advance of the cort&egrave;ge,
had roused the landlord of this hostelry and the serving wenches,
and scattered money so freely that despite the lateness of the
hour a large square room -- the best in the house, and scrupulously
clean as to the red-tiled floor and walnut furniture -- was at
once put at the disposal of the ladies of so noble a travelling
company.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The maids were sent flying hither and thither,
one into the kitchen to make ready some hot supper, the other
to the linen press to find the finest set of bed linen all sweetly
laid by in rosemary.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes, still carrying Gilda, pushed the
heavy panelled door open with his foot, and without looking either
to right or left of him made straight for the huge open hearth,
wherein already logs of pinewood had been set ablaze, and beside
which stood an armchair, covered with Utrecht velvet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Into its inviting and capacious depths he deposited
his inanimate burden, and only then did he become aware of two
pairs of eyes, which were fixed upon him with very different expression.
A buxom wench in ample wide kirtle of striped duffle, had been
busy when he entered in spreading clean linen sheets upon the
narrow little bed built in the panelling of the room. From under
her quaint winged cap of starched lace a pair of very round eyes,
blue as the Ryn, peeped in na&iuml;ve undisguised admiration on
the intruder, whilst from beneath her disordered coif Maria threw
glances of deadly fury upon him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Could looks but kill, Maria certes would have
annihilated the low rascal who had dared to lay hands upon the
noble jongejuffrouw. But our friend Diogenes was not a man to
be perturbed either by admiring or condemning looks. He picked
up a footstool from under the table and put it under the jongejuffrouw's
feet; then he looked about him for a pillow, and with scant ceremony
took one straight out of the hands of the serving wench who was
just shaking it up ready for the bed. His obvious intention was
to place it behind the jongejuffrouw's head, but at this act of
unforgivable presumption Maria's wrath cast aside all restraint.
Like a veritable fury she strode up to the insolent rascal, and
snatched the pillow from him, throwing on him such a look of angry
contempt as should have sent him grovelling on his knees.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Keep thy blood cool, mevrouw,&quot; he
said with the best of humour, &quot;thy looks have already made
a weak-kneed coward of me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With the dignity of an offended turkey hen,
Maria arranged the pillow herself under her mistress's head, having
previously shaken it and carefully dusted off the blemish caused
upon its surface by contact with an unclean hand. As for the footstool,
she would not even allow it to remain there where that same unclean
hand had placed it; she kicked it aside with her foot and drew
up her small, round stature in a comprehensive gesture of outraged
pride.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes made her a low bow, sweeping the floor
with his plumed hat. The serving wench had much ado to keep a
serious countenance, so comical did the mevrouw look in her wrath,
and so mirth-provoking the gentleman with his graceful airs and
unruffled temper. Anon laughter tickled her so that she had to
run quickly out of the room, in order to indulge in a fit of uncontrolled
mirth, away from the reproving glances of mevrouw.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was the pleasant sound of that merry laughter
outside the door that caused the jongejuffrouw to come to herself
and to open wide, wondering eyes. She looked around her, vaguely
puzzled, taking in the details of the cosy room, the crackling
fire, the polished table, the inviting bed that exhaled an odour
of dried rosemary.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then her glance fell on Diogenes, who was standing
hat in hand in the centre of the room, with the light from the
blazing logs playing upon his smiling face, and the immaculate
whiteness of his collar.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She frowned. And he who stood there -- carelessly
expectant -- could not help wondering whether with that swift
contemptuous glance which she threw on him, she had already recognized
him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Mejuffrouw,&quot; he said, thus checking
with a loud word the angry exclamation which hovered on her lips,
&quot;if everything here is not entirely in accordance with your
desires, I pray you but to command and it shall be remedied if
human agency can but contrive to do so. As for me, I am entirely
at your service -- your major domo, your servant, your outrider,
anything you like to name me. Send but for your servant if you
have need of aught; supper will be brought up to you immediately,
and in the meanwhile I beg leave to free you from my unwelcome
company.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Already there was a goodly clatter of platters,
and of crockery outside, and as the wench re-entered anon bearing
a huge tray on which were set out several toothsome things, Diogenes
contrived to make his exit without encountering further fusillades
of angry glances.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He joined his friends in the tap-room downstairs,
and as he was young, vigorous and hungry he set to with them and
ate a hearty supper. But he spoke very little and the rough jests
of his brother philosophers met with but little response from
him.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 17</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XVII -- AN UNDERSTANDING</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At one hour after midnight the summons came.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Maria, majestic and unbending, sailed into
the tap-room where Pythagoras and Socrates were already stretched
out full-length upon a couple of benches fast asleep and Diogenes
still struggling to keep awake.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The noble Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn desires
your presence,&quot; she said addressing the latter with lofty
dignity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At once he rose to his feet, and followed Maria
up the stairs and into the lady's room. From this room an inner
door gave on another smaller alcove-like chamber, wherein a bed
had been prepared for Maria.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda somewhat curtly ordered her to retire.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I will call you, Maria,&quot; she said,
&quot;when I have need of you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes with elaborate courtesy threw the
inner door open, and stood beside it plumed hat in hand while
the mevrouw sailed past him, with arms folded across her ample
bosom, and one of those dignified glances in her round eyes that
should have annihilated this impious malapert, whose face -- despite
its airs of deference, was wreathed in an obviously ironical smile.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was only when the heavy oaken door had fallen
to behind her duenna that Gilda with an imperious little gesture
called Diogenes before her. He advanced hat in hand as was his
wont, his magnificent figure very erect, his head with its wealth
of untamed curls slightly bent. But he looked on her boldly with
those laughter-filled twinkling eyes of his and since he was young
and neither ascetic nor yet a misanthrope, we may take it that
he had some considerable pleasure in the contemplation of the
dainty picture which she presented against the background of dull
gold velvet: her small head propped against the cushions, and
feathery curls escaping from under her coif and casting pearly,
transparent shadows upon the ivory whiteness of her brow. Her
two hands were resting each on an arm of the chair, and looked
more delicate than ever now in the soft light of the tallow candles
that burned feebly in the pewter candelabra upon the table.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes for the moment envied his friend Frans
Hals for the power which the painter of pictures has placing so
dainty an image on record for all time. His look of bold admiration,
however, caused Gilda's glance to harden, and she drew herself
up in her chair in an attitude more indicative of her rank and
station and of her consciousness of his inferiority.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But not with a single look or smile did she
betray whether she had recognized him or not.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your name?&quot; she asked curtly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His smile broadened -- self-deprecatingly this
time.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They call me Diogenes,&quot; he replied.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A strange name,&quot; she commented,
&quot;but 'tis of no consequence.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of none whatever,&quot; he rejoined,
&quot;I had not ventured to pronounce it, only that you deigned
to ask.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Again she frowned: the tome of gentle mockery
had struck unpleasantly on her ear and she did not like that look
of self-satisfied independence which sat on him as if to the manner
born, when he was only an abject menial, paid to do dirty work
for his betters.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have sent for you, sir,&quot; she resumed
after a slight pause, &quot;because I wished to demand of you
an explanation of your infamous conduct. Roguery and vagabondage
are severely punished by our laws, and you have brought your neck
uncommonly near the gallows by your act of highway robbery. Do
you hear me?&quot; she asked more peremptorily, seeing that he
made no attempt at a reply.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I hear you, mejuffrouw.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what is your explanation?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That is my trouble, mejuffrouw. I have
none to offer.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you refuse then to tell me what your
purpose is in thus defying the laws of the land and risking the
gallows by laying hands upon me and upon my waiting woman in the
open streets, and by taking me away by brute force from my home?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My purpose, mejuffrouw, is to convey
you safely as far as Rotterdam, where I will hand you over into
the worthy keeping of a gentleman who will relieve me of further
responsibility with regard to your precious person.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In Rotterdam?&quot; she exclaimed, &quot;what
should I do in Rotterdam?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nothing, I imagine,&quot; replied Diogenes
dryly, &quot;for you would not remain there longer than is necessary.
I am the bearer of written orders to that same gentleman in Rotterdam
that he shall himself conduct you under suitable escort -- of
which I no doubt will still form an integral part -- to his private
residence, which I am told is situate outside the city and on
the road to Delft.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A likely story indeed!&quot; she rejoined
vehemently, &quot;I'll not believe it! Common theft and robbery
are your purpose, nothing less, else you had not stolen my purse
from me nor the jewels which I wore.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I had to take your purse and your jewels
from you, mejuffrouw,&quot; he said with perfect equanimity, &quot;else
you might have used them for the purpose of slipping through my
fingers. Wenches at wayside inns are easily amenable to bribes,
so are the male servants at city hostelries. But your purse and
the trinkets which you wore are safely stowed away in my wallet.
I shall have the honour of returning them to you when we arrive
in Rotterdam.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of returning them to me,&quot; she said
with a contemptuous laugh, &quot;do knaves like you ever return
stolen property?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Seldom, I admit,&quot; he replied still
with unruffled good-humour. &quot;Nevertheless an exception hath
often proved a rule. Your purse and trinkets are here,&quot; he
added.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And from his wallet he took out a small leather
purse and some loose jewellery which he showed to her.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And,&quot; he added ere he once more
replaced them in his wallet, &quot;I will guard them most carefully
until I can return them to you in Rotterdam, after which time
'twil be some one else's business to see that you do not slip
through his fingers.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you expect me to believe such a senseless
tale,&quot; she rejoined contemptuously.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There are many things in this world and
the next, mejuffrouw,&quot; he said lightly, &quot;that are true
though some of us believe them not.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nay! but this I do believe on the evidence
of mine own eyes -- that you stole my money and my jewels and
have no intention of returning them to me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your opinion of me, mejuffrouw, is already
so low that it matters little surely if you think me a common
thief as well.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My opinion of you, sir, is based upon
your actions.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And these I own stand in formidable array
against me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She bit her lip in vexation and her slender
fingers began to beat a tattoo on the arm of her chair. This man's
placidity and inveterate good-humour were getting on her nerves.
It is hard when one means to wound, to find the surest arrows
falling wide of the mark. But now she waited for a moment or two
lest her irritation betrayed itself in the quiver of her voice;
and it was only when she felt quite sure that it would sound as
trenchant and hard as she intended that it should, that she said
abruptly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who is paying you, sir, for this infamy?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;One apparently who can afford the luxury,&quot;
he replied airily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will not tell me?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you think, mejuffrouw, that I could?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I may guess.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It should not be difficult,&quot; he
assented.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you, sir,&quot; she continued more
vehemently, &quot;are one of the many tools which the Lord of
Stoutenburg doth use to gain his own political ends.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The Lord of Stoutenburg?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was impossible for Gilda Beresteyn to gauge
exactly whether the astonishment expressed in that young villain's
exclamation was real or feigned. Certainly his mobile face was
a picture of puzzlement, but this may have been caused only by
his wondering how she could so easily have guessed the name of
his employer. For as to this she was never for a moment in doubt.
It was easy enough for her to piece together the series of events
which had followed her parting from her brother at the cathedral
door. Stoutenburg, burning with anxiety and glowing with his ardent
desire for vengeance against the Stadtholder, had feared that
she -- Gilda -- would betray the secret which she held, and he
had paid this knave to take her out of the way. Stoutenburg and
his gang! it could be no one else! she dared not think that her
own brother would have a share in so dastardly an outrage. It
was Stoutenburg of course! and this smiling knave knew it well!
aye! even though he murmured again and this time to the accompaniment
of smothered oaths:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Stoutenburg? Bedonderd!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye!&quot; she said loftily, &quot;you
see that I am not deceived! 'tis the Lord of Stoutenburg who gave
you money to play this trick on me. He paid you! paid you, I say,
and you, a man who should be fighting for your country, were over
ready to make war upon a woman. Shame on you! shame I say! 'tis
a deed that should cause you to blush, if indeed you have a spark
of honesty in you, which of a truth I do gravely doubt.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had worked herself up into an outburst
of indignation and flung insult upon insult on him in the vague
hope indeed of waking some slumbering remnant of shame in his
heart, and mayhap ruffling that imperturbable air of contentment
of his, and that impudent look of swagger most unbecoming in a
menial.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">By naming Stoutenburg, she had certainly brought
to light many things which Diogenes had only vaguely suspected.
His mind -- keen and shrewd despite his follies -- recalled his
interview with Nicolaes Beresteyn in the studio of Frans Hals;
all the details of that interview seemed suddenly to have gained
significance as well as lucidity. The lofty talk anent the future
of Holland and the welfare of the Faith was easily understandable
in this new light which the name of Stoutenburg had cast upon
it. Stoutenburg and the welfare of Holland! a secret the possession
of which meant death to six selfless patriots or the forfeiture
mayhap of her good name and her honour to this defenceless girl!
Stoutenburg at the bottom of it all! Diogenes could have laughed
aloud with triumph so clear now was the whole scheme to him! There
was no one living who did not think that at some time or other
Stoutenburg meant to come back and make yet one more attempt to
wipe a blood-stain from the annals of his country by one equally
foul.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">One of Barneveld's sons had already paid for
such an attempt with his life; the other had escaped only in order
to intrigue again, to plot again, and again to fail. And this
poor girl had by a fortuitous mishap overheard the discussion
of the guilty secret. Stoutenburg had come back and meant to kill
the Stadtholder: Nicolaes Beresteyn was his accomplice and had
callously sacrificed his innocent sister to the success of his
friend's schemes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If out of this network of intrigues a sensible
philosopher did not succeed in consolidating his independence
with the aid of a substantial fortune, then he was neither so
keen nor so daring as his friends and he himself supposed!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Gilda wondered what went on in his mind
for those twinkling eyes of his never betrayed any deeper thought:
but she noticed with great mortification that the insults which
she had heaped upon him so freely had not shamed him at all, for
the good-humoured smile was not effaced from his lips, rather
did the shapely hand wander up to the moustache in order to give
it -- she thought -- a more provoking curl.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I still await your answer,&quot; she
said haughtily, seeing that his prolonged silence savoured of
impertinence.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I humbly crave your pardon, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said pleasantly, &quot;I was absorbed in wonderment.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You marvelled, sir, how easily I saw
behind your schemes, and saw the hand which drove you in the harness?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your pardon, mejuffrouw. I was pondering
on your own words. You deigned to say just now that I -- a man
should be fighting for my country.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you are worthy, sir, to be called
a man.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Quite so,&quot; he said whimsically.
&quot;But even if I did lay claim to the title, mejuffrouw, how
could I fight for my country when my country doth not happen to
be at war just now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your country? What pray might your country
be? Not that this concerns me in the least,&quot; she added hastily.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course not,&quot; he rejoined blandly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is your country, sir?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;England.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not like the English.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nor do I, mejuffrouw. But I was unfortunately
not consulted as to my choice of a fatherland: nor doth it change
the fact that King James of England is at peace just now with
all the world.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;So you preferred to earn a dishonest
living by abducting innocent women, to further the intrigues of
your pay-master.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is a harsh exposition,&quot; he said
blandly, &quot;of an otherwise obvious fact.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you are not ashamed.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not more than is necessary for my comfort.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And cannot I move you, sir,&quot; she
said with sudden warmth, &quot;cannot an appeal to you from my
lips rouse a feeling of manhood within you. My father is a rich
man,&quot; she continued eagerly, &quot;he hath it in his power
to reward those who do him service; he can do so far more effectually
than the Lord of Stoutenburg. Sir! I would not think of making
an appeal to your heart! no doubt long ago you have taught it
to remain cold to the prayers of a woman in distress: but surely
you will listen to the call of your own self-interest. My father
must be nigh heart-broken by now. The hours have sped away and
he knows not where to find me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! I have taken very good care of that,
mejuffrouw. We are at Leyden now, but we left Haarlem through
the Groningen gate. We travelled North first, then East, then
only South. . . . Mynheer Beresteyn would require a divining rod
wherewith to find you now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It seemed unnecessary cruelty to tell her that,
when already despair had seized on her heart, but she would not
let this abominable rogue see how deeply she was hurt. She feigned
not to have noticed the purport of his words and continued with
the same insistent eagerness:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Torn with anxiety, sir, he will be ready
with a rich reward for one who would bring his only daughter safely
home to him. I know not what the Lord of Stoutenburg hath promised
you for doing his abominable work for him, but this I do assure
you that my father will double and treble whatever sum you choose
to name. Take me back to him, sir, now, this night, and to-morrow
morning you could count yourself one of the rich men of Haarlem.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But Diogenes with half-closed eyes and gentle
smile slowly shook his head.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Were I to present myself before Mynheer
Beresteyn to-night, he would summon the town guard and I should
count myself as good as hanged to-morrow.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you measure other men's treachery
then by your own?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I measure other men's wrath by mine,
mejuffrouw -- and if a rogue had stolen my daughter, I should
not rest until I had seen him hanged.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I pledge you my word --&quot; she began
hotly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And I mine, mejuffrouw,&quot; he broke
in a little more firmly than he had spoken hitherto, &quot;that
I will place you safely and I pray God in good health, into the
care of a certain gentleman in Rotterdam. To this is my word of
honour pledged and even such a mean vagabond as I is bound by
a given word.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To this she made no reply. Perhaps she felt
that in his last words there lurked a determination which it were
useless to combat. Her pride too was up in arms. How could she
plead further to this rascal who met the most earnest appeal with
a pert jest? who mocked at her distress, and was impervious alike
to prayers and to insults?</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I see,&quot; she said coldly, &quot;that
I do but waste my time in calling on your honour to forego this
infamous trickery. Where there is no chivalry, there can be neither
honour nor pity. I am in your hands, helpless because I am a woman.
If it is the will of God that I should so remain, I cannot combat
brute force with my feeble strength. No doubt He knows best! and
also I believe doth oft give the devil power to triumph in the
sight of men. After this night, sir, I will no longer defame my
lips by speaking to you. If you have a spark of compassion left
in your heart for one who hath never wronged you, I but ask you
to relieve me of your presence as much as you can during the weary
hours of this miserable journey.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have I your leave to go at once?&quot;
he said with unalterable cheerfulness and made hast to reach the
door.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Only one moment more must I detain you,&quot;
she rejoined haughtily. &quot;I wish you to understand that from
this hour forth until such time as it pleaseth God to free me
from this humiliating position, I will follow your commands to
the best of my ability; not because I recognize your right to
dictate them but because I am helpless to oppose you. If I and
my waiting woman obey your orders meekly, if we rise when so ordered,
are ready to start on the way whenever so compelled, get in or
out of the vehicle at the first word from you, can we at least
rest assured that we shall be spared further outrage?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you mean, mejuffrouw, that I must
no longer attempt to lift you out of a coach or to carry you up
to your chamber, even if as to-night you are faint and but half-conscious?&quot;
he asked with whimsical earnestness.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I desire, sir, that you and those who
help you in this shameful work, do in future spare me and my woman
the insult of laying hands upon our persons.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He gave a long, low whistle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen.&quot; he exclaimed flippantly,
&quot;I had no thought that so much hatred and malice could lurk
in the frail body of a woman . . . 'tis true,&quot; he added with
a shrug of the shoulders, &quot;that a rogue such as I must of
necessity know very little of the workings of a noble lady's mind.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Had you known aught of mine, sir,&quot;
she retorted coldly, &quot;you would have understood that it is
neither hatred nor malice which I feel for you and for those who
are paying you to do this infamy . . . what I feel is only contempt.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Is that all?&quot; he queried blandly.
&quot;Ah, well, mejuffrouw, then am I all the more indebted to
you for the great honour which you have done me this hour past.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Honour? I do not understand. It was not
in my mind to do you honour.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am sure not. You did it quite unconsciously
and the honour was enhanced thereby. You honoured me, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said while a tone of earnestness crept into his merry voice,
&quot;by trusting me -- the common thief, the cut-throat, the
hired brigand, alone in your presence for a whole hour, while
the entire household here was abed and your duenna snoring contentedly
in a room with locked door close by. During that hour your tongue
did not spare my temper for one moment. For this recognition of
manly forbearance and chivalry -- even though you choose to deny
their existence -- do I humbly thank you. Despite -- or perhaps
because of your harsh estimate of me -- you made me feel to-night
almost a gentleman.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With his habitual elegance of gesture he swept
her a deep bow, then without another word or look and with firm,
ringing steps he walked quickly out of the room.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XVIII -- THE START</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once the door safely closed behind him, he
heaved a deep sigh as if of intense relief and he passed his hand
quickly across is brow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By St. Bavon,&quot; he murmured, &quot;my
friend Diogenes, thou hast had to face unpleasantness before now
-- those arquebusiers at Magdeburg were difficult to withstand,
those murderous blackguards in the forests of Prague nearly had
thy skin, but verdommt be thou, if thou hast had to hold thy temper
in bounds like this before. Dondersteen! how I could have crushed
that sharp-tongued young vixen till she cried for mercy . . .
or silenced those venomous lips with a kiss! . . . I was sore
tempted indeed to give her real cause for calling me a knave.
. . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the tap-room downstairs he found Pythagoras
and Socrates curled up on the floor in front of the hearth. They
were fast asleep, and Diogenes did not attempt to wake them. He
had given them their orders for the next day earlier in the evening
and with the promise of 500 golden guilders to be won by implicit
obedience the two worthies were not like to disobey.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He himself had his promise to his friend Hals
to redeem . . . the flight along the frozen waterways back to
Haarlem, a few hours spent in the studio in the Peuselaarsteeg,
then the return flight to rejoin his compeers and the jongejuffrouw
at the little hamlet of Houdekerk off the main road; thither he
had ordered them to proceed in the early morning there to lie
perdu until his return. Houdekerk lay to the east of Leyden and
so well off the beaten track that the little party would be safely
hidden there during the day; --he intended to be with them again
well before midnight of the next day. For the nonce he collected
a few necessary provisions which he had ordered to be ready for
him -- a half bottle of wine, some meat and bread, then he made
his way out of the little hostelry and across the courtyard to
the stables where the horses had been put up. The night was singularly
clear: the waning moon after she had emerged from a bank of low-lying
clouds, lit up the surrounding landscape with a radiance that
was intensely blue.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Groping his way about in the stables Diogenes
found his saddle which he himself had lifted off his horse, and
from out the holster he drew a pair of skates. With these hanging
by their straps upon his arm, he left the building behind him
and turned to walk in the direction of the river.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The little city lay quite peaceful and still
under the weird brilliancy of the moon which threw many-hued reflections
on the snow-covered surfaces of roofs and tall gables. It was
piercingly cold, the silver ribbon of the Rhyn wound its graceful
course westward to the North Sea and from beyond its opposite
bank a biting wind swept across the dykes and over the flat country
around, chasing myriads of crisp snowflakes from their rest and
driving them in wanton frolic round and round into little whirlpools
of mist that glistened like the facets of diamonds.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes had walked briskly along; the skates
upon his arm clicked at every one of his movements with a pleasing
metallic sound. He chose a convenient spot on the river bank whereon
to squat on the ground, and fastened on his skates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After which he rose and for a moment stood
looking straight out northwards before him. But a few leagues
-- half a dozen at most -- lay between him Haarlem. The Rhyn as
well as the innumerable small polders and lakes had left -- after
the autumn floods -- their usual trail of narrow waterways behind
them which, frozen over now, joining, intersecting and rejoining
again formed a perfect, uninterrupted road from hence to the northern
cities. It had been along these frozen ways that the daring and
patriotic citizens of Leyden had half a century ago kept up communication
with the outer world during the memorable siege which had lasted
throughout the winter, and it was by their help that they were
able to defy the mighty investing Spanish army by getting provisions
into the beleaguered city.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A young adventurer stood here now calmly measuring
in his mind the distance which he would have to traverse in the
teeth of a piercing gale and at dead of night in order to satisfy
the ambition of a friend. It was not the first time in his hazardous
career that he had undertaken such a journey. He was accustomed
to take all risks in life with indifference and good humour, the
only thing that mattered was the ultimate end: an exciting experience
to go through, a goodly competence to earn, a promise to fulfil.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Up above, the waning moon seemed to smile upon
his enterprise; she lay radiant and serene on her star-studded
canopy of mysterious ethereal indigo. Diogenes looked back on
the little hostelry, which lay some little distance up the street
at right angles to the river bank. Was it his fancy or one of
those many mysterious reflections thrown by the moon? but it certainly
seemed to him as if a light still burned in one of the upper windows.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The unpleasant interview with the jongejuffrouw
had evidently not weighed his spirits down, for to that distant
light he now sent a loud and merry farewell.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then deliberately facing the bitter blast he
struck out boldly along the ice and started on his way.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XIX -- In the Kingdom of
the Night</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Heigh-ho! for that run along the ice -- a matter
of half a dozen leagues or so -- at dead of night with a keen
north-easterly wind whipping up the blood, and motion -- smooth
gliding motion -- to cause it to glow in every vein.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Heigh-ho! for the joy of living, for the joy
in the white, ice-covered world, the joy in the night, and in
the moon, and in those distant lights of Leyden which gradually
recede and diminish -- tiny atoms now in the infinite and mysterious
distance!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">What ho! a dark and heavy bank of clouds! whence
come ye, ye disturbers of the moon's serenity? Nay! but we are
in a hurry, the wind drives us at breathless speed, we cannot
stay to explain whence we have come.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Moon, kind moon, come out again! ah, there
she is, pallid through the frosty mist, blinking at this white
world scarce less brilliant than she.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On, on! silently and swiftly, in the stillness
of the night, the cruel skates make deep gashes on the smooth
skin of the ice, long even strokes now, for the Meer is smooth
and straight, and the moon -- kind moon! -- marks an even silvery
track, there where the capricious wind has swept it free of snow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Hat in hand for the wind is cool and good,
and tames the hot young blood which a woman's biting tongue has
whipped into passion.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The young vixen,&quot; shouts a laughing
voice through the night, &quot;was she aware of her danger? how
I could have tamed her, and cowed her and terrified her! Did she
play a cat and mouse game with me I wonder. . . . Dondersteen!
if I thought that. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But why think of a vixen now, of blue eyes
and biting tongues, when the night with unerring hand clothes
the landscape with glory. One word to the north-east wind and
he sweeps the track quite clear and causes myriads of diamonds
to fly aimlessly about, ere they settle like tiny butterflies
on tortuous twigs, and rough blades of coarse grass. One call
to the moon and she partially hides her face, painting the haze
around her to a blood-red hue; now a touch of blue upon the ice,
further a streak of emerald, and then the tender mauves of the
regal mantle of frost.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then the thousand sounds that rise all around:
the thousand sounds which all united make one vast, comprehensive
silence: the soughing of the wind in the bare poplar trees, the
rattle of the tiny dead twigs and moaning of the branches; from
far away the dull and ceaseless rumble which speaks of a restless
sea, and now and again the loud and melancholy boom of the ice,
yielding to the restless movements of the water beneath.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The sounds which make up silence -- silence
and loneliness, nature's perfect repose under its downy blanket
of snow, the vast embrace of the night stretching out into infinity
in monotonous flatnesses far away, to the mysterious mists which
lie beyond the horizon.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Oh! for the joy of it all! the beauty of the
night, the wind and the frost! and the many landmarks which loom
out of the darkness one by one, to guide that flying figure on
its way; the square tower of the old Katwyk-binnen church, the
group of pollard willows at the corner of Veenenburg Polder, the
derelict boats on the bank of the Haarlemer Meer, and always from
the left that pungent smell of the sea, the brine and the peculiar
odour which emanates from the dykes close by, from the wet clay
and rotting branches of willows that protect man against the encroachment
of the ocean.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On, on, thou sole inhabitant of this kingdom
of the night! fly on thy wings of metal -- hour after hour --
midnight -- one -- two -- three -- where are the hours now? there
are no hours in the kingdom of the night! On, on, for the moon's
course is swift and this will be a neck to neck race. Ah! the
wicked one! down she goes, lower and lower in her career, and
there is a thick veil of mist on the horizon in the west! Moon!
art not afraid? the mists will smother thee! Tarry yet awhile!
tarry ere thou layest down on the cold, soft bed! thy light! give
it yet awhile! -- two hours! one hour until thou hast outlined
with silver the openwork tower of Haarlem's Groote Kirk.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On, on, for a brief hour longer how can one
pause even to eat or drink? there is no hunger in the kingdom
of night, no thirst, no fatigue! and this a neck to neck race
with the moon.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Ah Dondersteen! but thou art beaten, fair moon!
Let the mists embrace thee now! sink! fall! die as thou list,
there is the tower of St. Bavon! and we defy the darkness now!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Here it comes creeping like a furtive and stealthy
creature wiping out with thick black cloth here a star and there
the tip of a tall poplar tree, there a shrub, there a clump of
grass! Take care, traveller, take care! that was not just the
shadow from the bank, it was a bunch of reeds that entangle the
feet and bring the skater down on to his face and will drag him,
if he be not swift and alert, right under into the water under
the ice.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Take care! there is danger everywhere now in
this inky blackness! danger on the ice, and upon the bank, danger
in the shadows that are less dark than the night!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Darker and darker still, until it seemed as
if the night's brush could not hold a more dense hue. The night
-- angered that she hath been so long defied -- has overtaken
the flying skater at last. She grips him, she holds him, he dare
not advance, he will not retreat. Haarlem is there not one whole
league away and he cannot move from where he is, in the midst
of the Meer, on her icy bosom, with shadows as tangible as human
bodies hemming him in on every side.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Haarlem is there! the last kiss of the moon
before she fell into that bed of mist, was for St. Bavon's tower,
which then seemed so near. Since then the night had wiped out
the tower, and the pointed gables which cluster around, and the
solitary skater is a prisoner in the fastness of the night.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XX -- BACK AGAIN IN HAARLEM</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They were terribly weary hours, these last
two which the soldier of fortune, the hardened campaigner had
to kill before the first streak of pallid, silvery dawn would
break over the horizon beyond the Zuyder Zee.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Until then it meant the keeping on the move,
ceaselessly, aimlessly, in order to prevent the frost from biting
the face and limbs, it meant wearily waiting in incessant, nerve-racking
movement for every quarter of an hour tolled by the unseen cathedral
clock; it meant counting these and the intervening minutes which
crawled along on the leaden stilts of time, until the head began
to buzz and the brain to ache with the intensity of monotony and
of fatigue. It meant the steeling of iron nerves, the bracing
of hardy sinews, the keeping the mind clear and the body warm.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Two hours to kill under the perpetual lash
of a tearing north wind, gliding up and down a half league of
frozen way so as not to lose the track in the darkness and with
a shroud of inky blackness to envelop everything around!</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The hardened campaigner stood the test as only
a man of abnormal physique and body trained to privations could
have stood it. As soon as the thin grey light began to spread
over the sky and picked out a few stunted snow-covered trees,
one by one, he once more started on his way.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had less than a league to cover now, and
when at last the cathedral tower boomed out the hour of seven
he was squatting on the back of the Oude Gracht in Haarlem, and
with numbed fingers and many an oath was struggling with the straps
of his skates.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A quarter of an hour later he was installed
in his friend's studio in front of a comfortable fire and with
a mug of hot ale in front of him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I didn't think that you really meant
to come,&quot; Frans Hals had said when he admitted him into his
house in response to his peremptory ring.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I mean to have some breakfast now at
any rate, my friend,&quot; was the tired wayfarer's only comment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The artist was too excited and too eager to
get to work to question his sitter further. I doubt if in Diogenes'
face or in his whole person there were man visible traces of the
fatigues of the night.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What news in Haarlem?&quot; he asked
after the first draught of hot ale had put fresh life into his
veins.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why? where have you been that you've
not heard?&quot; queried Hals indifferently.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Away on urgent business affairs,&quot;
replied the other lightly; &quot;and what is the news?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That the daughter of Cornelius Beresteyn,
the rich grain merchant and deputy burgomaster of this city, was
abducted last night by brigands and hath not to my knowledge been
found yet.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes gave a long, low whistle of well-feigned
astonishment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The fact doth not speak much for the
guardians of the city,&quot; he remarked dryly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The outrage was very cleverly carried
out, so I've heard said; and it was not until close upon midnight
that the scouts sent out by Mynheer Beresteyn in every direction
came back with the report that the brigands left the city by the
Groningen gate and were no doubt well on their way north by then.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what was done after that?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have not heard yet,&quot; replied Hals.
&quot;It is still early. When the serving woman comes she will
tell us the latest news. I am afraid I can't get to work until
the light improves. Are you hungry? Shall I get you something
more solid to eat?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well, old friend,&quot; rejoined the
other gaily, &quot;since you are so hospitable. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">By eight o'clock he was once more ensconced
on the sitter's platform, dressed in a gorgeous doublet and sash,
hat on head and hand on hip, smiling at his friend's delight and
eagerness in his work.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Hals in the meanwhile had heard further news
of the great event which apparently was already the talk of Haarlem
even at this early hour of the day.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There seems to be no doubt,&quot; he
said, &quot;that the outrage is the work of those vervloekte sea-wolves.
They have carried Gilda Beresteyn away in the hope of extorting
a huge ransom out of her father.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I hope,&quot; said Diogenes unctuously,
&quot;that he can afford to pay it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He is passing rich,&quot; replied the
artist with a sigh. &quot;A great patron of the arts . . . it
was his son you saw here yesterday, and the portrait which I then
showed you was that of the unfortunate young lady who has been
so cruelly abducted.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed,&quot; remarked Diogenes ostentatiously
smothering a yawn as if the matter was not quite so interesting
to him -- a stranger to Haarlem -- as it was to his friend.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The whole city is in a tumult,&quot;
continued Hals, who was busily working on his picture all the
while that he talked, &quot;and Mynheer Beresteyn and his son
Nicolaes are raising a private company of Waardgelders to pursue
the brigands. One guilder a day do they offer to these volunteers
and Nicolaes Beresteyn will himself command the expedition.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Against the sea-wolves?&quot; queried
the other blandly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In person. Think of it, man! The girl
is his own sister.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is unthinkable,&quot; agreed Diogenes
solemnly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All of which was, of course, vastly interesting
to him, since what he heard to-day would be a splendid guidance
for him as to his future progress southwards to Rotterdam. Nicolaes
Beresteyn leading an expedition of raw recruits in pursuit of
his sister was a subject humorous enough to delight the young
adventurer's sense of fun; moreover it was passing lucky that
suspicion had at once fallen on the sea-wolves -- a notorious
band of ocean pirates whose acts of pillage and abduction had
long since roused the ire of all northern cities that had suffered
from their impudent depredations. Diogenes congratulated himself
on the happy inspiration which had caused him to go out of Haarlem
by its north gate and to have progressed toward Groningen for
a quarter of an hour or so, leaving traces behind him which Nicolaes
Beresteyn would no doubt know how to interpret in favour of the
&quot;sea-wolves&quot; theory. He could also afford to think with
equanimity now of Pythagoras and Socrates in charge of the jongejuffrouw
lying comfortably perdu at a wayside inn, situated fully thirteen
leagues to the south of the nearest inland lair, which was known
to be the halting place of the notorious sea-robbers.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Indeed, his act of friendship in devoting his
day to the interests of Frans Hals had already obtained its reward,
for he had gathered valuable information, and his journey to Rotterdam
would in consequence be vastly more easy to plan.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No wonder that Frans Hals as he worked on the
picture felt that he had never had such a sitter before; the thoughts
within redolent of fun, of amusement at the situation, of eagerness
for the continuation of the adventure seemed to bubble and to
sparkle out of the eyes, the lines of quiet humour, of gentle
irony appeared ever mobile, ever quivering around the mouth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For many hours that day hardly a word passed
between the two men while the masterpiece was in progress, which
was destined to astonish and delight the whole world for centuries
to come. They hardly paused a quarter of an hour during the day
to snatch a morsel of food; Hals, imbued with the spirit of genius,
begrudged every minute not spent in work and Diogenes, having
given his time to his friend, was prepared that the gift should
be a full measure.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Only at four o'clock when daylight faded, and
the twilight began to merge the gorgeous figure of the sitter
into one dull, grey harmony, did the artist at last throw down
brushes and palette with a sigh of infinite satisfaction.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is good,&quot; he said, as with eyes
half-closed he took a final survey of his sitter and compared
the living model with his own immortal work.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have you had enough of me?&quot; asked
Diogenes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No. Not half enough. I would like to
make a fresh start on a new portrait of you at once. I would try
one of those effects of light of which Rembrandt thinks that he
hath the monopoly, but which I would show him how to treat without
so much artificiality.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He continued talking of technicalities, rambling
on in his usual fretful, impatient way, while Diogenes stretched
out his cramped limbs, and rubbed his tired eyes.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Can I undress now?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes. The light has quite gone,&quot;
said the artist with a sigh.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes stood for a long time in contemplation
of the masterpiece, even as the shadows of evening crept slowly
into every corner of the studio and cast their gloom over the
gorgeous canvas in its magnificent scheme of colour.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Am I really as good looking as that?&quot;
he asked with one of his most winning laughs.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Good looking? I don't know,&quot; replied
Hals, &quot;you are the best sitter I have ever had. To-day has
been one of perfect, unalloyed enjoyment to me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All his vulgar, mean little ways had vanished,
his obsequiousness, that shifty look of indecision in the eyes
which proclaimed a growing vice. His entire face flowed with the
enthusiasm of a creator who has had to strain every nerve to accomplish
his work, but having accomplished it, is entirely satisfied with
it. He could not tear himself away from the picture, but stood
looking at it long after the gloom had obliterated all but its
most striking lights.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then only did he realise that he was both hungry
and weary.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will you come with me to the 'Lame Cow,'
&quot; he said to his friend, &quot;we can eat and drink there
and hear all the latest news. I want to see Cornelius Beresteyn
if I can; he must be deeply stricken with grief and will have
need of the sympathy of all his well-wishers. What say you? Shall
we get supper at the 'Lame Cow'?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To which proposition Diogenes readily agreed.
It pleased his spirit of adventure to risk a chance a chance encounter
in the popular tavern with Nicolaes Beresteyn or the Lord of Stoutenburg,
both of whom must think him at this moment several leagues away
in the direction of Rotterdam. Neither of these gentlemen would
venture to question him in a public place; moreover it had been
agreed from the first that he was to be given an absolutely free
hand with regard to his plans for conducting the jongejuffrouw
to her ultimate destination.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Altogether the afternoon and evening promised
to be more amusing than Diogenes had anticipated.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter XXI -- A GRIEF-STRICKEN
FATHER</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Frans Hals had not been guilty of exaggeration
when he said that the whole city was in turmoil about the abduction
of Gilda Beresteyn by that impudent gang of ocean-robbers who
called themselves the sea-wolves.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On this subject there were no two opinions.
The sea-wolves had done this deed as they had done others of a
like nature before. The abduction of children of rich parents
was one of their most frequent crimes: and many a wealthy burgher
had had to pay half his fortune away in ransom for his child.
The fact that a covered sledge escorted by three riders who were
swathed in heavy mantles had been seen to go out of the city by
the northern gate at seven o'clock last evening, was held to be
sufficient proof that the unfortunate jongejuffrouw was being
conveyed straightway to the coast where the pirates had their
own lairs and defied every effort which had hitherto been made
for their capture.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On this the 2<SUP>nd</SUP> day of January,
1624 -- rather less than twenty-four hours after the abduction
of Gilda Beresteyn, the tapperij of the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; presented
an appearance which was almost as animated as that which had graced
it on New Year's night. Every one who took an interest in the
terrible event went to the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; in the hope of
finding another better informed than himself.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Men and women sat round the tables or leaned
against the bars discussing the situation: every one, of course,
had a theory to put forward, or a suggestion to offer.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis time the old law for the raising
of a corps of Waardgelders by the city were put into force once
more,&quot; said Mynheer van der Meer the burgomaster, whose words
carried weight. &quot;What can a city do for the preservation
of law and order if it has not the power to levy its own military
guard?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My opinion is,&quot; said Mynheer van
Zeller, who was treasurer of the Oudemannenhuis and a personage
of vast importance, &quot;that we in this city ought to close
our gates against all this foreign rabble who infest us with their
noise and their loose ways. Had there not been such a crowd of
them here for the New Year you may depend on it that Jongejuffrouw
Beresteyn would not have had to suffer this dastardly abomination.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Others on the other hand thought that the foreign
mercenaries now within the city could be utilised for the purpose
of an expedition against the sea-wolves.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They are very daring and capable fighters,&quot;
suggested Mynheer van Beerenbrock -- a meek, timid but vastly
corpulent gentleman of great consideration on the town council,
&quot;and more able to grapple with desperate brigands than were
a levy of raw recruits from among our young townsfolk.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Set a rogue to fight a rogue, say I,&quot;
assented another pompous burgher.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Cornelius Beresteyn sat at a table with his
son and surrounded by his most influential friends. Those who
knew him well declared that he had aged ten years in the past
few hours. His devotion to his daughter was well known and it
was pitiable to see the furrows in his cheeks wet with continuously
falling tears. He sat huddled up within himself, his elbows resting
on the table, his head often buried in his hands when emotion
mastered him, and he felt unable to restrain his tears. He looked
like a man absolutely dazed with the immensity of his grief, as
if some one had dealt him a violent blow on the hand which had
half-addled his brain.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Throughout the day his house had been positively
invaded by the frequent callers who, under a desire to express
their sympathy, merely hid their eagerness to learn fresh details
of the outrage. Cornelius Beresteyn, harassed by this well-meaning
and very noisy crowd and feeling numb in mind and weary in body,
had been too feeble to withstand the urgent entreaties of his
friends who had insisted on dragging him to the &quot;Lame Cow,&quot;
where the whole situation -- which had become of almost national
importance -- could be fully and comprehensively discussed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You want to get your daughter back, do
you not, old friend?&quot; urged Mynheer van der Meer the burgomaster.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course,&quot; assented Beresteyn feebly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you want to get her back as quickly
as possible,&quot; added the pompous treasurer of the Oudemannenhuis.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;As quickly as possible,&quot; reiterated
Beresteyn vaguely.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Very well then,&quot; concluded the burgomaster,
in tones of triumph which suggested that he had gained a great
victory over the obstinate will of his friend, &quot;what you
must do, my good Beresteyn, is to attend an informal council which
I have convened for this afternoon at the 'Lame Cow' and whereat
we will listen to all the propositions put forward by our fellow-townsmen
for the speedy capture of those vervloekte brigands and the liberation
of your beloved daughter.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the meanwhile an untoward accident had momentarily
arrested the progress of the original band of volunteers who,
under the leadership of Nicolaes Beresteyn, had started quite
early in the morning on the Groningen route in pursuit of the
sea-wolves. Nicolaes, namely, on remounting his horse after a
brief halt at Bloemendal, had slipped on the snow covered ground;
his horse jumped aside and reared and, in so doing, seriously
wrenched Nicolaes; right arm, almost dislocating his shoulder
and causing him thereby such excruciating pain that he nearly
fainted on the spot.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Further progress on horseback became an impossibility
for him, and two of the volunteers had much difficulty in conveying
him back to Haarlem, where, however, he displayed the utmost fortitude
by refusing to waste his time in being examined and tended by
the bone-setter, and declaring that since he could not take an
active part in the campaign against the vervloekte malefactors
he would give every moment of his time and every faculty he possessed
for the organisation of an effective corps of soldiery capable
of undertaking a successful punitive expedition.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He joined his father in the tap-room of the
&quot;Lame Cow,&quot; and though he was obviously in great pain
with his arm and shoulder which he had hastily and perfunctorily
tied up with his sash, he was untiring in his suggestions, his
advice, his offers of money and of well-considered plans.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Unbeknown to anyone save to him, the Lord of
Stoutenburg sat in the dark recess of the tapperij deeply interested
in all that was going on. He knew, of course, every detail of
the plot which Nicolaes Beresteyn had hatched at his instigation
and -- hidden as he was in his obscure corner -- it pleased his
masterful mind to think that the tangled skein of this affair
which these solemn and pompous burghers were trying to unravel
had been originally embroiled by himself.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He listened contemptuously and in silence to
the wild and oft senseless talk which went on around him; but
when he caught sight of Diogenes swaggering into the room in the
wake of the painter Frans Hals he very nearly betrayed himself.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes Beresteyn too was dumbfounded. For
the moment he literally gasped with astonishment, and was quite
thankful that his supposedly dislocated shoulder furnished a good
pretext for the string of oaths which he uttered. But Diogenes,
sublimely indifferent to the astonishment of his patron, took
a seat beside his friend at one of the vacant tables and ordered
a substantial super with a bottle of very choice wine wherewith
to wash it down, all of which he evidently meant to pay for with
Nicolaes' money. The latter could do nothing but sit by in grim
silence while the man whom he had paid to do him service ate and
drank heartily, cracked jokes and behaved for all the world as
if he were a burgher of leisure plentifully supplied with money.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Time was going on: the subject of the expedition
against the sea-wolves had been fully discussed and certain resolutions
arrived at, which only lacked the assent of the burgomaster sitting
in council and of Cornelius Beresteyn -- the party chiefly interested
in the affair -- in order to take effect on the morrow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gradually the tap-room became less and less
full: one by one the eager and inquisitive townsfolk departed
in order to impart what news they had gleaned to their expectant
families at home.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes Beresteyn, inwardly fuming and fretting
with rage, had been quite unable to stay on quietly while Diogenes
sat not twenty paces away from him, wasting his patron's time
and money and apparently in the best of humours, for his infectious
laugh rang from end to end of the raftered room; he had soon assembled
a small crowd of boon-companions round his table, whom he treated
to merry jests as well as to Mynheer Beek's most excellent wine;
but when he leaned forward bumper in hand and actually had the
audacity loudly to pledge the noble Beresteyn family and to wish
the heroic Nicolaes speedy mending of his broken bones, the latter
rose with a muttered curse and, having taken a curt farewell from
his friends, he strode glowering out of the room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg -- as unobtrusive and
silent as was his wont -- rose quietly a few minutes later and
followed in the wake of his friend.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXII -- A DOUBLE PLEDGE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Cornelius Beresteyn had now only a few of his
most intimate friends beside him, and when Frans Hals had finished
his supper he ventured to approach the rich patron of arts and
present his own most respectful expressions of sympathy.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Softened by grief the old man was more than
usually gracious to the artist.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis a bitter blow, my good Hals,&quot;
he said dully.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Please God, those devils have only an
eye on your money, mynheer,&quot; said the artist consolingly.
&quot;They will look on the jongejuffrouw as a valuable hostage
and treat her with the utmost deference in the hopes of getting
a heavy ransom from you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;May you be speaking truly,&quot; sighed
Cornelius with a disconsolate shake of the head, &quot;but think
what she must be suffering now, while she is uncertain of her
own fate, poor child!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Alas!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This delay is killing me, Hals,&quot;
continued the old man, who in the midst of his more pompous friends
seemed instinctively drawn to the simple nature of this humble
painter of pictures. &quot;The burgomaster means well but his
methods are slow and ponderous. All my servants and dependents
have joined the first expedition toward Groningen, but God knows
how they will get on, now that Nicolaes no longer leads them.
They have had no training in such matters, and will hardly know
how to proceed.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You really want some one who is daring
and capable, mynheer, some one who will be as wary as those vervloekte
sea-wolves and beat them at their own game. 'Tis not so much the
numbers that you want as the one brain to direct and to act.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;True! true, my good Hals! But our best
men are all at the war fighting for our religious and political
liberties, while we -- the older citizens of our beloved country
with our wives and our daughters -- are left a prey to the tyranny
of malefactors and of pirates. The burgomaster hopes to raise
and efficient corps of volunteers by to-morrow . . . but I doubt
me if he will succeed . . . I have sent for help, I have spared
no money to obtain assistance . . . but I am an old man myself,
and my son alas! has been rendered helpless at the outset, through
no fault of his own. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But surely there are young men left in
Haarlem whom wanton mischief such as this would cause to boil
with indignation.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There are few young men left in Haarlem,
my friend,&quot; rejoined Beresteyn sadly, &quot;the Stadtholder
hath claimed the best of them. Those who are left behind are too
much engrossed in their own affairs to care greatly about the
grief of an old man, or a wrong done to an innocent girl.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I'll not believe it,&quot; said Hals
hotly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Alas, 'tis only too true! Men nowadays
-- those at any rate who are left in our cities -- no longer possess
that spirit of chivalry or of adventure which caused our forebears
to give their life's blood for justice and for liberty.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You wrong them, mynheer,&quot; protested
the artist.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I think not. Think on it, Hals. You know
Haarlem well; you know most people who live in the city. Can you
name me one man who would stand up before me to-day and say boldly:
'Mynheer, you have lost your daughter: evil-doers have taken her
from her home. Here am I ready to do you service, and by God do
I swear that I will bring your daughter back to you!' So would
our fathers have spoken, my good Hals, before commerce and prosperity
had dulled the edge of reckless gallantry. By God! they were fine
men in those days -- we are mere pompous, obese, self-satisfied
shopkeepers now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was a great deal of bitter truth in what
Cornelius Beresteyn had said: Hals -- the artist -- who had listened
to the complacent talk that had filled this room awhile ago --
who knew of the commercial transaction that nowadays went by the
name of art-patronage -- he knew that the old man was not far
wrong in his estimate of his fellow-countrymen in these recent
prosperous times.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was the impulsive, artistic nature in him
which caused him to see what he merely imagined -- chivalry, romance,
primeval notions of bravery and of honour.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He looked round the room -- now almost deserted
-- somewhat at a loss for words that would soothe Beresteyn's
bitter spirit of resentment, and casually his glance fell on the
broad figure of his friend Diogenes, who, leaning back in his
chair, his plumed hat tilted rakishly across his brow, had listened
to the conversation between the two men with an expression of
infinite amusement literally dancing in his eyes. And it was that
same artistic, impulsive nature which caused Frans Hals then to
exclaim suddenly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well, mynheer! since you call upon me
and on my knowledge of this city, I can give you an answer forthwith.
Yes! I do know a man, now in Haarlem, who hath no thought of commerce
or affairs, who possess that spirit of chivalry which you say
is dead among the men of Holland. He would stand up boldly before
you, hat in hand and say to you: 'Mynheer, I am ready to do you
service, and by God do I swear that I will bring your daughter
back to you, safe and in good health!' I know such a man, mynheer!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah! you talk at random, my good Hals!&quot;
said Beresteyn with a shrug of the shoulders.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;May I not present him to you, mynheer?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Present him? Whom? . . . What nonsense
is this?&quot; asked the old man, more dazed and bewildered than
before by the artist's voluble talk. &quot;Whom do you wish to
present to me?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The man who I firmly believe would out
of pure chivalry and the sheer love of adventure do more toward
bringing the jongejuffrouw speedily back to you than all the burgomaster's
levies of guards and punitive expeditions.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You don't mean that, Hals? -- 'twere
a cruel jest to raise without due cause the hopes of a grief-stricken
old man.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis no jest, mynheer!&quot; said the
artist, &quot;there sits the man!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And with a theatrical gesture -- for Mynheer
Hals had drunk some very good wine after having worked at high
pressure all day, and his excitement had gained the better of
him -- he pointed to Diogenes, who had heard every word spoken
by his friend, and at this denouement burst into a long, delighted,
ringing laugh.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ye gods!&quot; he exclaimed, &quot;your
Olympian sense humour is even greater than your might.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At an urgent appeal from Hals he rose and,
hat in hand, did indeed approach Mynheer Beresteyn, looking every
inch of him a perfect embodiment of that spirit of adventure which
was threatening to be wafted away from these too prosperous shores.
His tall figure looked of heroic proportions in this low room
and by contrast with the small, somewhat obese burghers who still
sat close to Cornelius, having listened in silence to the latter's
colloquy with the artist. His bright eyes twinkled, his moustache
bristled, his lips quivered with the enjoyment of the situation.
The grace and elegance of his movements, born of conscious strength,
added dignity to his whole personality.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My friend hath name Diogenes,&quot; said
Frans Hals, whose romantic disposition revelled in this presentation,
&quot;but there's little of the philosopher about him. He is a
man of action, an invincible swordsman, a --&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen, my good Hals!&quot; ejaculated
Diogenes gaily, &quot;you'll shame me before these gentlemen.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There's naught to be ashamed of, sir,
in the eulogy of a friend,&quot; said Cornelius Beresteyn with
quiet dignity, &quot;and 'tis a pleasure to an old man like me
to look on one so well favoured as yourself. Ah, sir! 'tis but
sorrow that I shall know in future. . . . My daughter . . . you
have heard . . . ?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I know the trouble that weighs on your
soul, mynheer,&quot; replied Diogenes simply.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You have heard then what your friend
says of you?&quot; continued the old man, whose tear-dimmed eyes
gleamed with the new-born flicker of hope. &quot;Our good Hals
is enthusiastic, romantic . . . mayhap he hath exaggerated . .
. hath in fact been mistaken. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was sadly pathetic to see the unfortunate
father so obviously hovering 'twixt hope and fear, his hands trembled,
there was an appeal in his broken voice, an appeal that he should
not be deceived, that he should not be thrown back from the giddy
heights of hope to the former deep abyss of despair.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My daughter, sir . . .&quot; he murmured
feebly, &quot;she is all the world to me . . . her mother died
when she was a baby . . . she is all the world to me . . . they
have taken her from he . . . she is so young, sir . . . so beautiful
. . . . she is all the world to me . . . I would give half my
fortune to have her back safely in my arms. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was silence in the quaint old-world place
after that -- silence only broken by the suppressed sobs of the
unfortunate man who had lost his only daughter. The others sat
round the table, saying no word, for the pathos evoked by Beresteyn's
grief was too great for words. Hals' eyes were fixed on his friend,
and he tried in vain to read and understand the enigmatical smile
which hovered in every line of that mobile face. The stillness
only lasted a few seconds: the next moment Diogenes' ringing voice
had once more set every lurking echo dancing from rafter to rafter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Mynheer!&quot; he said loudly, &quot;you
have lost your daughter. Here am I to do you service, and by God
I swear that I will bring your daughter safely back to you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Frans Hals heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction.
Cornelius Beresteyn, overcome by emotion, could not at first utter
a word. He put out his hand, groping for that of the man who had
fanned the flames of hope into living activity.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes, solemnly trying to look grave and
earnest, took the hand thus loyally offered to him. H could have
laughed aloud at the absurdity of the present situation. He --
pledged by solemn word of honour to convey Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn
to Rotterdam and there to place her into the custody of Ben Isaje,
merchant of that city, he -- carrying inside his doublet an order
to Ben Isaje to pay him 3,000 guilders, he -- known to the jongejuffrouw
as the author of the outrage against her person, he was here solemnly
pledging himself to restore her safely into her father's arms.
How this was to be fulfilled, how he would contrive to earn that
comfortable half of a rich Haarlem merchant's fortune, he had
-- we may take it -- at the present moment, not the remotest idea:
for indeed, the conveying of the jongejuffrouw back to Haarlem
would be no difficult matter, once his promise to Nicolaes Beresteyn
had been redeemed. The question merely was how to do this without
being denounced by the lady herself as an impudent and double-dealing
knave, which forsooth she already held him to be.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Cornelius and his friends, however, gave him
no time for further reflection. All the thinking out would have
to be done presently -- no doubt on the way between Haarlem and
Houdekerk, and probably in a mist of driving show -- for the nonce
he had to stand under the fire of unstinted eulogy hurled at him
from every side.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well spoken, young man!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot; 'Tis gallant bearing forsooth!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Chivalry, indeed, is not yet dead in
Holland.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you a Dutchman, sir?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To this direct query he gave reply:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My father was one of those who came in
English Leicester's train, whose home was among the fogs of England
and under the shadow of her white, mysterious cliffs. My mother
was Dutch and he broke her heart . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not an unusual story, alas, these times!&quot;
quoth a sober mynheer with a sigh. &quot;I know of more than one
case like your own, sir. Those English adventurers were well favoured
and smooth tongued, and when they gaily returned to their sea-girt
island they left a long trail behind them of broken hearts --
of sorrowing women and forsaken children.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My mother, sir, was a saint,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes earnestly, &quot;my father married her in Amsterdam when
she was only eighteen. She was his wife, yet he left her homeless
and his son fatherless.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But if he saw you, sir, as you are,&quot;
said Cornelius Beresteyn kindly, &quot;he would surely make amends.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But he shall not see me, sir,&quot; retorted
Diogenes lightly, &quot;for I hate him so, because of the wrong
he did to my mother and to me. He shall never even hear of me
unless I succeed in carving mine own independent fortune, or contrive
to die like a gentleman.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Both of which, sir, you will surely do,&quot;
now interposed Beresteyn with solemn conviction. &quot;Your acts
and words do proclaim you a gentleman, and therefore you will
die one day, just as you have lived. In the meanwhile, I am as
good as my word. My daughter's safety, her life and her honour
are worth a fortune to me. I am reputed a wealthy man. My business
is vast, and I have one million guilders lying at interest in
the hands of Mynheer Bergansius the world-famed jeweller of Amsterdam.
One-half that money, sir, shall be yours together with my boundless
gratitude, if you deliver my daughter out of the hands of the
malefactors who have seized her person and bring her back safe
and sound to me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If life is granted me, sir,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes imperturbably, without a blush or a tremor, &quot;I will
find your daughter and bring her safely to you as speedily as
God will allow me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But you cannot do this alone, sir . .
.&quot; urged Cornelius, on whom doubt and fear had not yet lost
their hold. &quot;How will you set to work?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That, mynheer, is my secret,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes placidly, &quot;and the discussion of my plans might
jeopardise their success.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;True, sir; but remember that the anxiety
which I suffer now will be increased day by day, until it brings
me on the threshold of the grave.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I will remember that, mynheer, and will
act as promptly as may be; but the malefactors have twenty-four
hours start of me. I may have to journey far ere I come upon their
track.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But you will have companions with you,
sir? Friends who will help and stand by you. Those sea-wolves
are notorious for their daring and their cruelty . . . they may
be more numerous too than you think. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The harder the task, mynheer,&quot; said
Diogenes with his enigmatical smile, &quot;the greater will be
my satisfaction if I succeed in fulfilling it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But though you will own to no kindred,
surely you have friends?&quot; insisted Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Two faithful allies, and my sword, the
most faithful of them all,&quot; replied the other.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will let me furnish you with money
in advance, I hope.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not till I have earned it, mynheer.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are proud, sir, as well as chivalrous,&quot;
retorted Cornelius.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I pray you praise me not, mynheer. Greed
after money is my sole motive in undertaking this affair.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This I'll not believe,&quot; concluded
Beresteyn as he now rose to go. &quot;Let me tell you, sir, that
by your words, your very presence, you have put new life, new
hope into me. Something tells me that I can trust you . . . something
tells me that you will succeed. . . . Without kith or kindred,
sir, a man may rise to fortune by his valour: 'tis writ in your
face that your are such an one. With half a million guilders so
earned a man can aspire to the fairest in the land,: he added
not without significance, &quot;and there is no father who would
not be proud to own such a son.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He then shook Diogenes warmly by the hand.
He was a different man to the poor grief-stricken rag of humanity
who had entered this tavern a few hours ago. His friends also
shook the young man by the hand and said a great many more gracious
and complimentary words to him which he accepted in grave silence,
his merry eyes twinkling with the humour of it all.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The worthy burghers filed out of the tap-room
one by one, in the wake of Cornelius. It was bitterly cold and
the snow was again falling: they wrapped their fur-lined mantles
closely round them ere going out of the warm room, but their hats
they kept in their hands until the last, and were loth to turn
their backs on Diogenes as they went. They felt as if they were
leaving the presence of some great personage.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was only when the heavy oaken door had fallen
to for the last time behind the pompous soberly-clad figures of
the mynheers and Diogenes found himself alone in the tapperij
with his friend Frans Hals that he at last gave vent to that overpowering
sense of merriment which had all along threatened to break its
bonds. He sank into the nearest chair:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen! Dondersteen!&quot; he exclaimed
between the several outbursts of irrepressible laughter which
shook his powerful frame and brought the tears to his eyes, &quot;Gods
in Olympia! have you ever seen the like? Verrek jezelf, my good
Hals, you should go straight to Paradise when you die for having
brought about this heaven-born situation. Dondersteen! Dondersteen!
I had promised myself two or three hours' sleep, but we must have
a bottle of Beek's famous wine on this first!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Frans Hals could not for the life of him
understand what there was in this fine situation that should so
arouse Diogenes' mirth.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But then Diogenes had always been an irresponsible
creature, who was wont to laugh even at the most serious crisis
of his life.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 23</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXIII -- A SPY FROM THE
CAMP</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
<BR>
&quot;Come to my lodgings, Nicolaes.&nbsp; I have good news for
you and you do no good by cooling your temper here in the open.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg, coming out of his lodgings half
an hour later to look for his friend, had found Beresteyn in the
Hout Straat walking up and down like a caged beast in a fury.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The vervloekte Keerl!&nbsp; the plepshurk!
the smeerlap!&quot; he ejaculated between his clenched teeth.
&quot;I'll not rest till I have struck him in the face first and
killed him<BR>
after!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But he allowed Stoutenburg to lead him down
the street to the narrow gabled house where he lodged.&nbsp; Neither
of them spoke, however; fury apparently beset them both equally,
the kind of fury which is dumb, and all the more fierce because
it finds no outlet in words.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg led the way up the wooden stairs
to a small room at the back of the house.&nbsp; There was no light
visible anywhere inside the building, and Nicolaes, not knowing
his way about, stumbled upwards in the dark keeping close to the
heels of his friend.&nbsp; The latter had pushed open the door
of his room.&nbsp; Here a tallow candle placed in a pewter sconce
upon a table shed a feeble, flickering light around.&nbsp; The
room by this scanty glimmer looked to be poorly but cleanly furnished;
there was a curtained bed in the panelling of the wall, and a
table in the middle of the room with a few chairs placed in a
circle round it. On one of these sat a man who appeared to be
in the last stages of weariness.&nbsp; His elbows rested on the
table and his head was buried in his folded arms.&nbsp; His clothes
looked damp and travel-stained; an empty mug of ale and a couple
of empty plates stood in front of him, beside a cap made of fur
and a pair of skates.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At the sound made by the opening of the door
and the entrance of the two men, he raised his head and seeing
the Lord of Stoutenburg he quickly jumped to his feet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Sit down, Jan,&quot; said Stoutenburg curtly, &quot;you
must be dog-tired.&nbsp; Have you had enough to eat and drink?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I thank you, my lord, I have eaten my fill,&quot; replied
Jan, &quot;and I am not so tired now that I have had some rest.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Sit down,&quot; reiterated Stoutenburg peremptorily, &quot;and
you too, my good Nicolaes,&quot; he added as he offered a chair
to his friend.&nbsp; &quot;Let me just tell you the news which</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Jan has brought, and which should make you forget even your present
just wrath, so glorious, so important is it.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He went up to a cabinet which stood in one corner of the room,
and from it took a bottle and three pewter mugs.&nbsp; These he
placed on the table and filled the mugs with wine.&nbsp; Then
he drew another chair close to the table and sat down.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Jan,&quot; he resumed, turning to Beresteyn, &quot;left
the Stadtholder's camp at Sprang four days ago.&nbsp; He has travelled
the whole way along the frozen rivers and waterways only halting
for the nights. The news which he brings carries for the bearer
of such splendid tidings its own glorious reward; Jan, I must
tell you, is with us heart and soul and hates the Stadtholder
as much as I do.&nbsp; Is that not so, Jan?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My father was hanged two years ago,&quot;
replied Jan simply, &quot;because he spoke disparaging words of
the Stadtholder.&nbsp; Those words were called treason, and my
father was condemned to the gallows merely for speaking them.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Stoutenburg laughed, his usual harsh, mirthless laugh.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Yes! that is the way justice is now administered in the
free and independent United Provinces,&quot; he said roughly;
&quot;down on your knees, ye lumbering Dutchmen! lick the dust
off the boots of His Magnificence Maurice of Nassau Prince of
Orange! kiss his hand, do his bidding! give forth fulsome praise
of his deeds! . . . How long, O God? how long?&quot; he concluded
with a bitter sigh.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Only for a few more days, my lord,&quot;
said Jan firmly.&nbsp; &quot;The Stadtholder left his camp the
same day as I did.&nbsp; But he travels slowly, in his sledge,
surrounded by a bodyguard of an hundred picked men.&nbsp; He is
sick and must travel slowly.&nbsp; Yesterday he had only reached
Dordrecht, to-day -- if my information is correct -- he should
sleep at Ijsselmunde.&nbsp; But to-morrow he will be at Delft
where he will spend two days at the Prinsenhof.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At Delft!&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg
as he brought his clenched fist down upon the table.&nbsp; &quot;Thank
God! I have got him at last.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He leaned across nearer still to Nicolaes and
in his excitement clutched his friend's wrists with nervy trembling
fingers, digging his nails into the other man's flesh till Beresteyn
could have screamed with pain.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;From Delft,&quot; he murmured hoarsely, &quot;the only way
northwards is along the left bank of the Schie, the river itself
is choked with ice-floes which renders it impassible.&nbsp;&nbsp;
Just before Ryswyk the road crosses to the right bank of the river
over a wooden bridge which we all know well.&nbsp; Half a league
to the south of the bridge is the molens which has been my headquarters
ever since I landed at Scheveningen three weeks ago; there I have
my stores and my ammunition.&nbsp; Do you see it all, friend?&quot;
he queried whilst a feverish light glowed in his eyes.&nbsp; &quot;Is
it not God who hath delivered the tyrant into my hands at last?&nbsp;
I start for Ryswyk to-night with you to help me, Nicolaes, with
van Does and all my friends who will rally round me, with the
thirty or forty men whom they have recruited for placing at my
disposal.&nbsp; The molens to the south of the wooden bridge which
spans the Schie is our rallying point.&nbsp; In the night before
the Stadtholder starts on his way from Delft we make our final
preparations.&nbsp; I have enough gunpowder stowed away at the
mill to blow up the bridge.&nbsp; We'll dispose it in its place
during that night.&nbsp; Then you, Nicolaes shall fire the powder
at the moment when the Stadtholder's escort is half way across
the bridge. . . .&nbsp; In the confusion and panic caused by the
explosion and the collapse of the bridge our men can easily overpower
the Prince's bodyguard -- whilst I, dagger in hand, do fulfil
the oath which I swore before the altar of God, to kill the Stadtholder
with mine own hand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Gradually as he spoke his voice became more hoarse and more choked
with passion; his excitement gained upon his hearers until both
Nicolaes Beresteyn his friend and Jan the paid spy and messenger
felt their blood tingling within their veins, their throats parched,
their eyes burning as if they had been seared with living fire.&nbsp;
The tallow-candle flickered in its socket, a thin draught from
the flimsily constructed window blew its flame hither and thither,
so that it lit up fitfully the faces of those three men drawn
closely together now in a bond of ambition and of hate.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;'Tis splendidly thought out,&quot; said Beresteyn at last
with a sigh of satisfaction.&nbsp; &quot;I do not see how the
plan can fail.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Fail?&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg with
a triumphant laugh, &quot;of course it cannot fail!&nbsp; There
are practically no risks even.&nbsp; The place is lonely, the
molens a splendid rallying point.&nbsp; We can all reach it by
different routes and assemble there to-morrow eve or early the
next day.&nbsp; That would give us another day and night at least
to complete our preparations.&nbsp; I have forty barrels of gunpowder
stowed away at the mill, I have new pattern muskets, cullivers,
swords and pistols . . . gifts to me from the Archduchess Isabella
. . . enough for our coup . . . Fail?&nbsp; How can we fail when
everything has been planned, everything thought out? and when
God has so clearly shown that He is on our side?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Jan said nothing for the moment; he lowered his eyes not caring
just then to encounter those of this leader, for the remembrance
had suddenly flashed through his mind of that other day -- not
so far distant yet -- when everything too had been planned, everything
thought out and failure had brought about untold misery and a
rich harvest for the scaffold.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn too was silent now.&nbsp; Something
of his friend's enthusiasm was also coursing through his veins,
but with him it was only the enthusiasm of ambition, of discontent,
of a passion for intrigue, for plots and conspiracies, for tearing
down one form of government in order to make room for another
-- but his enthusiasm was not kept at fever-heat by that all-powerful
fire of hate which made Stoutenburg forget everything save his
desire for revenge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The latter had pushed his chair impatiently
aside and now was pacing up and down the narrow room like some
caged feline creature waiting for its meal.&nbsp; Beresteyn's
silence seemed to irritate him for he threw from time to time
quick furtive glances on his friend.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Nicolaes, why don't you speak?&quot; he said with sudden
impatience.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I was thinking of Gilda,&quot; replied the other dully.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Gilda?&nbsp; Why of her?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;That knave has betrayed me I am sure.&nbsp; He has hidden
her away somewhere, not meaning to stick to his bargain with me,
and then has come back to Haarlem in order to see if he can extort
a large ransom for her from my father.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Bah!&nbsp; He wouldn't dare . . .!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then why is he here?&quot; exclaimed Beresteyn hotly.&nbsp;
&quot;Gilda should be in his charge!&nbsp; If he is here, where
is Gilda?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Good God, man!&quot; ejaculated Stoutenburg,
pausing in his restless walk and looking somewhat dazed on his
friend, as if he were just waking from some feverish sleep.&nbsp;
&quot;Good god! you do not think that . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;That her life is in danger from that knave?&quot; rejoined
Beresteyn quietly.&nbsp; &quot;Well, no! I do not think that.
. . . I do not know what to think . . . but there is a hint of
danger in that rascal's presence here in Haarlem to-day.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He rose and mechanically re-adjusted his cloak and looked round
for his hat.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;What are you going to do?&quot; asked Stoutenburg.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Find the knave,&quot; retorted the other, &quot;and wring
his neck if he does not give some satisfactory account of Gilda.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;No! no! you must not do that . . . not in a public place
at any rate . . . the rascal would betray you if you quarrelled
with him . . . or worse still you would betray yourself.&nbsp;
Think what it would mean to us now -- at this moment -- if it
were known that you had a hand in the abduction of your sister
. . . if she were traced and found! think what that would mean
-- denunciation -- failure -- the scaffold for us all!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Must I leave her then at the mercy of a man who is proved
to be both a liar and a cheat?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;No! you shall not do that.&nbsp; Let me try and get speech
with him.&nbsp; He does not know me; and I think that I could
find out what double game he is playing and where<BR>
our own danger lies.&nbsp; Let me try and find him.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;How can you do that?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You remember the incident on New Year's Eve, when you and
I traced that cursed adventurer to his own doorstep?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Yes!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then you remember the Spanish wench and the old cripple
to whom our man relinquished his lodging on that night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Certainly I do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well! yesterday when the hour came for
the rascal to seize Gilda, I could not rest in this room.&nbsp;
I wanted to see, to know what was going on.&nbsp; Gilda means
so much to me, that remorse I think played havoc with my prudence
then and I went out into the Groote Markt to watch her come out
of church.&nbsp;&nbsp; I followed her at a little distance and
saw her walking rapidly along the bank of the Oude Gracht.&nbsp;
She was accosted by a woman who spoke to her from out the depths
of the narrow passage which leads to the disused chapel of St.
Pieter.&nbsp; Gilda was quickly captured by the brute whom you
had paid to do this monstrous deed, and I stood by like an abject
coward, not raising a hand to save her from this cruel outrage.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He paused a moment and passed his hand across his brow as if to
chase away the bitter and insistent recollection of that crime
of which he had been the chief instigator.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Why do you tell me all that?&quot; queried Beresteyn sombrely.&nbsp;
&quot;What I did, I did for you and for the triumph of your cause.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I know, I know,&quot; replied Stoutenburg with a sigh, &quot;may
Heaven reward you for the sacrifice.&nbsp; But I merely acted
for mine own selfish ends, for my ambition and my revenge.&nbsp;
I love Gilda beyond all else on earth, yet I saw her sacrificed
for me and did not raise a finger to save her.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It is too late for remorse,&quot; retorted Beresteyn roughly,
&quot;if Gilda had been free to speak of what she heard in the
cathedral on New Year's Eve, you and I to-day would have had to
flee the country as you fled from it once before, branded as traitors,
re-captured mayhap, dragged before the tribunal of a man who has
already shown that he knows no mercy.&nbsp; Gilda's freedom would
have meant for you, for me, for Heemskerk, van Does and all the
others, torture first and a traitor's death at the last.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You need not remind me of that,&quot;
rejoined Stoutenburg more calmly.&nbsp; &quot;Gilda has been sacrificed
for me and by God I will requite her for all that she has endured!&nbsp;
My life, my love are hers and as soon as the law sets me free
to marry she will have a proud position higher than that of any
other woman in the land.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For the moment she is at the mercy of
that blackguard . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And I tell you that I can find out where she is.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;How?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The woman who accosted Gilda last night,
who acted for the knave as a decoy, was the Spanish wench whom
he had befriended the night before.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You saw her?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Quite distinctly.&nbsp; She passed close to me when she
ran off after having done her work.&nbsp; No doubt she is that
rascal's sweetheart and will know of his movements and of his
plans.&nbsp; Money or threats should help me to extract something
from her.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But where can you find her?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;At the same lodgings where she has been these two nights,
I feel sure.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It is worth trying,&quot; mused Beresteyn.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And in the meanwhile we must not lose sight of our knave.&nbsp;
Jan, my good man, that shall be your work.&nbsp; Mynheer Beresteyn
will be good enough to go with you as,far as the tapperij of the
'Lame Cow,' and there point out to you a man whom it will be your
duty to follow step by step this evening until you find out where
he intends to pitch his tent for the night.&nbsp; You understand?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Yes, my lord,&quot; said Jan, smothering as best he could
an involuntary sigh of weariness.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is all for the ultimate triumph of
our revenge, good Jan&quot; quoth Stoutenburg significantly, &quot;the
work of watching which you will do this night is at least as important
as that which you have so bravely accomplished these past four
days.&nbsp; The question is, have you strength left to do it?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Indeed the question seemed unnecessary now.&nbsp; At the word
&quot;revenge&quot; Jan had already straightened out his long,
lean figure and though traces of fatigue might still linger in
his drawn face, it was obvious that the spirit within was prepared
to fight all bodily weaknesses.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is enough strength in me, my lord,&quot;
he said simply, &quot;to do your bidding now as always for the
welfare of Holland and the triumph of our faith.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
After which Stoutenburg put out the light, and with a final curt
word to Jan and an appeal to Beresteyn he led the way out of the
room, down the stairs and finally into the street.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 24</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXIV -- THE BIRTH OF HATE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Here the three men parted; Beresteyn and Jan to go to the &quot;Lame
Cow&quot; where the latter was to begin his work of keeping track
of Diogenes, and Stoutenburg to find his way to the squalid lodging
house which was situate at the bottom of the Kleine Hout Straat
where it abuts on the Oude Gracht.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It had been somewhat impulsively that he had suggested to Beresteyn
that he would endeavour to obtain some information from the Spanish
wench as to Diogenes' plans and movements and the whereabouts
of Gilda, and now that he was alone with more sober thoughts he
realised that the suggestion had not been over-backed by reason.&nbsp;
Still as Beresteyn had said: there could be no harm in seeking
out the girl.&nbsp; Stoutenburg was quite satisfied in his mind
that she must be the rascal's sweetheart, else she had not lent
him an helping hand in the abduction of Gilda, and since he himself
was well supplied with money through the generosity of his rich
friends in Haarlem, he had no doubt that if the wench knew anything
at all about the rogue, she could easily be threatened first,
then bribed and cajoled into telling all that she knew.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Luck in this chose to favour the Lord of Stoutenburg, for the
girl was on the doorstep when he finally reached the house where
two nights ago a young soldier of fortune had so generously given
up his lodgings to a miserable pair of beggars.&nbsp; He had just
been vaguely wondering how best he could -- without endangering
his own safety -- obtain information as to which particular warren
in the house she and her father inhabited, when he saw her standing
under the lintel of the door, her meagre figure faintly lit up
by the glimmer of a street-lamp fixed in the wall just above her
head.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I would have speech with thee,&quot; he said in his usual
peremptory manner as soon as he had approached her, &quot;show
me the way to thy room.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Then as, like a frightened rabbit, she made ready to run away
to her burrow as quickly as she could, he seized hold of her arm
and reiterated roughly:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I would have speech of thee, dost hear?&nbsp; Show me the
way to thy room at once.&nbsp; Thy safety and that of thy father
depend on thy obedience.&nbsp; There is close search in the city
just now for Spanish spies.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The girl's pale cheeks took on a more ashen hue, her lips parted
with a quickly smothered cry of terror.&nbsp; She knew -- as did
every stranger in these Dutch cities just now -- that the words
&quot;Spanish spy&quot; had a magical effect on the placid tempers
of their inhabitants, and that many a harmless foreign wayfarer
had suffered imprisonment, aye and torture too, on the mere suspicion
of being a &quot;Spanish spy.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I have nothing to fear,&quot; she murmured under her breath.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Perhaps not,&quot; he rejoined, &quot;but the man who shelters
and protects thee is under suspicion of abetting Spanish spies.&nbsp;
For his sake 'twere wiser if thou didst obey me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Stoutenburg had every reason to congratulate himself on his shrewd
guess, for at his words all resistance on the girl's part vanished,
and though she began to tremble in every limb and even for a moment
seemed ready to swoon, she murmured words which if incoherent
certainly sounded submissive, and then silently led the way upstairs.&nbsp;
He followed her closely, stumbling behind her in the dark, and
as he mounted the ricketty steps he was rapidly rehearsing in
his mind what he would say to the wench.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
That the girl was that abominable villain's sweetheart he was
not for a moment in doubt, her submission just now, at the mere
hint of the fellow's danger, showed the depth of her love for
him.&nbsp; Stoutenburg felt therefore that his success in obtaining
what information he wanted would depend only on how much she knew.&nbsp;
In any case she must be amenable to a bribe for she seemed wretchedly
poor; even in that brief glimpse which he had had of her by the
dim light of the street-door lamp, he could not help but see how
ragged was her kirtle and how pinched and wan her face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
On the landing she paused and taking a key from between the folds
of her shift she opened the door of her lodging and humbly begged
the gracious mynheer to enter.&nbsp; A tallow candle placed upon
a chair threw its feeble light upon the squalid abode, the white-washed
walls, the primitive bedstead in the corner made up of deal planks
and covered with a paillasse and a thin blanket.&nbsp; From beneath
that same blanket came the gentle and fretful moanings of the
old cripple.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But Stoutenburg was far too deeply engrossed in his own affairs
to take much note of his surroundings; as soon as the girl had
closed the door behind her, he called her roughly to him and she
-- frightened and obedient -- came forward without a word, standing
now before him, with hanging arms and bowed head, whilst a slight
shiver shook her girlish form from time to time.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He dragged a chair out to the middle of the room and sat himself
astride upon it, his arms resting across the back, his booted
and spurred feet thrust out in front of him, whilst his hollow,
purple-rimmed eyes with their feverish glow of ever-present inward
excitement were fixed upon the girl.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I must tell thee, wench,&quot; he began abruptly, &quot;that
I mean to be thy friend.&nbsp; No harm shall come to thee if thou
wilt answer truthfully certain questions which I would ask of
thee.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Then as she appeared too frightened to reply and only cast a furtive,
timorous glance on him, he continued after a slight pause:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The man who protected thee against the
rabble the other night, and who gave thee shelter afterwards,
the man in whose bed thy crippled father lies at this moment<BR>
-- he is thy sweetheart, is he not?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;What is that to you?&quot; she retorted sullenly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Nothing in itself,&quot; he said quietly.&nbsp; &quot;I
merely spoke of it to show thee how much I know.&nbsp; Let me
tell thee at once that I was in the tavern with him on New Year's
Eve when his boon-companions told the tale of how he had protected
thee against a crowd; and that I was in this very street not twenty
paces away when in response to thy appeal he gave up his room
and his bed to thee, and for thy sake paced the streets for several
hours in the middle of the night in weather that must have frozen
the marrow in his bones.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Well?&nbsp; What of that?&quot; said the girl simply.&nbsp;
&quot;He is kind and good, and hath that pity for the poor and
homeless which would grace many a noble gentleman.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;No doubt,&quot; he retorted dryly, &quot;but a man will
not do all that for a wench, save in expectation of adequate payment
for his trouble and discomfort.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;What is that to you?&quot; she reiterated, with the same
sullen earnestness.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Thou art in love with that fine gallant, eh, my girl?&quot;
he continued with a harsh, flippant laugh, &quot;and art not prepared
to own to it.&nbsp; Well!&nbsp; I'll not press thee for a confession.&nbsp;
I am quite satisfied with thine evasive answers.&nbsp; Let me
but tell thee this, that the man whom thou lovest is in deadly
danger of his life.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Great God, have pity on him!&quot; she
exclaimed involuntarily.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In a spirit of wanton mischief -- for
he is not so faithful to thee as thou wouldst wish -- he has abducted
a lady from this city, as thou well knowest, since thou didst
lend him thy help in the committal of this crime.&nbsp; Thou seest,&quot;
he added roughly, &quot;that denials on thy part were worse than
useless, since I know everything.&nbsp; The lady's father is an
important magistrate in this city, he has moved every process
of the law so that he may mete out an exemplary punishment to
the blackguard who has dared to filch his daughter.&nbsp; Hanging
will be the most merciful ending to thy lover's life, but Mynheer
Beresteyn talks of the rack, of quartering and of the stake, and
he is a man of boundless influence in the administration of the
law.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Lord, have mercy upon us,&quot; once again murmured the
wretched girl whose cheeks now looked grey and shrunken; her lips
were white and quivering and her eyes with dilated pupils were
fixed in horror on the harbinger of this terrible news.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He will have none on thy sweetheart,
I'll warrant thee unless . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He paused significantly, measuring the effect of his words and
of that dramatic pause upon, the tense sensibilities of the girl.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Unless . . . what?&quot; came almost as a dying murmur from
her parched throat.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Unless thou wilt lend a hand to save
him.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I?&quot; she exclaimed pathetically, &quot;I would give
my hand . . . my tongue . . . my sight . . . my life to save him.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Come!&quot; he said, &quot;that's brave! but it will not
be necessary to make quite so violent a sacrifice.&nbsp; I have
great power too in this city and great influence over the bereaved
father,&quot; he continued, lying unblushingly, &quot;I know that
if I can restore his daughter to him within the next four and
twenty hours, I could prevail upon him to give up pursuit of the
villain who abducted her, and to let him go free.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But these words were not yet fully out of his mouth, before she
had fallen on her knees before him, clasping her thin hands together
and raising up to his hard face large, dark eyes that were brimful
of tears.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Will you do that the, O my gracious lord,&quot; she pleaded.&nbsp;
&quot;Oh! God will reward you if you will do this.&quot;&nbsp;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;How can I, thou crazy wench,&quot; he retorted, &quot;how
can I restore the damsel to her sorrowing father when I do not
know where she is?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But --&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It is from thee I want to hear where the lady is.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;From me?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Why yes! of course!&nbsp; Thou art in the confidence of
thy lover, and knowest where he keeps the lady hidden.&nbsp; Tell
me where she is, and I will pledge thee my word that thou and
he will have nothing more to fear.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;He is not my lover,&quot; she murmured dully, &quot;nor
am I in his confidence.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
She was still on her knees, but had fallen back on her heels,
with arms hanging limp and helpless by her side.&nbsp; Hope so
suddenly arisen had equally quickly died out of her heart, and
her pinched face expressed in every line the despair and misery
which had come in its wake.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Come!&quot; he cried harshly, &quot;play no tricks with
me, wench.&nbsp; Thou didst own to being the rascal's sweetheart.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I owned to my love for him,&quot; she said simply, &quot;not
to his love for me.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I told thee that he will hang or burn unless thou art willing
to help him.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And I told thee, gracious sir, that I would give my life
for him.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Which is quite unnecessary.&nbsp; All I want is the knowledge
of where he keeps the lady whom he has outraged.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I cannot help you, mynheer, in that.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thou wilt not!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I cannot,&quot; she reiterated gently.&nbsp; &quot;I do
not know where she is.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Will fifty guilders help thy memory?&quot; he sneered.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Fifty guilders would mean ease and comfort to my father
and me for many months to come.&nbsp; I would do much for fifty
guilders but I cannot tell that which I do not know.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;An hundred guilders, girl, and the safety of thy lover.&nbsp;
Will that not tempt thee?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Indeed, indeed, gracious sir,&quot; she moaned piteously,
&quot;I swear to you that I do not know.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Thou dost perjure thyself and wilt rue it, wench,&quot;
he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, and with a loud curse kicked
the chair away from him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The Lord of Stoutenburg was not a man who had been taught to curb
his temper; he had always given way to his passions, allowing
them as the years went on to master every tender feeling within
him; for years now he had sacrificed everything to them, to his
ambition, to his revenge, to his loves and hates.&nbsp; Now that
this fool of a girl tried to thwart him as he thought, he allowed
his fury against her full rein, to the exclusion of reason, of
prudence, or ordinary instincts of chivalry.&nbsp; He stooped
over her like a great, gaunt bird of prey and his thin claw-like
hand fastened itself on her thin shoulder.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Thou liest, girl,&quot; he said hoarsely, &quot;or art playing
with me?&nbsp; Money thou shalt have.&nbsp; Name thy price.&nbsp;
I'll pay the all that thou wouldst ask.&nbsp; I'll not believe
that thou dost not know!&nbsp; Think of thy lover under torture,
on the rack, burnt at the stake.&nbsp; Hast ever seen a man after
he has been broken on the wheel? his limbs torn from their sockets,
his chest sunken under the weights -- and the stake? hast seen
a heretic burnt alive . . .?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
She gave a loud scream of agony: her hands went up to her ears,
her eyes stared out of her head like those of one in a frenzy
of terror.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Pity! pity! my lord, have pity!&nbsp; I swear that I do
not know.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Verdomme!&quot; he cried out in the madness of his rage
as with a cruel twist of his hand he threw the wretched girl off
her balance and sent her half-fainting, cowering on the floor.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Verdommt be thou, plepshurk,&quot; came in a ringing voice
from behind him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The next moment he felt as if two grapnels made of steel had fastened
themselves on his shoulders and as if a weight of irresistible
power was pressing him down, down on to his knees.&nbsp; His legs
shook under him, his bones seemed literally to be cracking beneath
that iron grip, and he had not the power to turn round in order
to see who his assailant was.&nbsp; The attack had taken him wholly
by surprise and it was only when his knees finally gave way under
him, and he too was down on the ground, licking the dust of the
floor -- as he had forced the wretched girl to do -- that he had
a moment's respite from that cruel pressure and was able to turn
in the direction whence it had come.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes, with those wide shoulders of his squared out to their
full breadth, legs apart and arms crossed over his mighty chest
was standing over him, his eyes aflame and his moustache bristling
till it stood out like the tusks of a boar.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Dondersteen!&quot; he exclaimed as he watched the other
man's long, lean figure thus sprawling on the ground, &quot;this
is a pretty pass to which to bring this highly civilized and cultured
country.&nbsp; Men are beginning to browbeat and strike the women
now!&nbsp; Dondersteen!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Stoutenburg, whose vocabulary of oaths was at least as comprehensive
as that of any foreign adventurer, had -- to its accompaniment
-- struggled at last to his feet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You . . .&quot; he began as soon as he
had partially recovered his breath.&nbsp; But Diogenes putting
up his hand hastily interrupted him:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Do not speak just now, mynheer,&quot; he said with his wonted
good-humour.&nbsp; &quot;Were you to speak now, I feel that your
words would not be characterized by that dignity and courtesy
which one would expect from so noble a gentleman.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Smeerlap! --&quot; began Stoutenburg once more.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;There now,&quot; rejoined the other with imperturbable bonhomie,
&quot;what did I tell you?&nbsp; Believe me, sir, 'tis much the
best to be silent if pleasant words fail to reach one's lips.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;A truce on this nonsense,&quot; quoth Stoutenburg hotly,
&quot;you took me unawares -- like a coward. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Well said, mynheer!&nbsp; Like a coward -- that is just
how I took you -- in the act of striking a miserable atom of humanity
-- who is as defenceless as a sparrow.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;'Tis ludicrous indeed to see a man of your calling posing
as a protector of women,&quot; retorted Stoutenburg with a sneer.&nbsp;
&quot;But enough of this.&nbsp; You find me unarmed at this moment,
else you had already paid for this impudent interference.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I thank you, sir,&quot; said Diogenes as he swept the Lord
of Stoutenburg a deep, ironical bow, &quot;I thank you for thus
momentarily withholding chastisement from my unworthiness.&nbsp;
When may I have the honour of calling on your Magnificence in
order that you might mete unto me the punishment which I have
so amply deserved?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;That chastisement will lose nothing by waiting, since indeed
your insolence passes belief,&quot; quoth Stoutenburg hotly.&nbsp;
&quot;Now go!&quot; he added, choosing not to notice the wilfully
impertinent attitude of the other man, &quot;leave me alone with
this wench.&nbsp; My business is with her.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;So is mine, gracious lord,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes with a bland smile, &quot;else I were not here.&nbsp;
This room is mine -- perhaps your Magnificence did not know that
-- you would not like surely to remain my guest a moment longer
than you need.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Of a truth I knew that the baggage was your sweetheart --
else I had not come at all.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Leave off insulting the girl, man,&quot; said Diogenes whose
moustache bristled again, a sure sign that his temper was on the
boil, &quot;she has told you the truth, she knows nothing of the
whereabouts of the noble lady who has disappeared from Haarlem.&nbsp;
An you desire information on that point you had best get it elsewhere.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But Stoutenburg had in the meanwhile succeeded in recovering --
at any rate partially -- his presence of mind.&nbsp; All his life
he had been accustomed to treat these foreign adventurers with
the contempt which they deserved.&nbsp; In the days of John of
Barneveld's high position in the State, his sons would never have
dreamed of parleying with knaves, and if -- which God forbid!
-- one of them had dared then to lay hands on any member of the
High Advocate's family, hanging would certainly have been the
inevitable punishment of such insolence.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Something of that old haughtiness and pride of caste crept into
the attitude of the Lord of Stoutenburg now, and prudence also
suggested that he should feign to ignore the rough usage which
he had received at the hands of this contemptible rascal.&nbsp;
Though he was by no means unarmed -- for he never went abroad
these days without a poniard in his belt -- he had, of a truth,
no mind to engage in a brawl with this young Hercules whose profession
was that of arms and who might consequently get easily the better
of him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He made every effort therefore to remain calm and to look as dignified
as his disordered toilet would allow.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You heard what I said to this girl?&quot; he queried, speaking
carelessly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You screamed loudly enough,&quot; replied Diogenes lightly.&nbsp;
&quot;I heard you through the closed door.&nbsp; I confess that
I listened for quite a long while: your conversation greatly interested
me.&nbsp; I only interfered when I thought it necessary.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;So then I need not repeat what I said,&quot; quoth the other
lightly.&nbsp; &quot;Hanging for you, my man, unless you tell
me where you have hidden Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I?&nbsp; What have I to do with that noble lady, pray?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It is futile to bandy words with me.&nbsp; I know every
circumstance of the disappearance of the lady, and could denounce
you to the authorities within half an hour, and see you hanged
for the outrage before sunrise.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then I do wonder,&quot; said Diogenes suavely, &quot;that
your Magnificence doth not do this, for of a truth you must hate
me fairly thoroughly by now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Hate you, man?&nbsp; I'd gladly see you hang, or better
still broken on the wheel.&nbsp; But I must know from you first
where you have hidden the jongejuffrouw.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;If I am to hang anyway, sir, why should I trouble to tell
you?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The lady is my affianced wife,&quot;
said Stoutenburg haughtily, &quot;I have every right to demand
an explanation from you, why you are here when by the terms of
your contract with my friend Nicolaes Beresteyn you should at
this moment be on your way to Rotterdam, escorting the jongejuffrouw
to the house of Ben Isaje, the banker. . . .&nbsp; You see that
I am well informed,&quot; he added impatiently, seeing that Diogenes
had become suddenly silent, and that a curious shadow had spread
over his persistently smiling face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;So well informed, sir,&quot; rejoined the latter after a
slight pause, and speaking more seriously than he had done hitherto,
&quot;so well informed that I marvel you do not know that by the
terms of that same contract I pledged my word to convey the jongejuffrouw
safely to a certain spot and with all possible speed, but that
further actions on my part were to remain for mine own guidance.&nbsp;
I also pledged my word of honour that I would remain silent about
all these matters.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Bah!&quot;&nbsp; broke in Stoutenburg roughly, &quot;knaves
like you have no honour to pledge.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;No doubt, sir, you are the best judge of what a knave would
do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Insolent . . . do you dare . . . ?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;If you like it better, sir, I'll say that I have parleyed
long enough with you to suit my temper.&nbsp; This room is mine,&quot;
he added, speaking every whit as haughtily as did the other man.&nbsp;
&quot;I have business with this wench, and came here, desirous
to speak with her alone, so I pray you go!&nbsp; this roof is
too lowly to shelter the Lord of Stoutenburg.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
At mention of his name Stoutenburg's sunken cheeks took on the
colour of lead, and with a swift, instinctive gesture, his hand
flew to the hilt of the dagger under his doublet.&nbsp; During
this hot and brief quarrel with this man, the thought had never
entered his mind that his identity might be known to his antagonist,
that he -- a fugitive from justice and with a heavy price still
upon his head -- was even now at the mercy of this contemptible
adventurer whom he had learnt to hate as he had never hated a
single human soul before now.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Prudence, however, was quick enough to warn him not to betray
himself completely.&nbsp; The knave obviously suspected his identity
-- how he did that, Stoutenburg could not conjecture, but after
all he might only have drawn a bow at a venture: it was important
above all not to let him see that that bow had struck home.&nbsp;
Wherefore after the first instant of terror and surprise he resumed
as best he could his former haughty attitude, and said with well-feigned
carelessness:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;The Lord of Stoutenburg?&nbsp; Do you expect his visit then?&nbsp;
What have you to do with him?&nbsp; 'Tis dangerous, you know,
to court his friendship just now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I do not court his friendship, sir,&quot; replied Diogenes
with his gently ironical smile; &quot;the Lord of Stoutenburg
hath many enemies these days; and, methinks, that if it came to
a question of hanging he would stand at least as good a chance
of the gallows as I.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;No doubt, an you knew how to lay hands on him; you would
be over ready to denounce him to the Stadtholder for the sake
of the blood-money which you would receive for this act.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Well played, my lord,&quot; retorted Diogenes with a ringing
laugh.&nbsp; &quot;Dondersteen! but you apparently think me a
fool as well as a knave.&nbsp; Lay my hands on the Lord of Stoutenburg
did you say?&nbsp; By St. Bavon, have I not done so already? aye!
and made him like the dust, too, at my feet? &nbsp;I could sell
him to the Stadtholder without further trouble -- denounce him
even now to the authorities only that I do not happen to be a
vendor of swine-flesh -- or else. . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
A double cry interrupted the flow of Diogenes' wrathful eloquence:
a cry of rage from Stoutenburg and one of terror from the girl,
who all this while -- not understanding the cause and purport
of the quarrel between the two men -- had been cowering in a remote
corner of the room anxious only to avoid observation, fearful
lest she should be seen.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But now she suddenly ran forward, swift as a deer, unerring as
a cat, and the next moment she had thrown herself on the upraised
arm of Stoutenburg in whose hand gleamed the sharp steel of his
dagger.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Murder!&quot; she cried in a frenzy of horror.&nbsp; &quot;Save
thyself!&nbsp; he will murder thee!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes, as was his wont, threw back his head and sent his merry
laugh echoing through the tumble-down house from floor to floor,
until, in response to that light-heartedness which had burst forth
in such a ringing laugh, pallid faces were lifted wearily from
toil, and around thin, pinched lips the reflex of a smile came
creeping over the furrows caused by starvation and misery.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Let go his arm, wench,&quot; he cried gaily; &quot;he'll
not hurt me, never fear.&nbsp; Hatred has drawn a film over his
eyes and caused his hand to tremble.&nbsp; Put back your poniard,
my lord,&quot; he added lightly, &quot;the penniless adventurer
and paid hireling is unworthy of your steel.&nbsp; Keep it whetted
for your own defence and for the protection of the gracious lady
who has plighted her troth to you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Name her not, man!&quot; cried Stoutenburg, whose arm had
dropped by his side, but whose voice was still hoarse with the
passion of hate which now consumed him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Is her name polluted through passing my lips?&nbsp; Yet
is she under my protection, placed there by those who should have
guarded her honour with their life.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Touch my future wife but with the tips of thy fingers, plepshurk,
and I'll hang thee on the nearest tree with mine own hands.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Wait to threaten, my lord, until you have the power: until
then go your way.&nbsp; I -- the miserable rascal whom you abhor,
the knave whom you despise -- do give you your life and your freedom
which, as you well know, I hold at this moment in the hollow of
my hand.&nbsp; But remember that I give it you only because to
my mind one innocent woman has already suffered quite enough because
of you, without having to mourn the man whom she loves and being
widowed ere she is a wife.&nbsp; Because of that you may go out
of this room a free man -- free to pursue your tortuous aims and
your ambitious scheme.&nbsp; They are naught to me and I know
nothing about them.&nbsp; But this I do know -- that a woman has
been placed in my charge by one who should deem her honour more
sacred than his own; in this infamy I now see that you too, my
lord, have a hand.&nbsp; The lady, you say, is your future wife,
yet you placed her under my care -- a knave, a rascal -- miserable
plepshurk was the last epithet which you applied to me -- you!
who also should have guarded her good name with your very life.&nbsp;
To suit your own ends, you entrusted her to me!&nbsp; Well! to
suit mine own I'll not let you approach her, until -- having accomplished
the errand for which I am being paid -- I will myself escort the
lady back to her father.&nbsp; To this am I also pledged!&nbsp;
and both these pledges do I mean to fulfil and you, my lord, do
but waste your time in arguing with me.&quot;&nbsp;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The Lord of Stoutenburg had not attempted to interrupt Diogenes
in his long peroration.&nbsp; All the thoughts of hatred and revenge
that sprang in his mind with every word which this man uttered,
he apparently thought wisest to conceal for the moment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Now that Diogenes, after he had finished speaking, turned unceremoniously
on his heel and left Stoutenburg standing in the middle of the
room, the latter hesitated for a few minutes longer.&nbsp; Angry
and contemptuous words were all ready to his lips, but Diogenes
was paying no heed to him; he had drawn the girl with him to the
bedside of the cripple, and there began talking quietly in whispers
to her. &nbsp;Stoutenburg saw that he gave the wench some money.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Smothering a final, comprehensive oath the noble lord went quietly
out of the room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;How that man doth hate thee,&quot; whispered the girl in
awe-struck tones, as soon as she saw that the door had closed
behind him.&nbsp; &quot;And I hate him too,&quot; she added, as
she clenched her thin hands, &quot;he is cruel, coarse and evil.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Cruel, coarse and evil?&quot; said Diogenes with a shrug
of his wide shoulders, &quot;and yet there is a delicate, innocent
girl who loves him well enough to forget all his crimes and to
plight her troth to him.&nbsp; Women are strange creatures, wench
-- 'tis a wise philosopher who steers widely clear of their path.&quot;</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 25</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXV -- AN ARRANT KNAVE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
In the street below, not far from the house which he had just
quitted, Stoutenburg came on Nicolaes and Jan ensconced in the
dark against a wall.&nbsp; Beresteyn quickly explained to his
friend the reason of his presence here.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I came with Jan,&quot; he said, &quot;because I wished to
speak with you without delay.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Come as far as the cathedral then,&quot; said Stoutenburg
curtly.&nbsp; &quot;I feel that in this vervloekte street the
walls and windows are full of ears and prying eyes.&nbsp; Jan,&quot;
he added, turning to the other man, &quot;you must remain here
and on no account lose sight of that rascal when he leaves this
house.&nbsp; Follow him in and out of Haarlem, and if you do not
see me again to-night, join me at Ryswyk as soon as you can, and
come there prepared with full knowledge of his plans.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Leaving Jan in observation the two men made their way now in the
direction of the Groote Markt.&nbsp; It was still very cold, even
though there was a slight suspicion in the air of a coming change
in the weather: a scent as of the south wind blowing from over
the estuaries, while the snow beneath the feet had lost something
of its crispness and purity. The thaw had not yet set in, but
it was coquetting with the frost, challenging it to a passage
of arms, wherein either combatant might completely succumb.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
As Stoutenburg had surmised the porch of the cathedral was lonely
and deserted, even the beggars had all gone home for the night.&nbsp;
A tiny lamp fixed into the panelling of the wall flickered dimly
in the draught.&nbsp; Stoutenburg sat down on the wooden bench
-- dark and polished with age, which ran alongside one of the
walls, and with a brusque and febrile gesture drew his friend
down beside him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Well?&quot; he asked in that nervous, jerky way of his,
&quot;What is it?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Something that will horrify you, just as it did me,&quot;
replied Beresteyn, who spoke breathlessly as if under stress of
grave excitement.&nbsp; &quot;When I parted from you awhile ago,
I did what you asked me to do.&nbsp; I posted Jan outside the
door of the tapperij after I had pointed out our rogue to him
through the glass door.&nbsp; Imagine my astonishment when I saw
that at that moment our rascal was in close conversation with
my father.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;With your father?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;With my father,&quot; reiterated Beresteyn.&nbsp; &quot;That
fool, Hals, was with him, and there were another half dozen busybodies
sitting round the table.&nbsp; Our man was evidently the centre
of interest; I could not then hear what was said, but at one moment
I saw that my father shook him cordially by the hand.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Vervloekte Keerl!&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I didn't know at first what to do.&nbsp; I didn't want to
go into the tapperij and to show myself just then, but at all
costs I wished to know what my father and that arrant rascal had
to say to one another.&nbsp; So, bidding Jan on no account to
lose sight of the man, I made my way round to the service door
behind the bar, and there bribed one of the wenches to let me
stand under the lintel and to remain on the watch.&nbsp; It was
quite dark where I stood and I had a good view of the tapperij
without fear of being seen, and as my father and that cursed adventurer
were speaking loudly enough I could hear all that they said.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Well?&quot; queried Stoutenburg impatiently.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Well, my friend,&quot; quoth Beresteyn with slow emphasis,
&quot;that vervloekte scoundrel was making a promise to my father
to bring Gilda safely back to Haarlem, and my father was promising
him a fortune as his reward.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I am not surprised,&quot; remarked Stoutenburg calmly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;That man, my friend, is the most astute blackguard I have
ever come across in the whole course of my life.&nbsp; His English
blood I imagine hath made him into a thorough-going rogue.&nbsp;
He has played you false -- always did mean to play you false if
it suited his purpose!&nbsp; By God, Nicolaes! what fools we were
to trust one of these foreign adventurers.&nbsp; They'll do anything
for money, and this man instead of being -- as we thought -- an
exception to the rule, is a worse scoundrel than any of his compeers.&nbsp;
He has simply taken Gilda a little way out of Haarlem, and then
came back here to see what bargain he could strike with your father
for her return.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Gilda is some way out of Haarlem,&quot; rejoined Beresteyn
thoughtfully.&nbsp; &quot;Jan and I heard that knave talking to
his friend Hals later on.&nbsp; Hals was asking him to sup and
sleep at his house.&nbsp; But he declined the proffered bed, though
he accepted the supper:&nbsp; 'I have a journey before me this
night,' he said, 'and I must leave the city at moonrise.'&nbsp;
It seemed to me that he meant to travel far.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;She may be still at Bennebrock, or mayhap at Leyden -- he
could not have taken her further than that in the time.&nbsp;
Anyhow it would be quite easy for him to go back to her during
the night, and bring her into Haarlem to-morrow.&nbsp; Friend!&quot;
he added earnestly, &quot;the situation is intolerable -- unthinkable!&nbsp;
After all that we have done, the risks which we have taken, Gilda's
return now -- a certain denunciation from her -- and failure and
death once more stare us in the face, and this time more insistently.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It is unthinkable, as you say,&quot; cried Beresteyn vehemently,
&quot;but the situation is not so hopeless as you seem to think.&nbsp;
I can go at once to my father and denounce the rogue to him.&nbsp;
I can tell him that I have reason to believe that the man to whom
he has just promised a fortune for the return of Gilda is the
very man who hath abducted her.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Impossible,&quot; said Stoutenburg calmly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Why?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Your father would have the man arrested, he would be searched,
and papers and letters writ by you to Ben Isaje of Rotterdam will
be found in his possession.&nbsp; These papers would proclaim
you the prime mover in the outrage against your sister.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;True!&nbsp; I had not thought of that.&nbsp; But, instead
of going to my father, I could denounce the rascal to the city
magistrate on suspicion of having abducted my sister.&nbsp; Van
der Meer would give me the command of the town guard sent out
to arrest him, I could search him myself and take possession of
all his papers ere I bring him before the magistrate.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Ah! the magistracy of Haarlem moves with ponderous slowness.&nbsp;
While that oaf, Van der Meer, makes preparations for sending out
the town guard, our rogue will slip through our fingers, and mayhap
be back in Haarlem with Gilda ere we find him again.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Let me have Jan and one or two of Heemskerk's mercenaries,&quot;
urged Beresteyn, &quot;we could seize him and his papers to-night
as soon as he leaves the city gates.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then, out of revenge,&quot; said Stoutenburg, &quot;he will
refuse to tell us what he hath done with Gilda.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Bah!&quot; retorted Beresteyn cynically, &quot;here in Haarlem
we can always apply torture.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then, if he speaks, Gilda can be back here in time to denounce
us all.&nbsp; No, no, my friend,&quot; continued Stoutenburg firmly,
&quot;let us own at once that by trusting that scoundrel we have
run our heads into a noose out of which only our wits can extricate
us.&nbsp; We must meet cunning with cunning, treachery if need
be with treachery.&nbsp; Gilda -- of course -- must not remain
at the mercy of brigands, but she must not be given her freedom
to do us the harm which she hath already threatened.&nbsp; Remember
this, Nicolaes,&quot; he added, placing his hand upon his friend's
shoulder and forcing him to look straight into his own feverishly
glowing eyes, &quot;remember that, when all these troubles are
over, Gilda will become my wife.&nbsp; The devotion of my entire
life shall then compensate her for the slight wrong which fate
compels us to do her at this moment.&nbsp; Will you remember that,
my friend?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I do remember it,&quot; replied the other, &quot;but . .
.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And will you try and trust me as you would yourself?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I do trust you, Willem, as I would trust myself; only tell
me what you want to do.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I want to bring that knave to the gallows without compromising
you and the success of our cause,&quot; said Stoutenburg firmly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But how can you do it?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;That I do not know yet; I have only vague thoughts in my
mind.&nbsp; But hate, remember, is a hard and very efficient task-master,
and I hate that man, Nicolaes, almost as much as I hate the Prince
of Orange.&nbsp; But 'tis the Prince's death which I want first;
because of this my hatred of the rascal must lie dormant just
a few days.&nbsp; But it shall lose nothing by waiting, and already
I see before me visions of an exemplary revenge which shall satisfy
you and gratify my hate.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Can I help you in any way?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Not at present; I have no definite plans just now.&nbsp;
All I know is that we must possess ourselves of the rascal's person
as well as of Gilda without the risk of compromising ourselves.&nbsp;
In this, of course, we have now Jan's valuable help; he is a splendid
leader and entirely trustworthy where the cause of his own hatred
against the Prince is served.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And, of course, you have the thirty or forty men -- mercenaries
and louts -- whom Heemskerk, van Does and the others have been
recruiting for you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Exactly.&nbsp; I can easily detail half a dozen of them
to follow Jan.&nbsp; That is our first move, my good Beresteyn,&quot;
he added emphatically, &quot;to gain possession of Gilda, and
to capture the rascal.&nbsp; Only tell me this, what are the papers
now in that knave's possession which might compromise you if they
were found?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I had to write a letter to Ben Isaje, telling him to convince
himself that Gilda was safe and in good health, ere he paid the
rascal a sum of 3,000 guilders.&nbsp; This letter is writ in mine
own hand and signed with my name.&nbsp; Then there is a formal
order to Ben Isaje to pay over the money, but that was writ in
the usual way by the public scrivener and is signed with the cypher
which I always use in all monetary transactions with the Jew.&nbsp;
He keeps these formal documents in his archives and all his clients
use a cypher in the same way.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;How is that formal order worded?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;As far as I remember it runs thus:&nbsp; 'In consideration
of valuable services rendered to me by the bearer of this note,
I desire you to pay him the sum of 3,000 guilders out of my monies
which lie with you at interest.'&nbsp; The cypher signature consists
of the words 'Schwarzer Kato' surmounted by a triangle.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And is that cypher known to anyone save to Ben Isaje?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Alas! it is known to my father.&nbsp; We both use it for
private business transactions.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But to Gilda&quot; insisted Stoutenburg.&nbsp; &quot;Would
Gilda know it if she saw it?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;She could not be certain of it . . . though, of course,
she might guess.&nbsp; 'Schwarzer Kato' is the name of a tulip
raised by my father, and the triangle is a sign used sometimes
by our house in business.&nbsp; But it would be mere conjecture
on her part.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then everything will still be for the best, never fear,
my good Beresteyn,&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg, whose hard, cruel
face was glowing with excitement.&nbsp; &quot;Chance indeed has
been on our side throughout this business.&nbsp; An you will trust
me to finish it now; you'll have no cause for anxiety or regrets.&nbsp;
Come! let us find Jan at once!&nbsp; I have a few orders to give
him, and then mean to be on my way to Ryswyk to-night.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He rose to his feet and now the glitter in
his hollow eyes appeared almost inhuman.&nbsp; He was a man whose
whole soul fed upon hatred, upon vengeance planned and accomplished,
upon desire for supreme power; and at this moment his scheme for
murdering the Stadtholder was backed by one for obtaining possession
of the woman he loved, and being revenged on the man who had insulted
and jeered at him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn, always ready to accept the leadership
of his friend, followed him in silence down the street.&nbsp;
After awhile they once more came upon Jan, who apparently had
never moved all this while from his post of observation.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well?&quot; asked Stoutenburg in a scarce
audible whisper, &quot;has he not gone yet?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not yet,&quot; replied Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg cast a quick, almost furtive glance
in the direction of the house where he had experienced such dire
humiliation a brief half hour ago.&nbsp; A curious whistling sound
escaped through his clenched teeth, a sound such as many a wild
beast makes when expectant of prey.&nbsp; Then he drew Jan further
away from the house, fearful lest his words were wafted toward
it on the wind.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Keep him in sight, Jan,&quot; he commanded,
&quot;until he goes to the house of Mynheer Hals in the Peuselaarsteg,
whither he means to go for supper.&nbsp; There you may safely
leave him for an hour, and go directly to the house of my Lord
of Heemskerk whom you know.&nbsp; Ask him for half a dozen of
his foreign mercenaries; tell him they are for my immediate service.&nbsp;
These men will then help you to keep our knave in sight.&nbsp;
He will leave Haarlem at moonrise, and you must never lose his
track for a moment.&nbsp; Presently he should be escorting a lady
in the direction of Rotterdam.&nbsp; If he does this -- if he
travel south toward that city, do not molest him, only keep him
in sight, and the moment he arrives at Rotterdam come and report
to me at Ryswyk.&nbsp; But,&quot; he added more emphatically,
&quot;if at any time it appears to you that he is turning back
with the lady toward Haarlem come upon him at once with your men
and seize him together with any companions he may have with him.&nbsp;
You understand?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Perfectly, my lord.&nbsp; While he travels southwards with
the lady, we are only to keep him in sight; when he and the lady
arrive at Rotterdam we must report to you at Ryswyk, but the moment
he turns back toward Haarlem we are to fall on him and seize him
and his companions.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;The lady you will treat with the utmost respect,&quot; resumed
Stoutenburg with an approving nod, &quot;the rascal and his companions
you may mishandle as much as you like, without, however, doing
them mortal injury.&nbsp; But having taken the whole party prisoner,
you will forthwith convey them to the molens at Ryswyk, where
you will find me.&nbsp; Now is all that clear?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Nothing could be clearer, my lord,&quot; repeated Jan firmly.&nbsp;
&quot;We follow him while he travels south, but seize him with
his company and the lady if he turn back toward Haarlem.&nbsp;
Nothing could be easier.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You will not let him slip through your fingers, Jan?&quot;
said Stoutenburg earnestly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Jan laughed and shrugged his shoulders.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You said that this work would help to forward our cause,&quot;
he said simply.&nbsp; &quot;I ask no questions.&nbsp; I believe
you and obey.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;That's brave!&nbsp; And you will take great care of the
lady, when she falls into your hands?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I understand that she is my lord's future lady,&quot; rejoined
Jan, with the same simplicity which makes the perfect soldier
and the perfect servant, and which promised obedience without
murmur and without question.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Yes, Jan.&nbsp; The lady is my future wife,&quot; said Stoutenburg.&nbsp;
&quot;Treat her as such.&nbsp; As for the man . . . I want him
alive . . . do not kill him, Jan, even if he provoke you.&nbsp;
And he will do that by his insolence, I know.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;My lord shall have his enemy alive,&quot; said Jan, &quot;a
helpless prisoner . . . but alive.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Then good luck to you, Jan,&quot; concluded Stoutenburg
with a sigh of satisfaction.&nbsp; &quot;I am well pleased with
you.&nbsp; In the near future I shall be happy to remember that
the high offices of State and those around my person must be filled
by those who have well deserved of them.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He put out his thin, nervy hand and Jan fell on one knee in order
to kiss it with fervour and respect.&nbsp; The son of John of
Barneveld could still count on the loyalty of a few who believed
in him, and who looked on his crimes as a necessary means to a
glorious end.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A few moments later Beresteyn and Stoutenburg
had disappeared in the darkness of the narrow street, and Jan
remained alone at his post of observation.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXVI -- BACK TO HOUDEKERK</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
And now back once more in the kingdom of the night and of the
frost, of the darkness and of silence, back along the ice ways
on a swift and uninterrupted flight.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The moon is less kind now, fitful and coy; she will not peep out
from behind the banks of clouds save at rare intervals; and the
clouds are heavy; great billows, clumsy in shape as if weighted
with lead; the moon plays a restless game of hide and seek amongst
them for the bewilderment of the skater, to whom last night she
was so kind.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
They come tumbling in more and more thickly from the south --
those clouds -- driven more furiously by the gusty wind.&nbsp;
Brother north-easter has gone to rest, it is the turn of the south
wind now -- not the soft south wind of summer, but a turbulent
and arrogant fellow who bellows as loudly as he can, and who means
to have a frolic in this world of ice and snow from which his
colder brethren have exiled him until now.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Straight at the head of the skater, it expended the brunt of its
fury, sending his hat flying in one direction and in wanton delight
leading him into a mad chase after it; then when once more he
was on his way -- hat in hand this time -- it tore with impish
glee at his hair, impeded his movements, blew doublet and sash
awry.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
What a chase!&nbsp; what a fight!&nbsp; what a run!&nbsp; But
dondersteen! we do defy thee, O frolicsome south wind! aye, and
the darkness too!&nbsp; Back to Houdekerk, the first stage on
the road to fortune.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It is not nearly so cold now that brother north-easter has yielded
to his madcap brother from the south!&nbsp; gusty and rough and
a hand-to-hand fight for progress all the time, with tears running
down the cheeks, and breath coming in gasps from the chest!&nbsp;
It is not so cold, and the ice is less crisp, its smooth skin
is furrowed and wrinkled, soft and woolly beneath the touch of
the steel blades; but the snow still lies thickly upon the low-lying
ground, and holds in its luminous embrace all the reflections
which the capricious moon will lend it.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
For the first half hour, while the moon was still very brilliant
and the night air very still, it seemed to Diogenes as if the
loneliness around him was only fictitious, as if somewhere --
far away mayhap -- men moved in the same way as he did, swiftly
and silently over the surface of the ice.&nbsp; It seemed to him
in fact that he was being followed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He tried to make sure of this, straining his ears to listen, and
now and then he caught very distinctly the sound of the metallic
click of several pairs of skates.&nbsp; His senses, trained to
over-acuteness through years of hard fighting and of campaigning,
could not easily be deceived; and presently there was no doubt
in his mind that Nicolaes Beresteyn or the Lord of Stoutenburg
had set spies upon his track.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">This knowledge caused him only to set his teeth,
and to strike out more vigorously and more rapidly than before;
those who followed him were fairly numerous -- over half a dozen
he reckoned -- the only chance of evading them was, therefore,
in flight.&nbsp; He took to noting the rolling banks of cloud
with a more satisfied eye, and when, after the first hour or so,
the light of the waning moon became more dim and even at times
disappeared completely, he took the first opportunity that presented
itself of making a d&eacute;tour over a backwater of the Meer,
which he knew must bewilder his pursuers.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Whether the pursuit was continued after that, he could not say.&nbsp;
His eyes trying to pierce the gloom could tell him nothing; but
there were many intricate little by-ways just south of the Meer
over backwaters and natural canals, which he knew well, and over
these he started on an eccentric and puzzling career which was
bound to baffle the spies on his track.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Whenever he spoke subsequently of the many adventures which befell
him during the first days of this memorable New Year, he never
was very explicit on the subject of this night's run back to Houdekerk.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
As soon as he had rid himself -- as he thought -- of his pursuers,
he allowed his mind to become more and more absorbed in the great
problem which confronted him since he had pledged his word to
Mynheer Beresteyn to bring the jongejuffrouw safely back to him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He now moved more mechanically over the iceways, taking no account
of time or space or distance, only noting with the mere eye of
instinct the various landmarks which loomed up from time to time
out of the fast gathering darkness.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
This coming darkness he welcomed, for he knew his way well, and
it would prove his staunch ally against pursuit.&nbsp; For the
rest he was conscious neither of cold, of hunger nor of fatigue.&nbsp;&nbsp;
Pleasant thoughts helped to cheer his spirits and to give strength
to his limbs.&nbsp; His brief visit to Haarlem had indeed been
fruitful of experiences.&nbsp; A problem confronted him which
he had made up his mind to solve during his progress across the
ice in the night.&nbsp; How to keep his word to Nicolaes Beresteyn,
and yet bring the jongejuffrouw safely back to her father.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She would not, of course, willingly follow
him, and his would once again be the uncongenial task of carrying
her off by force if he was to succeed in his new venture.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
A fortune if he brought her back!&nbsp; That sounded simple enough,
and the thought of it caused the philosopher's blood to tingle
with delight.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
A fortune if he brought her back!&nbsp; It would have to be done
after he had handed her over into the care of Mynheer Ben Isaje
at Rotterdam.&nbsp; He was pledged to do that, but once this was
accomplished -- his word to Nicolaes Beresteyn would be redeemed.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
A fortune if he brought her back!&nbsp; And when he had brought
her back she would tell of his share in her abduction, and instead
of the fortune mayhap the gallows would be meted out to him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
'Twas a puzzle, a hard nut for a philosopher to crack.&nbsp; It
would be the work of an adventurer, of a man accustomed to take
every risk on the mere chance of success.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But Gilda's image never left him for one moment while his thoughts
were busy with that difficult problem.&nbsp; For the first time
now he realized the utter pathos of her helplessness.&nbsp; The
proud little vixen, as he had dubbed her a while ago, was after
all but a poor defenceless girl tossed hither and thither just
to suit the ambitions of men.&nbsp; Did she really love that unscrupulous
and cruel Stoutenburg, he wondered.&nbsp; Surely she must love
him, for she did not look the kind of woman who would plight her
troth against her will.&nbsp; She loved him and would marry him,
her small white hand, which had the subtle fragrance of tulips,
would be placed in one which was deeply stained with blood.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Poor young vixen, with the sharp tongue that knew how to hurt
and the blue eyes that could probe a wound like steel!&nbsp; It
was strange to think that their soft glances were reserved for
a man whose heart was more filled with hate for men than with
love for one woman.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;If I loved you, little vixen,&quot; he once murmured apostrophizing
the elusive vision which lightened the darkness around him, &quot;if
I loved you, I would break my word to that dastard who is your
brother . . . I would not take you to Rotterdam to further his
ambition, but I would carry you off to please myself.&nbsp; I
would take you to some distant land, mayhap to my unknown father's
home in England, where the sounds of strife and hatred amongst
men would only come as a faint and intangible echo.&nbsp; I would
take you to where roses bloom in profusion, and where in the spring
the petals of apple-blossoms would cover you like a mantle of
fragrant snow. &nbsp;There I would teach that sharp tongue of
yours to murmur words of tenderness and those perfect blue eyes
to close in the ecstasy of a kiss.&nbsp; But,&quot; he added with
his habitual light-hearted laugh, &quot;I do not love you, little
vixen, for heigh-ho! if I did 'twere hard for my peace of mind.&quot;<BR>
<BR>
When Diogenes neared the town of Leyden he heard its church clocks
ring out the hour of three.&nbsp; Close by the city walls he took
off his skates, preferring to walk the short league which lay
between him and Houdekerk.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He was more tired than he cared to own even to himself, and the
last tramp along the road was inexpressibly wearisome.&nbsp; But
he had seen or heard nothing more of his pursuers; he was quite
convinced that they had lost track of him some hours ago.&nbsp;
The south wind blew in heavy gusts from over the marshlands far
away, and the half-melted snow clung sticky and dank against the
soles and heels of his boots.&nbsp; A smell of dampness in the
air proclaimed the coming triumph of the thaw.&nbsp; The roads,
thought Diogenes, would be heavy on the morrow, impassable mayhap
to a sledge, and the jongejuffrouw would have to travel in great
discomfort in a jolting vehicle.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
At last in the near distance a number of tiny lights proclaimed
the presence of a group of windmills.&nbsp; It was in one of these
that Pythagoras and Socrates had been ordered to ask for shelter
-- in the fifth one down the road, which stood somewhat isolated
from the others; even now its long, weird arms showed like heavy
lines of ink upon the black background of the sky.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes almost fell up against the door; he could hardly stand.&nbsp;
But the miller was on the look-out for him, having slept only
with half an eye, waiting for the stranger whose emissaries had
already paid him well.&nbsp; He carried a lanthorn and a bunch
of keys; his thin, sharp head was surmounted with a cotton nightcap
and his feet were encased in thick woollen hose.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It took him some time to undo the many heavy bolts which protected
the molens against the unwelcome visits of night marauders, and
before he pushed back the final one, he peered through a tiny
judas in the door and in a querulous voice asked the belated traveller's
name.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Never mind my name,&quot; quoth Diogenes impatiently, &quot;and
open thy door, miller, ere I break it in.&nbsp; I am as tired
as a nag, as thirsty as a dog and hungry as a cat.&nbsp; The jongejuffrouw
is I trust safe: I am her major domo and faithful servant, so
open quickly, or thy shoulder will have to smart for the delay.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
I have Diogenes' own assurance that the miller was thereupon both
obedient and prompt.&nbsp; He -- like all his compeers in the
neighborhood -- found but scanty living in the grinding of corn
for the neighbouring peasantry, there was too much competition
nowadays and work had not multiplied in proportion.&nbsp; Optimists
said that in a few years time the paralysing effects of the constant
struggle against Spain would begin to wear off, that the tilling
of the soil would once more become a profitable occupation and
that the molens which now stood idle through many days in the
year would once more become a vast storehouse of revenue for those
who had continued to work them.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But in the meanwhile the millers and their families were oft on
the verge of starvation, and some of them eked out a precarious
livelihood by taking in wayfarers who were on their way to and
from the cities and had sundry reasons -- into which it was best
not to inquire -- for preferring to sleep and eat at one of these
out-of-the-way places rather than in one of the city hostelries.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes had made previous acquaintance with his present landlord;
he knew him to be a man of discretion and of boundless cupidity,
two very useful qualities when there is a secret to be kept and
plenty of money wherewith to guard it.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Therefore did Diogenes order his companions to convey the jongejuffrouw
to the molens of Mynheer Patz, and there to keep guard over her
until his own return.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Patz looked well after his belated guest's material comfort.&nbsp;
There was some bread and cheese and a large mug of ale waiting
for him in the wheel-house and a clean straw paillasse in a corner.&nbsp;
The place smelt sweetly of freshly ground corn, of flour and of
dry barley and maize, and a thin white coating of flour -- soft
to the touch as velvet -- lay over everything.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes ate and drank and asked news of the jongejuffrouw.&nbsp;
She was well but seemed over sad, the miller explained; but his
wife had prepared a comfortable bed for her in the room next to
the tiny kitchen.&nbsp; It was quite warm there and Mevrouw Patz
had spread her one pair of linen sheets over the bed.&nbsp; The
jongejuffrouw's serving woman was asleep on the kitchen floor;
she declared herself greatly ill-used, and had gone to sleep vowing
that she was so uncomfortable she would never be able to close
an eye.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
As for the two varlets who had accompanied the noble lady, they
were stretched out on a freshly made bed of straw in the weighing-room.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Patz and his wife seemed to have felt great sympathy for the jongejuffrouw,
and Diogenes had reason to congratulate himself that she was moneyless,
else she would have found it easy enough to bribe the over-willing
pair into helping her to regain her home.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He dreamt of her all night; her voice rang in his ear right through
the soughing of the wind which beat against the ill-fitting windows
of the wheel-house.&nbsp; Alternately in his dream she reviled
him, pleaded with him, heaped insults upon him, but he was securely
bound and gagged and could not reply to her insults or repulse
her pleadings.&nbsp; He made frantic efforts to tear the gag from
his mouth, for he wished to tell her that he had not lost his
heart to her and cared nothing for the misery which she felt.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXVIII -- CHECK</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The room into which Diogenes now stepped looked at first sight
to be almost devoid of furniture: it was only when the Jew had
entered and placed the lanthorn down upon a wooden table at one
end of the room that the philosopher realized where he was.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The dark low walls showed themselves lined with solid oak chests
and presses, each with massive hinges and locks, rusty and covered
with dust, but firm enough to withstand for many an hour the depredations
of thieves.&nbsp; Ben Isaje was obviously a jeweller by trade
and this was the shop where he kept his precious goods: no wonder
then that he looked with obvious fear on his belated visitor with
the powerful shoulders and vigorous limbs, seeing that to all
appearances he was at the moment alone in the house.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Like all jewellers settled in the Dutch cities at this time Ben
Isaje carried on a number of other trades -- some of which were
perhaps not altogether avowable.&nbsp; He acted as banker and
moneylender, and general go-between in financial transactions,
some of which had political aims.&nbsp; Discretion was of necessity
his chief stock-in-trade, and his small cargo of scruples he had
thrown overboard long ago.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He was as ready now to finance a conspiracy against the Stadtholder
as against the Archduchess or Don John, provided he saw huge monetary
profits in the deal, and received bribes with a calm conscience
both from Maurice of Nassau and the Lord of Stoutenburg.&nbsp;
But once he was liberally paid he would hold to his bond: it was
only by keeping the good graces of all political parties that
he remained free from molestation.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes had known exactly what to expect when Nicolaes Beresteyn
gave him the letter and bond to present to Ben Isaje; he was,
therefore, not surprised in the least when he saw before him the
true type of financial agent whom already he had met more than
once in his life before.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Ben Isaje, who was the depositary of vast sums of money placed
in his house by clients of substance and of note, wore a long,
greasy kaftan of black cloth, which was worn threadbare at the
elbows and the knees, and the shop wherein he transacted business
both for governments and private individuals which oft times involved
several million guilders, had only a few very ricketty chairs,
one or two tables blackened with dirt and age, and a piece of
tattered carpet in one corner as sole expressions of comfort.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But all these facts were of course none of Diogenes' business.&nbsp;
At his host's invitation he had sat down on one of the ricketty
chairs and then proceeded to extract some papers from out the
inner lining of his doublet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It would save time,&quot; he began dryly, and seeing that
the man still eyed him with suspicion, &quot;if you would cease
to deny that you are Ben Isaje, jeweller of Rotterdam.&nbsp; I
have here some papers which I must deliver into the said Ben Isaje's
own hands: they are writ by Mynheer Nicolaes Beresteyn of Haarlem
and do explain the purport of my visit here.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;From Nicolaes Beresteyn,&quot; quoth the other with an obvious
sigh of relief.&nbsp; &quot;Why did you not name him before, sir?&nbsp;
I am always at Mynheer Nicolaes Beresteyn's commands.&nbsp; Indeed
my name is Ben Isaje.&nbsp; An you have cause to doubt it, sir.
. . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Dondersteen! but I never did doubt it, man, from the moment
I saw the end of your hooked nose through the aperture of your
door.&nbsp; So no more talk now, I pray you.&nbsp; Time is getting
on.&nbsp; Here is the letter which Mynheer Beresteyn bade me present
to you.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
He handed over the letter to Ben Isaje which was writ in Beresteyn's
own hand and duly signed with his own name.&nbsp; The Jew took
it from him and drawing a chair close to the light on the table
he unfolded the paper and began to read.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes the while examined him attentively.&nbsp; He was the
man who after this night would have charge of Gilda, at the bidding
of her own brother; he -- Diogenes -- would after this night become
a free agent, his pledge to Beresteyn would be redeemed and he
would be free -- in an hour's time mayhap -- to work for his own
ends -- to restore the jongejuffrouw to her sorrowing father,
by taking her by force from this old Jew's keeping and returning
with utmost speed and in utmost secrecy the very way he had just
come.&nbsp; A fortune of 500,000 guilders awaited him in Haarlem,
provided he could cajole or threaten Gilda in keeping his share
of her original abduction a secret for all times.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
How this could be done he had not yet thought on; but that it
could be done he had no manner of doubt.&nbsp; An interview with
the lady either this night or on the morrow, a promise to take
her back to her father at once if she swore a solemn oath never
to betray him, and he might be back in Leyden with her to-morrow
eve and in possession of a fortune the following day.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
No wonder then, that with these happy thoughts whirling in his
head, he could scarcely restrain his temper while Ben Isaje read
the long letter through, and then re-read it again a second time.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Have you not finished, sir?&quot; he exclaimed at last with
marked impatience, &quot;meseems the letter is explicit enough.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Quite explicit, sir, I thank you,&quot; replied Ben Isaje,
as he slowly folded up the letter and slipped it into the pocket
of his kaftan.&nbsp; &quot;I am to assure myself that the Jongejuffrouw
Gilda Beresteyn, who is in your charge, is safe and well and hath
no grave complaints to make against you, beyond that you did seize
her by force in the streets of Haarlem.&nbsp; After which I am
to see that she is conveyed with respect and safety to my own
private house which is situate outside this city, or to any other
place which I might think fitting, and there to keep her in comfort
until such time as Mynheer Beresteyn desires.&nbsp; All that is
quite clearly set forth in the letter, sir, and also that in payment
for your services you are to receive the sum of 3,000 guilders
which I am to give you in exchange for the formal bond which you
will duly present.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The Jew spoke very deliberately -- too deliberately, in fact,
for Diogenes' endurance.&nbsp; Now he broke in impatiently.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Is that all that is set forth in the letter?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The Jew smiled somewhat sardonically.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Not quite all,&quot; he said, &quot;there is, of course,
question in it of payment to myself.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And certain conditions too, I imagine attached to such payment.&nbsp;
I know that Mynheer Beresteyn is prudent beyond his years.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;There is but one condition, sir, which enjoins me to keep
a watchful eye on the jongejuffrouw once she is under my roof:
to set a watch over her and her movements, and never, if possible,
to let her out of my sight; he suggests that she might at any
time make an attempt at escape, which he strictly commands me
to frustrate, and in point of fact he desires me to look upon
his sister as a prisoner of war not even to be let out on parole.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes' low, prolonged whistle was his only
comment on what he had just heard.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Mynheer Beresteyn also suggests to me, sir,&quot; continued
the Jew with marked affability, &quot;the advisability of keeping
a watchful eye over you until such time as the jongejuffrouw is
safely housed under my roof.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You will find that injunction somewhat more difficult to
follow, my friend, than you imagine,&quot; retorted Diogenes with
a ringing laugh, &quot;an you'll take my advice you will have
extra watchmen posted outside your door.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I have valuable things as well as monies stored in this
house, sir,&quot; rejoined the Jew simply.&nbsp; &quot;I have
a picked guard of ten men sleeping here every night, and two watchmen
outside my door until dawn.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Once more a long, low whistle escaped from the philosopher's lips.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You are careful, my friend!&quot; he said lightly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;One has to be careful, sir, against thieves and house-breakers.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;And will your picked guard of ten men escort the jongejuffrouw
to your private house this night?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But the other slowly shook his head in response.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;The lady and her escort,&quot; he said, &quot;must, I fear
me, accept the hospitality of this hovel for to-night.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;My wife is away, sir, visiting her father in Dordrecht.&nbsp;
She will only be home to-morrow.&nbsp; In the meanwhile my house
is empty, and I am spending my nights here as well as my days.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;It will not be a great hardship for the jongejuffrouw, sir,&quot;
broke in the Jew again, &quot;she will be made as comfortable
for the night as may be -- she and her attendant too.&nbsp; I
have a serving woman here who will see to the beds and the supper.&nbsp;
Then to-morrow I can send a messenger to my private house to prepare
my wife the moment she arrives, against the coming of the jongejuffrouw.&nbsp;
'Tis situate but half a league from here, and she would then be
sure of a welcome equal to her worth.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Then as Diogenes was silent -- since he felt perplexed and anxious
at this unlooked-for turn of events and this first check to his
plans -- Ben Isaje continued with even greater affability than
heretofore:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Indeed, sir, and is it not better for the lady's own comfort?&nbsp;
She will be over-fatigued when she arrives, and delighted -- I
know -- at finding a nice bed and supper ready for her.&nbsp;
Is it not all for the best?&quot; he reiterated pleasantly.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But Diogenes was not satisfied.&nbsp; He did not like the idea
of losing sight of Gilda altogether, quite so soon.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;I do not care to leave the jongejuffrouw,&quot; he said,
&quot;until I see her safely on her way to your house.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Nor need you leave her, sir.&nbsp; There is a small room
at the back of this shop, to which you are heartily welcome for
the night.&nbsp; It is usually occupied by some of my guard, but
they can dispose themselves in other rooms in the house.&nbsp;
They are sturdy fellows, sir, and well-armed,&quot; continued
the Jew, not without significance, &quot;and I trust that they
will not disturb you with their noise.&nbsp; Otherwise, sir, you
are most welcome to sleep and sup under this roof.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes murmured vague thanks.&nbsp; Indeed, he was not a little
troubled in his mind.&nbsp; The plans which he had formed for
the second abduction of Gilda would prove more difficult of execution
than he had supposed.&nbsp; The Jew had more than the customary
prudence of his race, and Beresteyn had made that prudence and
the measures which it suggested a condition of payment.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Between the prudence of Beresteyn and that of Ben Isaje, it was
difficult to see how an adventurous plan could succeed.&nbsp;
Three philosophers against a picked guard of ten men, with two
more to keep watch outside the door, did not seem a promising
venture.&nbsp;&nbsp; But Diogenes would not have been the happy-go-lucky
soldier of fortune that he was, had he paused for long at this
juncture in order to brood over likely failure, or had he not
been willing to allow Chance a goodly share in the working out
of his destiny.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It certainly was useless to argue any of these matters further
with Ben Isaje; fate had willed it that the philosopher should
spend this night under the same roof as the jongejuffrouw with
a watch of twelve picked men -- not counting the Jew himself --
set over him, and to rebel against that fate now were puerile
and useless.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
So he murmured more audible thanks for the proffered hospitality,
and put on as good-humoured an air over the matter as he could.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
From the distance now there came the sound of jingling bells and
the clatter of horses' hoofs upon the cobblestones of the streets.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;'Tis the jongejuffrouw,&quot; exclaimed Diogenes, springing
to his feet.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;The sledge cannot turn into this narrow way,&quot; rejoined
Ben Isaje, &quot;will you go meet the lady, sir, at the top of
the street where she must needs dismount, and escort her hither,
while I go to give orders to the serving woman.&nbsp; Your men,&quot;
he added, as Diogenes at once rose and went to the door, &quot;and
the horses can put up at the hostelry close by where no doubt
they have halted even now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
But already Diogenes was half way down the passage; soon he was
at the front door fumbling in the dark for the heavy bolts.&nbsp;
Ben Isaje followed him more deliberately, lanthorn in hand.&nbsp;
He unlocked the door, and the next moment Diogenes was once more
out in the street, walking rapidly in the direction whence came
the occasional pleasing sound of the tinkling of sleigh-bells.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXIX -- CHECK AGAIN</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Though the jongejuffrouw seemed inexpressibly tired and weak,
her attitude toward Diogenes lost nothing of its cold aloofness.&nbsp;
She was peeping out under the hood of the sledge when he approached
it, and at sight of him she immediately drew in her head.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will you deign to descend, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said with that slight tone of good-humoured mockery in his
voice which had the power to irritate her.&nbsp; &quot;Mynheer
Ben Isaje, whose hospitality you will enjoy this night, lives
some way up this narrow, insalubrious street, and he has bidden
me to escort you to his house.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Silently, and with a great show of passive
obedience, Gilda made ready to step out of the sledge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Come, Maria,&quot; she said curtly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The road is very slippery, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he added warningly, &quot;will you not permit me -- for your own
convenience' sake -- to carry you as far as Ben Isaje's door?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It would not be for my convenience, sir,&quot;
she retorted haughtily, &quot;an you are so chivalrously inclined
perhaps you would kindly convey my waiting woman thither in your
arms.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;At your service, mejuffrouw,&quot; he said with imperturbable
good temper.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
And without more ado, despite her screams and her struggles, he
seized Maria round her ample waist and round her struggling knees
at the moment that she was stepping out of the sledge in the wake
of her mistress.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The lamp outside the hostel at the corner illumined for a moment
Gilda's pale, wearied face, and Diogenes saw that she was trying
her best to suppress an insistent outburst of laughter.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Hey there!&quot; he shouted, &quot;Pythagoras, Socrates,
follow the jongejuffrouw at a respectful distance and see that
no harm come to her while I lead the way with this feather-weight
in my arms.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Nor did he deposit Maria to the ground until he reached the door
of Ben Isaje's house; here, when the mevrouw began to belabour
him with her tongue and with her fists, he turned appealingly
to Gilda:</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Mejuffrouw,&quot; he said merrily, &quot;is this abuse not
unmerited?&nbsp; I did but obey your behests and see how I must
suffer for mine obedience.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But Gilda vouchsafed him no reply, and in the
darkness he could not see if her face looked angered or smiling.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Ben Isaje, hearing the noise that went on outside
his house, had already hastened to open the door.&nbsp; He welcomed
the jongejuffrouw with obsequious bows.&nbsp; Behind him in the
dark passage stood a lean and towzled-looking serving woman of
uncertain years who was as obsequious as her master.&nbsp; When
Gilda, confused and wearied, and mayhap not a little tired, advanced
timorously into the narrow passage, the woman rushed up to her,
and almost kneeling on the floor in the lowliness of her attitude,
she kissed the jongejuffrouw's hand.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes saw nothing more of Gilda and Maria
after that.&nbsp; They vanished into the gloom up the ladder-like
staircase, preceded by the towzled but amiable woman, who by her
talk and clumsy attempts at service had already earned Maria's
fulsome contempt.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You, too, must be hungry, sir,&quot;
murmured a smooth affable voice close to Diogenes' elbow.&nbsp;
&quot;There is a bite and a drink ready for you; will you sup,
sir, ere you go to bed?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Before, however, following Ben Isaje into the
shop Diogenes exchanged a few words with his brother philosophers,
who, impassive and unquestioning, had escorted the jongejuffrouw
to the door, and now stood there awaiting further orders.&nbsp;
Diogenes suggested their getting supper and a bed in the hostelry
at the top of the street in company with their driver; the horses
too should all be stabled there.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am going to spend the night under this
tumble-down roof,&quot; he said, &quot;but remember to sleep with
one eye open and be prepared for a summons from me at any hour
of the night or morning.&nbsp; Until that comes, however, do not
leave the hostel.&nbsp; Care well for the horses, we may have
need of them to-morrow.&nbsp; Good-night! pleasant dreams!&nbsp;
Do not forget that to-morrow five hundred guilders will fill each
of your pockets.&nbsp; In the meanwhile here is the where-withal
to pay for bed and supper.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He gave them some money and then watched the
two quaint figures, the long one and the round one, until they
were merged in the blackness of the narrow street.&nbsp; Then
he went within.&nbsp; Ben Isaje once more closed and bolted the
front door and the two men then went together into the shop.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Here an appetizing supper had been laid ready
upon the table and a couple of tallow candles burned in pewter
sconces.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Ben Isaje at once invited his guest to eat
and drink.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not before we have settled our business
together, master,&quot; said the latter as he dragged a chair
towards him, and sitting astride upon it, with his shapely legs
thrust well out before him, he once more drew a paper from out
the lining of his doublet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are satisfied,&quot; he resumed after
a slight pause, &quot;that the lady whom I have had the honour
of bringing into your house is indeed the Jongejuffrouw Gilda
Beresteyn, sister of your client Mynheer Nicolaes Beresteyn of
Haarlem?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am quite satisfied on that point,&quot;
replied the Jew, whose thin, bent form under the rigid folds of
the black kaftan looked curiously weird in the feeble yellow light.&nbsp;
His face was narrow and also waxlike in hue and the flickering
candle-light threw quaint, distorted shadows around his long hooked
nose.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then,&quot; said Diogenes blandly while
he held out a folded paper to Ben Isaje, &quot;Here is the bond
signed by Mynheer Beresteyn wherein he orders you to pay me the
sum of 3,000 guilders in consideration of the services which I
have rendered him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But Ben Isaje did not take the paper thus held
out to him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is too late,&quot; he said quietly,
&quot;to transact business to-night.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Too late!&quot; exclaimed Diogenes with
a blunt oath.&nbsp; &quot;What in thunder do you mean?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I mean, sir, that you must try and curb
your natural impatience until to-morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But I will not curb mine impatience another
moment, plepshurk,&quot; cried the philosopher in a rage, &quot;I
have fulfilled my share of a bargain, 'tis only a verdommte Keerl
who would shirk paying his own share on the nail.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nor would Mynheer Beresteyn desire me
to shirk his responsibilities, I assure you,&quot; rejoined the
Jew suavely, &quot;and believe me, sir, that you will not lose
one grote by waiting until the morrow.&nbsp; Let a good supper
and a comfortable bed freely offered you atone for this unimportant
delay.&nbsp; You still hold Mynheer Beresteyn's bond: to-morrow
at the first business hour you shall be paid.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;But why any delay at all?&quot; thundered Diogenes, who
indeed misliked this way of doing business.&nbsp; &quot;Why not
pay me the money now? -- at once, I will gladly forego the supper
and sit all night upon your door-step, but have my money in my
pocket.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Unfortunately, sir,&quot; said Ben Isaje with imperturbable
amiability, &quot;I am quite helpless in the matter. I am not
the sole master of this business, my wife's brother shares my
profits and my obligations.&nbsp; Neither of us is at liberty
to pay out a large sum of money, save in the presence of the other.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You and your partner know how to trust
one another.&quot; said Diogenes with a laugh.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Jew made no comment on this, only shrugged
his shoulders in that calm manner peculiar to his race, which
suggests the Oriental resignation to compelling fate.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes -- inwardly fuming -- thought over
the matter very quietly for a few moments: it was obviously as
useless to argue this matter out with Ben Isaje, as it had been
to combat his dictum anent the jongejuffrouw spending the night
under his roof, and as usual the wholesome lesson of life which
the philosopher had learnt so thoroughly during his adventurous
career stood him in good stead now: the lesson was the one which
taught him never to waste time, temper or words over a purposeless
argument.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">That one shrug of Isaje's shoulders had told
him with dumb eloquence that no amount of persuasion on his part
would cause the banker to swerve from his determination.&nbsp;
The money would be forthcoming on the morrow but not before, and
there were ten picked men somewhere in the house at the present
moment to prevent Diogenes from settling this matter in a primitive
and efficient way by using his fists.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">So in this instance too -- disappointed though
he was -- he quickly regained his good humour.&nbsp; After all,
the Jew was right: a night's delay would not spell a loss, and
was well compensated for by a good supper and cosy bed.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With his habitual light-hearted laugh and careless
shrug of the shoulders, he folded the paper up again and once
more slipped it carefully into the inner lining of his doublet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are right, sir,&quot; he said, &quot;'twere
foolish to allow choler to spoil the appetite.&nbsp; I am as hungry
as the dog of a Spaniard.&nbsp; By your leave I'll test the strength
of your ale and to-morrow ere I leave your house you shall pay
me over the money in the presence of your trusting brother-in-law.&nbsp;
Until then the bond remains with me, and I hold myself responsible
for the safety of the jongejuffrouw.&nbsp; So I pray you be not
surprised if I forbid her removal from this house until I have
exchanged this bond for the sum of 3,000 guilders.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After which he drew his chair close to the
table, and fell to all its good cheer with a hearty will.&nbsp;
Ben Isaje, hospitable and affable to the last, waited on him with
his own hands.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXX -- A NOCTURNE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It was only natural that, though tired as he was and enjoying
an unusually contented mind, Diogenes was nevertheless unable
to get to sleep.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had had a very good supper and had parted
at an early hour from his host.&nbsp; Ben Isaje had been amiable
even deferential to the last, and indeed there had been nothing
in the Jew's demeanour to arouse misgivings in the most suspicious
mind.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The lean and towzled serving woman had prepared
a clean and comfortable bed in the narrow alcove within the wall
panelling of the small room which adjoined the shop, but though
the weary philosopher wooed sleep with utmost persistence, it
resolutely refused to be lured to his pillow.&nbsp; At first the
arrival of the night watchmen had kept him away: for they made
their entrance with much jangling of swords and loud and lusty
talk.&nbsp; There was apparently a good solid partition between
his room and the shop because as soon as the watchmen were settled
at their post their voices only reached Diogenes' ear like a muffled
murmur.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A door gave from this room on the passage and
this he had carefully locked; but it hung loosely on its hinges
and the slightest noise in the house -- a heavy footfall overhead
or in the shop -- would cause it to rattle with a weird, intermittent
sound which sent sleep flying baffled away.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There were thoughts too which crowded in upon
him -- pleasant thoughts as well as others that were a trifle
sad -- the immediate future with its promise of a possible fortune
loomed brightly enough, but the means to that happy end was vaguely
disturbing the light-hearted equanimity of this soldier of fortune
accustomed hitherto to grip Chance by the hair whenever she rushed
past him in her mad, whirling career, and without heeding those
who stood in his way.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But suddenly the whole thing seemed different,
and Diogenes himself could not have told you why it was so.&nbsp;
Thoughts of the future and of the promises which it held disturbed
when they should have elated him: there was a feeling in him which
he could not analyse, a feeling wherein a strange, sweet compassion
seemed to form the main ingredient.&nbsp; The philosopher who
had hitherto viewed life through the rosy glasses of unalterable
good-humour, who had smiled at luck and ill-luck, laughed at misfortune
and at hope, suddenly felt that there was something in life which
could not be dismissed light-heartedly, something which really
counted, though it was so intangible and so elusive that even
now he could not give it a name.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The adventurer, who had slept soundly and dreamlessly
in camp and on the field, in the streets of a sacked town or the
still smouldering battlements of a fortress, could find no rest
in the comfortable bed so carefully prepared for him in the house
of Ben Isaje the Jew.&nbsp; The murmur of voices from the shop,
low and monotonous, irritated his nerves, the rattling of the
door upon its hinges drove him well-nigh distracted.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He heard every noise in the house as they died
out one by one; the voice of the serving woman bidding the jongejuffrouw
&quot;good-night,&quot; the shuffling footsteps of the old Jew,
the heavy tread of Maria overhead, and another, light and swift
which -- strangely enough -- disturbed him more completely than
the louder sounds had done.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At last he could stand his present state no
longer, he felt an unpleasant tingling to the very tips of his
fingers and the very roots of his hair; it seemed to him as if
soft noiseless steps wandered aimlessly outside his door; furtive
tiny animals with feet of velvet must have run down the stairs
and then halted, breathless and terrified, on the other side of
those rattling wooden panels.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He sat up in bed and groping for his tinder
he struck a light; then he listened again.&nbsp; Not a sound now
stirred inside the house, only the wind soughed through the loose
tiles of the roof, and found out the chinks and cracks of the
ill-fitting window, through which it blew with a sharp, whistling
sound.&nbsp; From the shop there came the faint murmur of some
of the watchmen snoring at their post.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beyond that, nothing.&nbsp; And yet Diogenes,
whose keen ear was trained to catch the flutter of every twig,
the movement of every beast, could have sworn that someone was
awake at this moment, in this house besides himself -- someone
who breathed and trembled on the other side of the door.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Without a moment's hesitation he slipped on
his clothes as quickly as he could, then he pulled the curtains
across in front of the alcove and paused for one second longer
in order to listen.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had certainly not been mistaken.&nbsp; Through
the stillness of the house he heard the soughing of the wind,
the snoring of the watchmen, and that faint, palpitating sound
outside in the passage -- that sound which was as the breathing
of some living, frightened thing.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then he walked as noiselessly as he could up
to the door, and with a sudden simultaneous turn of key and handle
he opened it suddenly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It opened outwards, and the passage beyond
was pitch dark, but there in front of him now, white as a ghost,
white as the garment which she wore, white as the marble statue
of the Madonna which he had seen in the cathedral at Prague, stood
the jongejuffrouw.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The candle which she carried flickered in the
draught, and thus flickering it lit up her large blue eyes which
she kept fixed upon him with an expression half defiant yet wholly
terrified.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Frankly he thought at first that this was an
apparition, a vivid embodiment of the fevered fancies which had
been haunting him.&nbsp; No wonder therefore that he made no movement
toward her, or expressed the slightest astonishment at seeing
her there, all alone, in the middle of the night, not five paces
away from him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Thus they stood looking at one another for
some time in absolute silence; she obviously very frightened,
hesitating betwixt audacity and immediate flight, and he puzzled
and with a vague sense of unreality upon him, a sense as of a
dream which yet had in it the pulsating vividness of life.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was the first to break this silence which
was beginning to be oppressive.&nbsp; Gilda Beresteyn was not
a timid woman nor was hers a character which ever vacillated once
her mind was made up.&nbsp; The step which she had taken this
night -- daring and unconventional as it was -- had been well
thought out: deliberately and seriously she had weighed every
danger, every risk which she ran, even those which in her pure-minded
innocence she was not able fully to appreciate.&nbsp; Now though
she was scared momentarily, she had no thought of turning back.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The old stiff-necked haughtiness of her race
did not desert her for a moment, even though she was obviously
at a disadvantage in this instance, and had come here as a suppliant.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I wished to speak with you, sir,&quot;
she said, and her voice had scarce a tremor in it, &quot;my woman
was too timorous to come down and summon you to my presence, as
I had ordered her to do; so I was forced to come myself.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though she looked very helpless, very childlike
in her innocence, she had contrived to speak to him like a princess
addressing a menial, holding her tiny head very high and making
visible efforts to still the quivering of her lips.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
There was something so quaint in this proud attitude of hers under
the present circumstances, that despite its pathos Diogenes' keen
sense of humour was not proof against it, and that accustomed
merry smile of his crept slowly over every line of his face.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am ever at your service, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said as gravely as he could, &quot;your major domo, your valet
. . . I always await your commands.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then I pray you take this candle,&quot;
she said coldly, &quot;and stand aside that I may enter.&nbsp;
What I have to say cannot be told in this passage.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He took the candle from her, since she held
it out to him, and then stepped aside just as she had commanded,
keeping the door wide open for her to pass through into the room.&nbsp;
She was holding herself very erect, and with perfect self-possession
she now selected a chair whereon to sit.&nbsp; She wore the same
white gown which she had on when first he laid hands on her in
the streets of Haarlem, and the fur cloak wherein she had wrapped
herself had partially slid from her shoulders.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Having sat down, close to the table, with one
white arm resting upon it, she beckoned peremptorily to him to
close the door and to put the candle down; all of which he did
quite mechanically, for the feeling had come back to him that
the white figure before him was only a vision -- or mayhap a dream
-- from which, however, he hoped not to awaken too soon.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At your command, mejuffrouw,&quot; was
all that he said, and he remained standing quite close to the
door, with half the width of the room between himself and her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But to himself he murmured under his breath:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;St. Bavon and the Holy Virgin, do ye
both stand by me now!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not know, sir,&quot; she began after
awhile, &quot;if my coming here at this hour doth greatly surprise
you, but in truth the matter which brings me is so grave that
I cannot give a thought to your feelings or to mine own.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And mine, mejuffrouw, are of such little
consequence,&quot; he said good-humouredly seeing that she appeared
to wait for a reply, &quot;that it were a pity you should waste
precious time in considering them.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nor have I come to talk of feelings,
sir.&nbsp; My purpose is of deadly earnestness.&nbsp; I have come
to propose a bargain for your acceptance.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A bargain?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes.&nbsp; A bargain,&quot; she reiterated.&nbsp;
&quot;One I hope and think that you will find it worth while to
accept.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then may I crave the honour of hearing
the nature of that bargain, mejuffrouw?&quot; he asked pleasantly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She did not give him an immediately reply but
remained quite still and silent for a minute or even two, looking
with wide-open inquiring eyes on the tall figure of the man who
had -- to her mind -- done her such an infinite wrong.&nbsp;&nbsp;
She noted and acknowledged quite dispassionately the air of splendour
which became him so well -- splendour of physique, of youth and
of strength, and those laughing eyes that questioned and that
mocked, the lips that always smiled and the straight brow with
its noble sweep which hid the true secret of his personality.&nbsp;
And once again -- as on that evening at Leyden -- she fell almost
to hating him, angered that such a man should be nothing better
than a knave, a mercenary rogue paid to lend a hand in unavowable
deeds.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He stood her scrutiny as best he could, answering
her look of haughty condescension with one of humble deference;
but the smile of gentle irony never left his lips and tempered
the humility of his attitude.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;You have owned to me, sir,&quot; resumed Gilda Beresteyn
at last, &quot;that you have been paid for the infamous work which
you are doing now; for laying hands on me in the streets of Haarlem
and for keeping me a prisoner at the good will of your employer.&nbsp;
To own to such a trade, sir, is to admit oneself somewhat below
the level of honest men.&nbsp; Is that not so?&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Below the level of most men, mejuffrouw, I admit,&quot;
he replied imperturbably.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Had it not been for that admission on your part, I would
never have thought of coming to you with a proposal which . .
.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Which you never would have put before
an honest man,&quot; he broke in with perfect equanimity, seeing
that she hesitated.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You anticipate my thought, sir: and I
am glad to find that you will make my errand even easier than
I had hoped.&nbsp; Briefly then let me tell you -- as I told you
at Leyden -- that I know who your paymaster is.&nbsp; A man has
thought to perpetrate a crime against me, for a reason which no
doubt he deemed expedient and which probably he has not imparted
to you.&nbsp; Reasons and causes I imagine, sir, are no concern
of yours.&nbsp; You take payment for your deeds and do not inquire
into motives.&nbsp; Is that not so?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">This time Diogenes only made a slight bow in
acknowledgement of her question.&nbsp; He was smiling to himself
more grimly than was his wont, for he had before him the recollection
of the Lord of Stoutenburg -- cruel, coarse, and evil, bullying
and striking a woman -- and of Nicolaes Beresteyn -- callous and
cynical, bartering his sister's honour and safety to ensure his
own.&nbsp; To the one she had plighted her troth, the other was
her natural protector, dear to her through those sweet bonds of
childhood which bind brother and sister in such close affection.&nbsp;
Yet both are selfish, unscrupulous rogues, thought the philosopher,
though both very dear to her, and both honest men in her sight.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That being so, sir,&quot; she resumed
once more, &quot;meseems that you should be equally ready to do
me service and to ask me no questions, provided that I pay you
well.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That, mejuffrouw,&quot; he said quietly,
&quot;would depend on the nature of the service.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is quite simple, sir.&nbsp; Let me
explain.&nbsp; While my woman and I were having supper upstairs,
the wench who served us fell to gossiping, telling us the various
news of the day which have filtered through into Rotterdam.&nbsp;
Among other less important matters, sir, she told us that the
Prince of Orange had left his camp at Sprang in order to journey
northwards to Amsterdam.&nbsp; Yesterday he and his escort of
one hundred men-at-arms passed close to this city; they were making
for Delft where the Prince means to spend a day or two before
proceeding further on his journey.&nbsp; He sleeps at the Prinzenhof
in Delft this night.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, mejuffrouw?&quot; he said, for suddenly
her manner had changed; something of its coolness had gone from
it, even if the pride was still there.&nbsp; While she spoke a
warm tinge of pink flooded her cheeks; she was leaning forward,
her eyes bright and glowing were fixed upon him with a look of
eagerness and almost of appeal, and her lips were moist and trembling,
whilst the words which she wished to speak seemed to be dying
in her throat.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;What hath the progress of the Prince of Orange to do with
your most humble and obedient servant?&quot; he asked again.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
I must speak with the Prince of Orange, sir,&quot; she said while
her voice now soft and mellow fell almost like a prayer on his
ear.&nbsp; &quot;I must go to him to Delft not later than to-morrow.&nbsp;
Oh! you will not refuse me this . . . you cannot . . . I . . .&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had clasped her hands together, her eyes
were wet with tears, and as she pleaded, she bent forward so low
in her chair, that it seemed for a moment as if her knees would
touch the ground.&nbsp; In the flickering candle-light she looked
divinely pretty thus, with all the cold air of pride gone from
her childlike face.&nbsp; A gentle draught stirred the fair curls
round her head, the fur cloak had completely slipped down from
her shoulders and her white dress gave more than ever the air
of that Madonna carved in marble which he had seen once in the
cathedral at Prague.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The philosopher passed a decidedly shaking
hand across his forehead: the room was beginning to whirl round
him, the floor to give way under his feet.&nbsp; He fell to thinking
that the mild ale offered to him by Ben Isaje had been more heady
than he had thought.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;St. Bavon,&quot; he murmured to himself,
&quot;where in Heaven's name are ye now?&nbsp; I asked you to
stand by me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was one of those moments -- perfect in themselves
-- when a man can forget everything that pertains to the outer
world, when neither self-interest nor ordinary prudence will count,
when he is ready to jeopardize his life, his career, his future,
his very soul for the ecstasy which lies in the one heaven-born
minute.&nbsp; Thus it was with this philosopher, this man of the
moment, the adventurer, the soldier of fortune; the world which
he had meant to conquer, the fortune which he had vowed to win
seemed to slip absolutely away from him.&nbsp; This dream -- for
it was after all only a dream, it was just too beautiful to be
reality -- the continuance of this dream seemed to him to be all
that mattered, this girl -- proud and pleading -- a Madonna, a
saint, a child of innocence, was the only perfect, desirable entity
in this universe.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;St. Bavon, you rogue! you are playing
me false!&quot; he murmured, as the last vestige of self-control
and of prudence threatened to fall away from him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Madonna,&quot; he said as with a quick
movement he came forward and bent the knee before her, &quot;I
entreat you to believe that whatever lies in my power to do in
your service, that will I gladly do.&nbsp; How can I refuse,&quot;
he added whilst that immutable smile, gentle, humourous, faintly
ironical, once more lit up his face as he looked straight into
hers, &quot;how can I refuse to obey since you deign to plead
to me with those lips? how can I withstand your appeal when it
speaks to me through your eyes?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will let me do what I ask?&quot;
she exclaimed with a little cry of joy, for his attitude was very
humble and his voice yielding and kind; he was kneeling at some
little distance from her, which was quite becoming in a mercenary
knave.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If it be in my power, Madonna!&quot;
he said simply.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then will I pay you well,&quot; she continued
eagerly.&nbsp; &quot;I have thought it all out.&nbsp; I am rich
you know, and my bond is as good as that of any man. Do you but
bring me inkhorn and paper, I will give you a bond for 4,000 guilders
on Mynheer Ben Isaje himself, he hath monies of mine own in trust
and at interest.&nbsp; But if 4,000 guilders are not enough, I
pray you name your price; it shall be what you ask.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you desire me to do, Madonna?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I desire you to escort me to Delft so
that I may speak with the Prince of Orange.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The Prince of Orange is well guarded.&nbsp;
No stranger is allowed to enter his presence.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am not a stranger to him.&nbsp; My
father is his friend; a word from me to him, a ring of mine sent
in with a request for an audience and he will not refuse.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And having entered the presence of the
Stadtholder, mejuffrouw, what do you propose to say to him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That, sir, is naught to you,&quot; she
retorted coldly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I pray you forgive me,&quot; he said,
still humbly kneeling, &quot;but you have deigned to ask my help,
and I'll not give it unless you will tell me what your purpose
is.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You would not dare . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To make conditions for my services?&quot;
he said speaking always with utmost deference, &quot;this do I
dare, mejuffrouw, and my condition is for acceptance or refusal
-- as you command.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I did not ask for your help, sir,&quot;
she said curtly.&nbsp; &quot;I offered to pay you for certain
services which I desire you to render me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Already her look of pleading had gone.&nbsp;
She had straightened herself up, prouder and more disdainful than
before.&nbsp; He dared to make conditions! he! the mercenary creature
whom any one could buy body and soul for money, who took payment
for doing such work as would soil an honest man's hands!&nbsp;
It was monstrous! impossible, unthinkable.&nbsp; She thought that
her ears had deceived her or that mayhap he had misunderstood.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In a moment at her words, at the scornful glance
which accompanied them, he had risen to his feet.&nbsp; The subtle
moment had gone by; the air was no longer oppressive, and the
ground felt quite steady under him.&nbsp; Calm, smiling, good-tempered,
he straightened out his massive figure as if to prepare himself
for those shafts which her cruel little tongue knew so well how
to deal.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And inwardly he offered up a thanksgiving to
St. Bavon for this cold douche upon his flaming temper.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I did not misunderstand you, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said lightly, &quot;and I am ready to do you service -- under
a certain condition.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She bit her lip with vexation.&nbsp; The miserable
wretch was obviously not satisfied with the amount which she had
named as payment for his services, and he played some weak part
of chivalry and of honour in order to make his work appear more
difficult, and to extract a more substantial reward from her.&nbsp;
She tried to put into the glance which she now threw on him all
the contempt which she felt and which truly nauseated her at this
moment.&nbsp; Unfortunately she had need of him, she could not
start for Delft alone, marauders and footpads would stop her ever
reaching that city.&nbsp;&nbsp; Could she have gone alone she
were not here now craving the help of a man whom she despised.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Meseems,&quot; she said coldly after
a slight pause, &quot;that you do wilfully misunderstand our mutual
positions.&nbsp; I am not asking you to do anything which could
offend your strangely susceptible honour, whose vagaries, I own,
I am unable to follow.&nbsp; Will 10,000 guilders satisfy your
erratic conscience? or did you receive more than that for laying
hands on two helpless women and dragging one -- who has never
done you any wrong -- to a depth of shame and sorrow which you
cannot possibly fathom?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My conscience, mejuffrouw,&quot; he replied,
seemingly quite unperturbed at her contemptuous glance and insulting
speech, &quot;is, as you say, somewhat erratic.&nbsp; For the
moment it refuses to consider the possibility of escorting you
to Delft unless I know what it is that you desire to say to the
Prince of Orange.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If it is a question of price . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is not a question of price, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he broke in firmly, &quot;let us, an you will allow it, call it
a question of mine erratic conscience&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am rich, sir . . . my private fortune
. . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do not name it, mejuffrouw,&quot; he
said jovially, &quot;the sound of it would stagger a poor man
who has to scrape up a living as best he can.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Forty thousand guilders, sir,&quot; she
said pleading once more eagerly, &quot;an you will take me to
Delft to-morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Were it ten hundred thousand, mejuffrouw,
I would not do it unless I knew what you wished to say to the
Stadtholder.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Sir, can I not move you,&quot; she implored,
&quot;this means more to me than I can hope to tell you.&quot;&nbsp;
Once again her pride had given way before this new and awful fear
that her errand would be in vain, that she had come here as a
suppliant before this rogue, that she had humbled her dignity,
entreated him almost knelt to him, and that he, for some base
reason which she could not understand, meant to give himself the
satisfaction of refusing the fortune which she did promise him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Can I not move you,&quot; she reiterated,
appealing yet more earnestly, for, womanlike, she could not forget
that moment awhile ago, when he had knelt instinctively before
her, when the irony had gone from his smile, and the laughter
in his mocking eyes had yielded to an inward glow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He shook his head, but remained unmoved.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot tell you, sir,&quot; she urged
plaintively, &quot;what I would say to the Prince.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Is it so deadly a secret then?&quot;
he asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Call it that, an you will.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A secret that concerns his life?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That I did not say.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No.&nbsp; It was a guess.&nbsp; A right
one methinks.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then if you think so, sir, why not let
me go to him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;So that you may warn him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You were merely guessing, sir . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That you may tell him not to continue
his journey,&quot; he insisted, speaking less restrainedly now,
as he leaned forward closer to her, her fair curls almost brushing
against his cheek as they fluttered in the draught.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I did not say so,&quot; she murmured.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because there is a trap laid for him
. . . a trap of which you know . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no!&quot; she cried involuntarily.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A trap into which he may fall . . . unknowingly
. . . on his way to the north.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You say so, sir,&quot; she moaned, &quot;not
I . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Assassins are on his track . . . an attempt
will be made against his life . . . the murderers lie in wait
for him . . . even now . . . and you, mejuffrouw, who know who
those murderers are . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A cry of anguish rose to her lips.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no, no,&quot; she cried, &quot;it
is false . . . you are only guessing . . . remember that I have
told you nothing.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But already the tense expression on his face
had gone.&nbsp; He drew himself up to his full height once more
and heaved a deep breath which sounded like a sigh of satisfaction.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yet, in your candour, mejuffrouw, you
have told me much,&quot; he said quietly, &quot;confirmed much
that I only vaguely guessed.&nbsp; The Stadtholder's life is in
peril and you hold in your feeble little hands the threads of
the conspiracy which threatens him . . . is that now why you are
here, mejuffrouw . . . a prisoner, as you say, at the goodwill
of my employer?&nbsp; I am only guessing, remember, but on your
face, meseems that I can read that I do guess aright.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then you will do what I ask?&quot; she
exclaimed with a happy little gasp of renewed hope.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That, mejuffrouw, is I fear me impossible,&quot;
he said quietly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Impossible?&nbsp; But -- just now . .
.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Just now,&quot; he rejoined with affected
carelessness, &quot;I said, mejuffrouw, that I would on no account
escort you to Delft without knowing what your purpose is with
the Prince of Orange.&nbsp; Even now I do not know, I merely guessed.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But,&quot; she entreated, &quot;if I
do own that you have guessed aright -- partly at any rate -- if
I do tell you that the Stadtholder's life might be imperilled
if I did not give him a timely word of warning, if . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Even if you told me all that, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he broke in lightly, &quot;if you did bring your pride down so
far as to trust a miserable knave with a secret which he might
sell for money on the morrow -- even then, I fear me, I could
not do what you ask.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But why not?&quot; she insisted, her
voice choking in her throat in the agony of terrible doubt and
fear.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because the man of whom you spoke just
now, the man whom you love, mejuffrouw, has been more farseeing,
more prudent than you or I.&nbsp; He hath put it out of my power
to render you this service.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By warning Mynheer Ben Isaje against
any attempt at escape on your part, against any attempt at betrayal
on mine.&nbsp; Mynheer Ben Isaje is prepared: he hath a guard
of ten picked men on the watch, and two more men outside his door.&nbsp;
If you tried to leave this house with me without his consent he
would prevent you, and I am no match alas! for twelve men.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why should he guard me so?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because he will not be paid if he keep
not watch over you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But I'll swear to return straightway
from Delft.&nbsp; I'll only speak with the Prince and return immediately.
. . .&nbsp; Money! always money!&quot; she cried with sudden vehemence,
&quot;a great man's life, the honour of a house, the salvation
of the land, are these all to be sacrificed because of the greed
and cupidity of men?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Shall I call Mynheer Ben Isaje?&quot;
asked Diogenes placidly, &quot;mayhap, mejuffrouw, that you could
persuade him more easily than me!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But at this she rose to her feet as suddenly
as if she had been stung: the colour in her cheeks deepened, the
tears were dry in her eyes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You,&quot; she exclaimed, and there was
a world of bitter contempt in the tome of her voice, &quot;persuade
you who have tricked and fooled me, even while I began to believe
in you?&nbsp; You, who for the past half hour have tried to filch
a secret from me bit by bit! with lying words you led me into
telling you even more than I should! and I, poor fool! thought
that I had touched your heart, or that at least there was some
spark of loyalty in you which mayhap prompted you to guess that
the Prince was in danger.&nbsp; Fool that I was! miserable, wretched
fool! to think for a moment that you would lend a hand in aught
that was noble and chivalrous!&nbsp; I would I had the power to
raise the blush of shame in your cheeks, but alas! the shame is
only for me, who trusting in your false promises and your lies
have allowed my tongue to speak words which I would give my life
now to unsay -- for me who thought that there was in you one feeble
spark of pity or of honour.&nbsp; Fool!&nbsp; fool that I was!
when I forgot for one brief moment that it was your greed and
cupidity that were the props without which this whole edifice
of infamy had tottered long ago; persuade you to do a selfish
deed! you the abductor of women, the paid varlet and mercenary
rogue who will thieve and outrage and murder for money!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She sank back in her chair and, resting her
arms upon the table, she buried her face in them, for she had
given way at last to a passionate fit of weeping.&nbsp; The disappointment
was greater than she could bear after the load of sorrow which
had been laid on her these past few days.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When she heard through the chatterings of a
servant that the Stadtholder was at Delft this very night, the
memory of every word which she had heard in the cathedral on New
Year's Eve came back to her with renewed vividness.&nbsp; Delft!
she remembered the name so well and Ryswyk close by, the only
possible way for a northward journey!&nbsp; Then the molens which
Stoutenburg had said were his headquarters, where he stored arms
and ammunition and enough gunpowder to blow up the wooden bridge
which spans the Schie and over which the Stadtholder and his bodyguard
must pass.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Every word that Stoutenburg and her brother
and the others had spoken that night, rang now in her ears like
a knell: Delft, Ryswyk, the molens, the wooden bridge! Delft,
Ryswyk, the molens, the wooden bridge!&nbsp; Delft . . .<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Delft was quite near, less than four leagues
away . . . the Stadtholder was there now . . . he could be warned
before it was too late . . . and she could warn him without compromising
her brother and his friends . . . Then it was that she remembered
that in the room below there slept a knave who would do anything
for gold.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Thus she had run down to him full of eagerness
and full of hope.&nbsp; And now he had refused to help her, and
worse still had guessed at a secret which, if he bartered or sold
it, meant death to her brother and his friends.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Contempt and hate had broken down her spirit.&nbsp;
Smothering both, she was even now ready to fall on her knees to
plead with him, to pray, to implore . . . if only that could have
moved him . . . if only it meant safety for the Stadtholder and
not merely a useless loss of pride and of dignity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Anger and misery and utter hopelessness! they
were causing her tears, and she hated this man who had her in
his power and mocked her in her misery: and there was the awful
thought that the Stadtholder was so near -- less than four leagues
away!&nbsp; Why! had she been free she could have run all the
way to him -- that hideous crime, that appalling tragedy in which
her brother would bear a hand, could be averted even now if she
were freed! Oh! the misery of it! the awful, wretched helplessness!&nbsp;
in a few days -- hours mayhap -- the Stadtholder would be walking
straight into the trap which his murderers had set for him . .
. the broken bridge! the explosion!<BR>
the assassin at the carriage door!&nbsp; She saw it all as in
a vision of the future, and her brother in the midst of it all
with hands deeply stained in blood.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And she could avert it all -- the crime, the
sorrow, the awful, hideous shame if only she were set free.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She looked up at last, ashamed of her tears,
ashamed that a rogue should have seen how keenly she suffered.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She looked up and turned to him once more.&nbsp;
The flickering light of the candles fell full upon his splendid
figure and upon his face: it was the colour of ashes, and there
was no trace of his wonted smile around his lips: the eyes too
looked sunken and their light was hid beneath the drooping lids.&nbsp;
Her shafts which she had aimed with such deadly precision had
gone home at last: in the bitterness of her heart she apparently
had found words which had cut him like a lash.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Satisfied at least in this she rose to go.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There is nothing more to say,&quot; she
said as calmly as she could, trying to still the quivering of
her lips: &quot;as you say, Mynheer Ben Isaje has carefully taken
the measure of your valour and it cannot come up to a dozen picked
men, even though life and honour, country and faith might demand
at least an effort on their behalf.&nbsp; I pray you open the
door.&nbsp; I would -- for mine own sake as well as your own --
that I had not thought of breaking in on your rest.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Without a word he went to the door, and had
his hand on the latch ready to obey her, when something in his
placid attitude irritated her beyond endurance.&nbsp; Woman-like
she was not yet satisfied: perhaps a thought of remorse at her
cruelty fretted her, perhaps she pitied him in that he was so
base.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Be that as it may, she spoke to him again:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have you nothing then to say?&quot; she
asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What can I say, mejuffrouw?&quot; he
queried in reply, as the ghost of his wonted smile crept swiftly
back into his pale face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Methought no man would care to be called
a coward by a woman, and remain silent under the taunt.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You forget, mejuffrouw,&quot; he retorted,
&quot;that I am so much less than a man . . . a menial, a rogue,
a vagabond -- so base that not even the slightest fear of me did
creep into your heart . . . you came to me, here, alone at dead
of night with an appeal upon your lips, yet you were not afraid,
then you struck me in the face like you would a dog with a whip,
and you were no more afraid of me than of the dog whom you had
thrashed.&nbsp; So base am I then that words of mine are not worthy
of your ear.&nbsp; Whatever I said, I could not persuade you that
for one man to measure his strength against twelve others were
not an act of valour, but one of senseless foolishness.&nbsp;
I<BR>
might tell you that bravery lies oft in prudence but seldom in
foolhardiness, but this I know you are not in a mood now to believe.&nbsp;
I might even tell you,&quot; he continued with a slight return
to his wonted light-hearted carelessness, &quot;I might tell you
that certain acts of bravery cannot be accomplished without the
intervention of protecting saints, and that I have found St. Bavon
an admirable saint to implore in such cases, but this I fear me
you are not like to understand.&nbsp; So you see, mejuffrouw,
that whatever I said I could not prove to you that I am less of
a blackguard than I seem.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You could at least prove it to this extent,&quot;
she retorted, &quot;by keeping silence over what you may have
guessed.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You mean that I must not sell the secret
which you so nearly betrayed . . . have no fear, mejuffrouw, my
knowledge of it is so scanty that the Stadtholder would not give
me five guilders for it.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will you swear . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Such a miserable cur as I am, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said lightly, &quot;is surely an oath-breaker as well as a
liar and a thief -- what were the good of swearing? . . . But
I'll swear an you wish . . .&quot; he added gaily.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Surely you . . .&quot; she began.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But with a quick gesture he interrupted her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Dondersteen, mejuffrouw,&quot; he said
more firmly than he had yet spoken before, &quot;if beauty in
you is tempered with pity, I entreat you to spare me now: even
knaves remember become men sometimes and my patron Saint Bavon
threatens to leave me in the lurch.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He held open the door for her to pass through,
and gravely held out one of the pewter candles to her.&nbsp; She
could not help but take it, though indeed she felt that the last
word between that rogue and herself had not by any means been
spoken yet.&nbsp; But she hardly looked at him as she sailed past
him out of the room, her heavy skirt trailing behind her with
a soft hissing sound.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">As soon as she heard the door shut to behind
her, she ran up the stairs back to her own room with all speed,
like a frightened hare.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Had she remained in the passage one instant
longer she would have heard a sound which would have terrified
her; it was the sound of a prolonged and ringing laugh which roused
the echoes of this sleeping house, but which had neither mirth
nor joy in its tone, and had she then peeped through a key-hole
she would have seen a strange sight.&nbsp; A man who in the flickering
candlelight looked tall and massive as a giant took up one of
the wooden chairs in the room, and after holding it out at arm's
length for a few seconds, he proceeded to smash it viciously bit
by bit until it lay a mass of broken d&eacute;bris at his feet.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 31</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXI -- THE MOLENS</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Less than half a league to the southeast of Ryswyk -- there where
the Schie makes a sharp curve up toward the north -- there is
a solitary windmill -- strange in this, that it has no companions
near it, but stands quite alone with its adjoining miller's hut
nestling close up against it like a tiny chick beside the mother
hen, and dominates the mud flats and lean pastures which lie for
many leagues around.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">On this day which was the fourth of the New
Year, these mud flats and the pasture land lay under a carpet
of half-melted snow and ice which seemed to render the landscape
more weird and desolate, and the molens itself more deserted and
solitary.&nbsp; Yet less than half a league away the pointed gables
and wooden spires of Ryswyk break the monotony of the horizon
line and suggest the life and movement pertaining to a city, however
small.&nbsp; But life and movement never seem to penetrate as
far as this molens; they spread their way out toward 'S Graven
Hage and the sea.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nature herself hath decreed that the molens
shall remain solitary and cut off from the busy world, for day
after day and night after night throughout the year a mist rises
from the mud flats around and envelops the molens as in a shroud.&nbsp;
In winter the mist is frosty, in summer at times it is faintly
tinged with gold, but it is always there and through it the rest
of the living world -- Ryswyk and 'S Graven Hage and Delft further
away only appear as visions on the other side of a veil.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Just opposite the molens, some two hundred
paces away to the east, the waters of the Schie rush with unwonted
swiftness round the curve; so swiftly in fact that the ice hardly
ever forms a thick crust over them, and this portion of an otherwise
excellent waterway is -- in the winter -- impracticable for sleighs.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beyond this bend in the river, however, less
than half a league away, there is a wooden bridge, wide and strongly
built, across which it is quite easy for men and beasts to pass
who have come from the south and desire to rejoin the great highway
which leads from Delft to Leyden.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the morning of that same fourth day in the
New Year, two men sat together in what was once the weighing-room
of the molens; their fur coats were wrapped closely round their
shoulders, for a keen north-westerly wind had found its way through
the chinks and cracks of tumble-down doors and ill-fitting window
frames.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though a soft powdery veil -- smooth as velvet
to the touch and made up of a flour and fine dust -- lay over
everything, and the dry, sweet smell of corn still hung in the
close atmosphere, there was little else in this room now that
suggested the peaceful use for which it had been originally intended.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The big weighing machines had been pushed into
corners, and all round the sloping walls swords, cullivers and
muskets were piled in orderly array, also a row of iron boxes
standing a foot or so apart from one another and away from any
other objects in the room.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The silence which reigned over the surrounding
landscape did not find its kingdom inside this building, for a
perpetual hum, a persistent buzzing noise as of bees in their
hives, filtrated through the floor and the low ceiling of this
room.&nbsp; Men moved and talked and laughed inside the molens,
but the movement and the laughter were subdued as if muffled in
that same mantle of mist which covered the outside world.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two men in the weighing-room were sitting
at a table on which were scattered papers, inkhorns and pens,
a sword, a couple of pistols and two or three pairs of skates.&nbsp;
One of them was leaning forward and talking eagerly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I think you can rest satisfied, my good
Stoutenburg,&quot; he said, &quot;our preparations leave nothing
to be desired.&nbsp; I have just seen Jan, and together we have
despatched the man Lucas van Sparendam to Delft.&nbsp; He is the
finest spy in the country, and can ferret out a plan or sift a
rumour quicker than any man I know.&nbsp; He will remain at Delft
and keep the Prinzenhof under observation: and will only leave
the city if anything untoward should happen, and then he will
come straight here and report to us.&nbsp; He is a splendid runner,
and can easily cover the distance between Delft and this molens
in an hour.&nbsp; That is satisfactory is it not?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Quite,&quot; replied Stoutenburg curtly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Our arrangements here on the other hand
are equally perfect,&quot; resumed Beresteyn eagerly, &quot;we
have kept the whole thing in our hands . . . Heemskerk and I will
be at our posts ready to fire the gunpowder at the exact moment
when the advance guard of the Prince's escort will have gone over
the bridge . . . you, dagger in hand, will be prepared to make
a dash for the carriage itself . . . our men will attack the scattered
and confused guard at a word from van Does. . . .&nbsp; What could
be more simple, more perfect than that?&nbsp; Yourself, Heemskerk,
van Does and I . . . all of one mind . . . all equally true, silent
and determined. . . . You seem so restless and anxious. . . .&nbsp;
Frankly I do not understand you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is not of our preparations or of our
arrangements that I am thinking, Nicolaes,&quot; said Stoutenburg
sombrely, &quot;these have been thought out well enough.&nbsp;
Nothing but superhuman intervention or treachery can save the
Stadtholder -- of that am I convinced.&nbsp; Neither God nor the
devil care to interfere in men's affairs -- we need not therefore
fear superhuman intervention.&nbsp; But 'tis the thought of treachery
that haunts me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah!&quot; quoth Beresteyn with a shrug
of the shoulders, &quot;you have made a nightmare of that thought.&nbsp;
Treachery? there is no fear of treachery.&nbsp; Yourself, van
Does, Heemskerk and I are the only ones who know anything at this
moment of our plans for to-morrow.&nbsp; Do you suspect van Does
of treachery, or Heemskerk, or me?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I was not thinking of Heemskerk or of
van Does,&quot; rejoined Stoutenburg, &quot;and even our men will
know nothing of the attack until the last moment.&nbsp; Danger,
friend, doth not lie in or around the molens; it lurks at Rotterdam
and hath name Gilda.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda!&nbsp; What can you fear from Gilda
now?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Everything.&nbsp; Have you never thought
on it, friend?&nbsp; Jan, remember, lost track of that knave soon
after he left Haarlem.&nbsp; At first he struck across the waterways
in a southerly direction and for awhile Jan and the others were
able to keep him in sight.&nbsp; But soon darkness settled in
and along many intricate backwaters our rogue was able to give
them the slip.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I know that,&quot; rejoined Beresteyn
somewhat impatiently.&nbsp; &quot;I was here in the early morning
when Jan reported to you.&nbsp; He also told you that he and his
men pushed on as far as Leyden that night and regained the road
to Rotterdam the following day.&nbsp; At Zegwaard and again at
Zevenhuizen they ascertained that a party consisting of two women
in a sledge and an escort of three cavaliers had halted for refreshments
at those places and then continued their journey southwards.&nbsp;
Since then Jan has found out definitely that Gilda and her escort
arrived early last night at the house of Ben Isaje of Rotterdam,
and he came straight on here to report to you.&nbsp; Frankly I
see nothing in all this to cause you so much anxiety.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You think then that everything is for
the best?&quot; asked Stoutenburg grimly, &quot;you did not begin
to wonder how it was that -- as Jan ascertained at Zegwaard and
at Zevenhuizen -- Gilda continued her journey without any protest.&nbsp;
According to the people whom Jan questioned she looked sad certainly,
but she was always willing to restart on her way.&nbsp; What do
you make of that, my friend?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once more Beresteyn shrugged his shoulders.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda is proud,&quot; he said.&nbsp;
&quot;She hath resigned herself to her fate.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg laughed aloud.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How little you -- her own brother --
know her,&quot; he retorted.&nbsp; &quot;Gilda resigned?&nbsp;
Gilda content to let events shape themselves -- such events as
those which she heard us planning in the Groote Kerk on New Year's
Eve?&nbsp; Why, my friend, Gilda will never be resigned, she will
never be content until she hath moved earth and heaven to save
the Stadtholder from my avenging hand!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But what can she do now?&nbsp; Ben Isaje
is honest in business matters.&nbsp; It would not pay him to play
his customers false.&nbsp; And I have promised him two thousand
guilders if he keeps her safely as a prisoner of war, not even
to be let out on parole.&nbsp; Ben Isaje would not betray me.&nbsp;
He is too shrewd for that.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That may be true of Ben Isaje himself;
but what of his wife? his sons or daughters if he have any?&nbsp;
his serving wenches, his apprentices and his men?&nbsp; How do
you know that they are not amenable to promises of heavy bribes?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But even then . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you not think that at Rotterdam every
one by now knows the Prince's movements?&nbsp; He passed within
half a league of the town yesterday; there is not a serving wench
in that city at this moment who does not know that Maurice of
Nassau slept at Delft last night and will start northwards to-morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what of that?&quot; queried Beresteyn,
trying to keep up a semblance of that carelessness which he was
far from feeling now.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you believe then that Gilda will stay
quietly in the house of Ben Isaje, knowing that the Prince is
within four leagues of her door? . . . knowing that he will start
northwards to-morrow . . . knowing that my headquarters are here
-- close to Ryswyk . . . knowing in fact all that she knows?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I had not thought on all that,&quot;
murmured Beresteyn under his breath.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And there is another danger too, friend,
greater perhaps than any other,&quot; continued Stoutenburg vehemently.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Good G--d, Stoutenburg, what do you mean?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That cursed foreign adventurer --&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What about him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have you then never thought of him as
being amenable to a bribe from Gilda.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In Heaven's name, man, do not think of
such awful eventualities!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But we must think of them, my good Beresteyn.&nbsp;
Events are shaping themselves differently to what we expected.&nbsp;
We must make preparations for our safety accordingly, and above
all realise the fact that Gilda will move heaven and earth to
thwart us in our plans.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But she can do nothing,&quot; persisted
Beresteyn sullenly, &quot;without betraying me.&nbsp; In Haarlem
it was different.&nbsp; She might have spoken to my father of
what she knew, but she would not do so to a stranger, knowing
that with one word she can send me first and all of you afterwards
to the scaffold.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg with an exclamation of angry impatience
brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you a child, Beresteyn,&quot; he
cried hotly, &quot;or are you willfully blind to your danger and
to mine?&nbsp; I tell you that Gilda will never allow me to kill
the Prince of Orange without raising a finger to save him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But what can I do?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Send for Gilda at once, to-night,&quot;
urged Stoutenburg, &quot;convey her under escort hither . . .
in all deference . . . in all honour . . . she would be here under
her brother's care.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A woman in this place at such a moment,&quot;
cried Beresteyn; &quot;you are mad, Stoutenburg.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I shall go mad if she is not here,&quot;
rejoined the other more calmly, &quot;the fear has entered into
my soul, Nicolaes, that Gilda will yet betray us at the eleventh
hour.&nbsp; That fear is an obsession . . . call it premonition
if you will, but it unmans me, friend.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn was silent now.&nbsp; He drew his
cloak closer round his shoulders, for suddenly he felt a chill
which seemed to have crept into his bones.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But it is unpractical, man,&quot; he
persisted with a kind of sullen despair.&nbsp; &quot;Gilda and
another woman here . . . to-morrow . . . when not half a league
away . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Justice will be meted out to a tyrant
and an assassin,&quot; broke in Stoutenburg quietly.&nbsp; &quot;Gilda
is not a woman as other women are, though in her soul now she
may be shrinking at the thought of this summary justice, she will
be strong and brave when the hour comes.&nbsp; In any case,&quot;
he added roughly, &quot;we can keep her closely guarded, and in
the miller's hut, with the miller and his wife to look after her,
she will be as safe and as comfortable as circumstances will allow.&nbsp;
We should have her then under our own eyes and know that she cannot
betray us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">As usual Beresteyn was already yielding to
the stronger will, the more powerful personality of his friend.&nbsp;
His association with Stoutenburg had gradually blunted his finer
feelings; like a fly that is entangled in the web of a spider,
he tried to fight against the network of intrigue and of cowardice
which hemmed him in more and more closely with every step that
he took along the path of crime.&nbsp; He was filled with remorse
at thought of the wrong which he had done to Gilda, but he was
no longer his own master.&nbsp; He was being carried away by the
tide of intrigue and by the fear of discovery, away from his better
self.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You should have thought on all that sooner,
Stoutenburg,&quot; he said in final, feeble protest, &quot;we
need never have sent Gilda to Rotterdam in the company of a foreign
adventurer of whom we knew nothing.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At the time it seemed simple enough,&quot;
quoth Stoutenburg impatiently, &quot;you suggested the house of
Ben Isaje the banker and it seemed an excellent plan.&nbsp; I
did not think of distance then, and it is only since we arrived
at Ryswyk that I realized how near all these places are to one
another, and how easy it would be for Gilda to betray us even
now.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn was silent after that.&nbsp; It was
easy to see that his friend's restless anxiety was eating into
his own soul.&nbsp; Stoutenburg watched him with those hollow
glowing eyes of his that seemed to send a magnetic current of
strong will-power into the weaker vessel.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well! perhaps you are right,&quot; said
Beresteyn at last, &quot;perhaps you are right.&nbsp; After all,&quot;
he added half to himself, &quot;perhaps I shall feel easier in
my conscience when I have Gilda near me and feel that I can at
least watch over her.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg, having gained his point, jumped
to his feet and drew a deep breath of satisfaction.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That's bravely said,&quot; he exclaimed.&nbsp;
&quot;Will you go yourself at once to Rotterdam? with two or three
of our most trusted men you could bring Gilda here with absolute
safety; you only need make a slight detour when you near Delft
so as to avoid the city.&nbsp; You could be here by six o'clock
this evening at the latest, and Jan in the meanwhile with a contingent
of our stalwarts shall try and find that abominable plepshurk
again and bring him here too without delay.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no,&quot; said Beresteyn quickly,
&quot;I'll not go myself.&nbsp; I could not bear to meet Gilda
just yet.&nbsp; I will not have her think that I had a hand in
her abduction and my presence might arouse her suspicions.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg laughed unconcernedly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You would rather that she thought I had
instigated the deed.&nbsp; Well!&quot; he added with a careless
shrug, &quot;my shoulders are broad enough to bear the brunt of
her wrath if she does.&nbsp; An you will not go yourself we will
give full instructions to Jan.&nbsp; He shall bring Gilda and
her woman hither with due respect and despatch, and lay the knave
by the heels at the same time.&nbsp; Ten or a dozen of our men
or even more can easily be spared to-day, there is really nothing
for them to do, and they are best out of mischief by being kept
busy.&nbsp; Now while I go to give Jan his instructions do you
write a letter to Ben Isaje, telling him that it is your wish
that Gilda should accompany the bearer of your sign-manual.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Tush, man!&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg
impatiently, while a tone of contempt rang through his harsh voice,
&quot;You can so word the letter that even if it were found it
need not compromise you in any way.&nbsp; You might just have
discovered that your sister was in the hands of brigands, and
be sending an escort to rescue her; Gilda will be grateful to
you then and ready to believe in you.&nbsp; Write what you like,
but for God's sake write quickly.&nbsp; Every moment's delay drives
me well-nigh distraught.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With jerky, feverish movements he pushed paper
and inkhorn nearer to Beresteyn, who hesitated no longer and at
once began to write.&nbsp; Stoutenburg went to the door and loudly
called for Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Ten minutes later the letter was written, folded
and delivered into Jan's keeping, who was standing at attention
and recapitulating the orders which had been given him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I take a dozen men with me,&quot; he
said slowly, &quot;and we follow the course of the Schie as far
as Rotterdam.&nbsp; Fortunately it is passable practically the
whole of the way.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg nodded in approval.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I present this letter to Mynheer Ben
Isaje, the banker,&quot; continued Jan, &quot;and ask him at once
to apprise the jongejuffrouw that she deign to accompany us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes.&nbsp; That is right,&quot; quoth
Stoutenburg, &quot;but remember that I want you above all things
to find that foreigner again.&nbsp; You said that he was sleeping
last night in Mynheer Ben Isaje's house.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;So I understood, my lord.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well! you must move heaven and earth
to find him, Jan.&nbsp; I want him here -- a prisoner -- remember!&nbsp;
Do not let him slip through your fingers this time.&nbsp; It might
mean life or death to us all.&nbsp; By fair means or foul you
must lay him by the heels.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It should not be difficult, my lord,&quot;
assented Jan quietly.&nbsp; &quot;I will pick my men, and I have
no doubt that we shall come across the foreigner somewhere in
the neighbourhood.&nbsp; He cannot have gone far, and even if
he left the city we will easily come on his track.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That's brave, Jan.&nbsp; Then come straight
back here; two or three of your men can in the meanwhile escort
the jongejuffrouw, who will travel by sledge.&nbsp; You must avoid
Delft of course, and make a d&eacute;tour there.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I had best get horses at Rotterdam, my
lord; the sledge can follow the left bank of the Schie all the
way, which will be the best means of avoiding Delft.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And remember,&quot; concluded Stoutenburg
in his most peremptory manner, &quot;that you must all be back
here before ten o-clock to-night.&nbsp; The jongejuffrouw first
and you with the foreigner later.&nbsp; It is not much more than
eight o'clock now; you have the whole day before you.&nbsp; Let
the sledge pull up outside the miller's hut, everything will be
ready there by then for the jongejuffrouw's reception; and let
your watchwords be 'Silence, discretion, speed!' -- you understand?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I understand, my lord,&quot; replied
Jan simply as he gave a military salute, then quietly turned on
his heel and went out of the room.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two friends were once more alone straining
their ears to catch every sound which came to them now from below.&nbsp;
Muffled and enveloped in the mist, the voice of Jan giving brief
words of command could be distinctly heard, also the metallic
click of skates and the tramping of heavily-booted feet upon the
ground.&nbsp; But ten minutes later all these sounds had died
away.&nbsp; Jan and his men had gone to fetch Gilda -- the poor
little pawn moved hither and thither by the ruthless and ambitious
hands of men.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn had buried his head in his hands,
in a sudden fit of overpowering remorse.&nbsp; Stoutenburg looked
on him silently for awhile, his haggard face appeared drawn and
sunken in the pale grey light which found its way through the
tiny window up above.&nbsp; Passion greater than that which broke
down the spirit of his friend, was tearing at his heart-strings;
ambition fought with love, and remorse with determination.&nbsp;
But through it all the image of Gilda flitted before his burning
eyes across this dimly-lighted room, reproachful and sweet and
tantalizingly beautiful.&nbsp; The desire to have her near him
in the greatest hour of his life on the morrow, had been the true
mainspring which had prompted him to urge Beresteyn to send for
her.&nbsp; It seemed to him that Gilda's presence would bring
him luck in his dark undertaking so heavily fraught with crime,
and with a careless shrug of the shoulders he was ready to dismiss
all thoughts of the wrong which he had done her, in favour of
his hopes, his desire, his certainty that a glorious future in
his arms would compensate her for all that he had caused her to
endure.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 32</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXII -- A RUN THROUGH THE
NIGHT</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
That same morning of this forth day of the New Year found Gilda
Beresteyn sitting silent and thoughtful in the tiny room which
had been placed at her disposal in the house of Mynheer Ben Isaje,
the banker.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A few hours ago she had come back to it, running
like some frightened animal who had just escaped an awful -- but
unknown -- danger, and had thrown herself down on the narrow bed
in the alcove in an agony of soul far more difficult to bear than
any sorrow which had assailed her during the last few days.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A great, a vivid ray of hope had pierced the
darkness of her misery, it had flickered low at first, then had
glowed with wonderful intensity, flickered again and finally died
down as hope itself fell dying once more in the arms of despair.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The disappointment which she had endured then
amounted almost to physical pain; her heart ached and beat intolerably
and with that disappointment was coupled a sense of hatred and
of humiliation, different to any suffering she had ever had to
bear before.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A man could have helped her and had refused:
he could have helped her to avert a crime more hideous than any
that had ever blackened the pages of this country's history.&nbsp;
With that one man's help she could have stopped that crime from
being committed and he had refused . . . nay more! he had first
dragged her secret from her, word by word, luring her into thoughts
of security with the hope that he dangled before her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He knew everything now; she had practically
admitted everything save the identity of those whose crime she
wished to avert.&nbsp; But even that identity would be easy for
the man to guess.&nbsp; Stoutenburg, of course, had paid him to
lay hands on her . . . but her brother Nicolaes was Stoutenburg's
friend and ally, and his life and that of his friends were now
in the hands of that rogue, who might betray them with the knowledge
which he had filched from her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No wonder that hour after hour she lay prostrate
on the bed, while these dark thoughts hammered away in her brain.&nbsp;
The Prince of Orange walking unknowingly straight to his death,
or Nicolaes -- her brother -- and his friends betrayed to the
vengeance of that Prince.&nbsp; Ghosts of those who had already
died -- victims to that same merciless vengeance -- flitted in
the darkness before her feverish fancy: John of Barneveld, the
Lord of Grneveld, the sorrowing widows and the fatherless children
. . . and in their trail the ghost of the Stadtholder, William
the Silent murdered -- as his son would be -- at Delft, close
to Ryswyk and the molens, where even now Nicolaes her brother
was learning the final lesson of infamy.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When in the late morning Maria came into the
room to bring her mistress some warm milk and bread, and to minister
to her comforts, she found her dearly loved jongejuffrouw wide-eyed
and feverish.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But not a word could she get out of Gilda while
she dressed her hair, except an assurance that their troubles
-- as far as Maria could gauge them -- would<BR>
soon be over now, and that in twenty-four hours mayhap they would
be escorted back to Haarlem.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;When, I trust, that I shall have the
joy of seeing three impudent knaves swing on gibbets in the market
place,&quot; quoth Maria decisively, &quot;and one of them --
the most impudent of the lot -- drawn and quartered, or burnt
at the stake!&quot; she added with savage insistence.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When Gilda was ready dressed, she asked for
leave to speak with Mynheer Ben Isaje. The Jew, obsequious and
affable, received her with utmost deference, and in a few words
put the situation before her.&nbsp; Mevrouw Isaje, he said, was
away from home: he had not been apprised of the jongejuffrouw's
coming, or his wife would have been ready to receive her at his
private house, which was situate but half a league out of Rotterdam.&nbsp;
But Mevrouw Isaje would return from the visit which she had been
paying to her father in the course of the afternoon, until that
hour Mynheer Ben Isaje begged that the jongejuffrouw would look
upon this miserable hovel as her property and would give what
orders she desired for the furtherance of her comfort.&nbsp; In
the afternoon, he concluded, an escort would once more be ready
to convey the jongejuffrouw to that same private house of his,
where there was a nice garden and a fine view over the Schie instead
of the confined outlook on squalid houses opposite, which was
quite unworthy of the jongejuffrouw's glance.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda did not attempt to stay the flow of Ben
Isaje's eloquence: she thanked him graciously for everything that
he had already done for her comfort.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Maria -- more loquacious, and bubbling over
with indignation -- asked him when this outrageous confinement
of her person and that of her exalted mistress at the hands of
brigands would cease, and if Mynheer Ben Isaje was aware that
such confinement against the jongejuffrouw's will would inevitably
entail the punishment of hanging.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But thereupon Mynheer Ben Isaje merely rubbed
his thin hands together and became as evasive first and then as
mute as only those of his race can contrive to be.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then Gilda -- making an effort to speak unconcernedly
-- asked him what had become of the men who had brought her hither
from Haarlem.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They spent half the night eating and
drinking at the tavern, mejuffrouw,&quot; said the Jew blandly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah!&quot; rejoined Gilda quietly, &quot;methought
one of them had found hospitality under your roof.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;So he had, mejuffrouw.&nbsp; But this
morning when I called him -- for I had some business to transact
with him -- I found his room already empty.&nbsp; No doubt he
had gone to join his companions at the tavern.&nbsp; But the rascal's
movements need not disturb the jongejuffrouw for one moment.&nbsp;
After to-day she need never set eyes on him again.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Save when he is hanging on a gibbet in
the Groote Markt,&quot; broke in Maria viciously.&nbsp; &quot;I
for one never go to see such sights, but when that rascal hangs
it shall be a holiday for me to go and get a last look at him.&quot;<BR>
<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Later on in the day, Ben Isaje, more affable
and obsequious than he had ever been, came to announce to the
jongejuffrouw that her sledge was awaiting her at the top of the
street.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Silently and resignedly as had been her wont
these past two days Gilda Beresteyn, wrapping her cloak and hood
closely round her, followed Mynheer Ben Isaje out of the house.&nbsp;
Maria walked immediately behind her, muttering imprecations against
brigands, and threatening dire punishments against every Jew.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though it was only three o'clock in the afternoon,
it was already quite dark in this narrow street, where tall gables
almost touched one another at the top: only from the tiny latticed
windows feeble patches of yellow light glimmered weirdly through
the fog.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The sledge was waiting at the top of the street,
as Mynheer Ben Isaje had said.&nbsp; Gilda shuddered as soon as
she caught sight of it again; it represented so much that was
vivid and tangible of her present anxiety and sorrow.&nbsp; It
stood upon an open market-place, with the driver sitting up at
his post and three horses harnessed thereto.&nbsp; The small tavern
was at the corner on the left, and as Gilda walked rapidly up
to the sledge, she saw two of the men who had been escorting her
hitherto, the thin man with the abnormally long legs, and the
fat one with the red nose and round eyes: but of the third tall,
splendid figure she did not catch one glimpse.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two men nudged one another as she passed,
and whispered excitedly to one another, but she could not hear
what they said, and the next moment she found herself being handed
into the vehicle by Ben Isaje, who thereupon took humble leave
of her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are not coming with us, mynheer?&quot;
she asked in astonishment.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not . . . not just yet, mejuffrouw,&quot;
murmured the Jew somewhat incoherently, &quot;it is too early
yet in the afternoon . . . er . . . for me to . . . to leave my
business . . . I have the honour to bid the jongejuffrouw 'Godspeed.'&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But,&quot; said Gilda, who suddenly misliked
Ben Isaje's manner, yet could not have told you why, &quot;the
mevrouw -- your wife -- she is ready to receive me?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of a truth -- certainly,&quot; replied
the man.&nbsp; Gilda would have given much to question him further.&nbsp;
She was quite sure that there was something strange in his manner,
something that she mistrusted; but just as she was about to speak
again, there was a sudden command of &quot;Forward!&quot; the
driver cracked his whip, the harness jingled, the sledge gave
a big lurch forward and the next moment Gilda found herself once
more being rushed at great speed through the cold night air.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She could not see much round her, for the fog
out in the open seemed even more dense than it was inside the
city and the darkness of the night crept swiftly through the fog.&nbsp;
All that she knew for certain was that the city was very soon
left behind, that the driver was urging his horses on to unusual
speed, and that she must be travelling along a river bank, because
when the harness rattled and jingled less loudly than usual, she
could hear distinctly the clink of metal skates upon the ice,
as wayfarers no doubt were passing to and fro.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Solitary as she was -- for Maria and her eternal
grumblings were poor company -- she fell to thinking again over
the future, as she had done not only last night but through the
past few interminable days; it almost seemed as if she had never,
never thought of anything else, as if those same few days stretched
out far away behind her into dim and nebulous infinity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">During those days she had alternately hoped
and feared and been disappointed only to hope again: but the disappointment
of last night was undoubtedly the most bitter that she had yet
experienced.&nbsp; So bitter had it been that for a time -- after
its intense poignancy had gone -- her faculties and power of thinking
had become numbed, and now -- very gradually, unknown at first
even to herself, hope shook itself free from the grip of disappointment
and peeped up at her out of the abyss of her despair.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Did that unscrupulous knave really have the
last word in the matter? had his caprice the power to order the
destiny of this land and the welfare of its faith?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Bah! the very thought was monstrous and impossible.&nbsp;
Was the life of the Prince of Orange to be sacrificed because
a rascal would not help her to give him that word of warning which
might save him even now at the eleventh hour?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No!&nbsp; Gilda Beresteyn refused to believe
that God -- who had helped the armies of the Netherlands throughout
their struggle against the might of Spain -- would allow a rogue
to have so much power.&nbsp; After all, she was not going to be
shut up in prison! she was going to the house of ordinary, respectable
burghers; true, they were of alien and of despised faith, but
they were well-to-do, had a family, serving women and men.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Surely among these there would be one who --
amenable to cajoleries or to promises -- would prove to be the
instrument sent by God to save the Stadtholder from an assassin's
dagger!<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda Beresteyn, wrapped in this new train
of thought, lost count of time, of distance and of cold: she lived
during one whole hour in the happiness of this newly-risen hope,
making plans, conjecturing, rehearsing over in her mind what she
would say, how she would probe the loyalty, the kindness of those
who would be around her to-night.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Delft was so near! and after all even Maria
might be bribed to forget her fears and her grievances and to
become that priceless instrument of salvation of which Gilda dreamed
as the sledge flew swiftly along through the night.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was Maria who roused her suddenly out of
these happy fancies.&nbsp; Maria who said plaintively:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Shall we never get to that verdommte
house.&nbsp; The Jew said that it was only situate half a league
from Rotterdam.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We must be close to it,&quot; murmured
Gilda.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Close to it!&quot; retorted Maria, &quot;we
seem to be burning the ground under the horses' hoofs -- we have
left Rotterdam behind us this hour past. . . . It is the longest
half league that I have ever known.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Peep out under the hood, Maria.&nbsp;
Cannot you see where we are?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Maria peeped out as she was bid.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I can see the lights of a city far away
on our right,&quot; she said.&nbsp; &quot;From the direction in
which we have been going and the ground which we have covered
I should guess that city to be Delft.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Delft!&quot; exclaimed Gilda, smothering
a louder scream.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The driver had just pulled up his horses, allowing
them to go at a walk so as to restore their wind and ease them
for awhile.&nbsp; Gilda tried her best to peer through the darkness.&nbsp;
All that she could see were those lights far away on the right
which proclaimed the distant city.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A chill struck suddenly to her heart.&nbsp;
Ben Isaje had lied!&nbsp; Why?&nbsp; She was not being taken to
his house which was situate half a league outside Rotterdam .
. then whither was she being taken?&nbsp; What new misery, what
new outrage awaited her now?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The lights of the distant city receded further
and further away from her view, the driver once more put his horses
at a trot, the sledge moved along more smoothly now: it seemed
as if it were going over the surface of the river.&nbsp; Delft
was being left behind, and the sledge was following the course
of the Schie . . . on toward Ryswyk. . . .<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The minutes sped on, another quarter of an
hour, another half hour, another hour in this dread suspense.&nbsp;
The driver was urging his horses unmercifully: he gave them but
little rest.&nbsp; It was only when for a few brief moments he
put them at walking pace, that Gilda heard -- all around her as
it seemed -- that metallic click of skates which told her that
the sledge was surrounded by men who were there to watch over
her and see that she did not escape.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXIII -- THE CAPTIVE LION</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Beresteyn was sitting at the table in the weighing-room of the
molens: his elbows rested on the table, and his right hand supported
his head; in the feeble light of the lanthorn placed quite close
to him, his face looked sullen and dark, and his eyes, overshadowed
by his frowning brows, were fixed with restless eagerness upon
the narrow door.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg, with hands crossed over his chest,
with head bare and collar impatiently torn away from round his
neck, was pacing up and down the long, low room like a caged beast
of prey.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Enter!&quot; he shouted impatiently in
response to a loud knock on the door.&nbsp; Then as Jan entered,
and having saluted, remained standing by the door, he paused in
his feverish walk, and asked in a curiously hoarse voice, choked
with anxiety:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Is everything all right, Jan?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Everything, my lord.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The jongejuffrouw? . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In the hut, my lord.&nbsp; There is a
good fire there and the woman is preparing some hot supper for
the lady.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How does she seem?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She stepped very quietly out of the sledge,
my lord, the moment I told her that we had arrived.&nbsp; She
asked no questions, and walked straight into the hut.&nbsp; Meseemed
that the jongejuffrouw knew exactly where she was.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The woman will look after her comforts
will?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh, yes, my lord, though she is only
a rough peasant, she will try and do her best, and the jongejuffrouw
has her own waiting woman with her as well.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And the horses?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In the shed behind the hut.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Look after them well, Jan: we may want
to use them again to-morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They shall be well looked after, my lord.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you have placed the sentry outside
the hut?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Two men in the front and two in the rear,
as you have commanded, my lord.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg drew a deep breath of satisfaction:
but anxiety seemed to have exhausted him, for now that his questions
had been clearly answered, he sank into a chair. <BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;All well, Nicolaes,&quot; he said more
calmly as he placed a re-assuring hand upon his friend's shoulder.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But Nicolaes groaned aloud.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Would to God,&quot; he said, &quot;that
all were well!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Smothering an impatient retort Stoutenburg
once more turned to Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what news of the foreigner?&quot;
he queried eagerly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We have got him, my lord,&quot; replied
Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By G--d!&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg,
&quot;how did you do it?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His excitement was at fever pitch now.&nbsp;
He was leaning forward, and his attitude was one of burning expectancy.&nbsp;
His hollow eyes were fixed upon Jan's lips as if they would extract
from them the glad news which they held.&nbsp; Whatever weakness
there was in Stoutenburg's nature, one thing in him was strong
-- and that was hatred.&nbsp; He could hate with an intensity
of passion worthy of a fine cause.&nbsp; He hated the Stadtholder
first, and secondly the nameless adventurer who had humiliated
him and forced him to lick the dust: wounded in his vanity and
in his arrogance he was consumed with an inordinate desire for
revenge.&nbsp; The hope that this revenge was now at last in sight
-- that the man whom he hated so desperately was now in his power
-- almost caused the light of mania to dance in his glowing eyes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How did you do it, Jan?&quot; he reiterated
hoarsely.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It was not far from the molens,&quot;
said Jan simply, &quot;until then he gave us the slip, though
we spied him just outside Delft on our way to Rotterdam this morning.&nbsp;
My impression is that he went back to Rotterdam then, and that
he followed the jongejuffrouw's sledge practically all the way.&nbsp;
Close to the molens he was forced to draw a little nearer as it
was getting very dark and probably he did not know his way about.&nbsp;
I am convinced that he wished to ascertain exactly whither we
were taking the jongejuffrouw.&nbsp; At an rate, I and some of
our fellows who had lagged in the rear caught sight of him then
. . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you seized him?&quot; cried Stoutenburg
with exultant joy.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He was alone, my lord,&quot; replied
Jan with a placid smile, &quot;and there were seven of us at the
time.&nbsp; Two or three of the men, though, are even now nursing
unpleasant wounds.&nbsp; I myself fared rather badly with a bruised
head and half-broken collar-bone. . . . The man is a demon for
fighting, but there were seven of us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well done, Jan!&quot; cried Beresteyn
now, for Stoutenburg had become speechless with the delight of
this glorious news; &quot;and what did you do with the rogue?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We tied him securely with ropes and dragged
him along with us.&nbsp; Oh! we made certain of him, my lord,
you may be sure of that.&nbsp; And now I and another man have
taken him down into the basement below and we have fastened him
to one of the beams, where I imagine the northwest wind will soon
cool his temper.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye, that it will!&quot; quoth Stoutenburg
lustily.&nbsp; &quot;Take the lanthorn, Jan, and let us to him
at once.&nbsp; Beresteyn, friend, will you come too?&nbsp; Your
hand like mine must be itching to get at the villain's face.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The two men took good care to wrap their cloaks
well round their shoulders and to pull their fur caps closely
round their ears.&nbsp; Thus muffled up against the bitterness
of the night, they went out of the molens, followed by Jan, who
carried the lanthorn.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Outside the door, steep, ladder-like steps
led to the ground.&nbsp; The place referred to by Jan as &quot;the
basement&quot; was in reality the skeleton foundations on which
the molens rested.&nbsp; These were made up of huge beams -- green
and slimy with age, and driven deep down into the muddy flat below.&nbsp;
Ten feet up above, the floor of the molens sat towering aloft.&nbsp;
Darkness like pitch reigned on this spot, but as Jan swung his
lanthorn along, the solid beams detached themselves one by one
out of the gloom, their ice-covered surface reflected the yellow
artificial light, and huge icicles of weird and fantastic shapes
like giant arms and fingers stretched out hung down from the<BR>
transverse bars and from the wooden frame-work of the molens above.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To one of the upright beams a man was securely
fastened with ropes wound round about his body.&nbsp; His powerful
muscles were straining against the cords which tied his arms behind
his back.&nbsp; A compassionate hand had put his broad-brimmed
hat upon his head, to protect his ears and nose against the frost,
but his mighty chest was bare, for doublet and shirt had been
torn in the reckless fight which preceded final capture.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan held up the lanthorn and pointed out to
my lord the prisoner whom he was so proud to have captured.&nbsp;
The light fell upon the pinioned figure, splendid in its air of
rebellious helplessness.&nbsp; Here was a man, momentarily conquered
it is true, but obviously not vanquished and though the ropes
now cut into his body, though the biting wind lashed his bare
chest, and dark stains showed upon his shirt, the spirit within
was as free and untrammelled as ever -- the spirit of independence
and of adventure which is willing to accept the knockdown blows
of fate as readily and cheerfully as her favours.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Despite the torn shirt and the ragged doublet
there was yet an air of swagger about the whole person of the
man, swagger that became almost insolent as the Lord of Stoutenburg
approached.&nbsp; He threw back his head and looked his sworn
enemy straight in the face, his eyes were laughing still, and
a smile of cool irony played round his lips.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well done, Jan!&quot; quoth Stoutenburg
with a deep sign of satisfaction. He was standing with arms akimbo
and legs wide apart, enjoying to the full the intense delight
of gazing for awhile in silence on his discomfitted enemy.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah! but it is good,&quot; he said at
last, &quot;to look upon a helpless rogue.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;'Tis a sight then,&quot; retorted the
prisoner lightly, &quot;which your Magnificence hath often provided
for your friends and your adherents.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah!&quot; rejoined Stoutenburg, who
was determined to curb his temper if he could, &quot;your insolence
now, my man, hath not the power to anger me.&nbsp; It strikes
me as ludicrous -- even pathetic in its senselessness.&nbsp; An
I were in your unpleasant position, I would try by submission
to earn a slight measure of leniency from my betters.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No doubt you would, my lord,&quot; quoth
Diogenes dryly, &quot;but you see I have up to now not yet come
across my betters.&nbsp; When I do, I may take your advice.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Verdommte Keerl!&nbsp; What say you,
Beresteyn,&quot; added Stoutenburg turning to his friend, &quot;shall
we leave him here to-night to cool his impudence, we can always
hang him to-morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn made no immediate reply, his face
was pale and haggard, and his glance -- shifty and furtive --
seemed to avoid that of the prisoner.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You must see that the fellow is well
guarded, Jan,&quot; resumed Stoutenburg curtly, &quot;give him
some food, but on no account allow him the slightest freedom.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My letters to Ben Isaje,&quot; murmured
Beresteyn, as Stoutenburg already turned to go.&nbsp; &quot;Hath
he perchance got them by him still?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The letters! yes!&nbsp; I have forgotten!&quot;
said the other.&nbsp; &quot;Search him, Jan!&quot; he commanded.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan put down the lanthorn and then proceeded
to lay rough hands upon the captive philosopher; he had a heavy
score to pay off against him -- an aching<BR>
collar-bone and a bruised head, and the weight of a powerful fist
to avenge.&nbsp; He was not like to be gentle in his task.&nbsp;
He tore at the prisoner's doublet and in his search for a hidden
pocket he disclosed an ugly wound which had lacerated the shoulder.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Some of us took off our skates,&quot;
he remarked casually, &quot;and brought him down with them.&nbsp;
The blades were full sharp, and we swung them by their straps;
they made excellent weapons thus; the fellow should have more
than one wound about him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Three, my good Jan, to be quite accurate,&quot;
said Diogenes calmly, &quot;but all endurable.&nbsp; I had ten
about me outside Prague once, but the fellows there were fighting
better than you, and in a worthier cause.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan's rough hands continued their exhaustive
search; a quickly smothered groan from the prisoner caused Stoutenburg
to laugh.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That sound,&quot; he said, &quot;was
music to mine ear.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan now drew a small leather wallet and a parchment
roll both from the wide flap of the prisoner's boot.&nbsp; Stoutenburg
pounced upon the wallet, and Beresteyn with eager anxiety tore
the parchment out of Jan's hand.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is the formal order to Ben Isaje,&quot;
he said, &quot;to pay over the money to this knave.&nbsp; Is there
anything else, Jan?&quot; he continued excitedly, &quot;a thinner
paper? -- shaped like a letter?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nothing else, mynheer,&quot; replied
Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Did you then deliver my letter to Ben
Isaje, fellow?&quot; queried Beresteyn of the prisoner.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My friend Jan should be able to tell
you that,&quot; he replied, &quot;hath he not been searching the
very folds of my skin.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the meanwhile Stoutenburg had been examining
the contents of the wallet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jewellery belonging to the jongejuffrouw,&quot;
he said dryly, &quot;which this rogue hath stolen from her.&nbsp;
Will you take charge of them, Nicolaes?&nbsp; And here,&quot;
he added, counting out a few pieces of gold and silver, &quot;is
some of your own money.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He made as if he would return this to Beresteyn,
then a new idea seemed to strike him, for he put all the money
back into the wallet and said to Jan:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Put this wallet back where you found
it, Jan, and, Nicolaes,&quot; he added turning back to his friend,
&quot;will you allow me to look at that bond?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">While Jan obeyed and replaced the wallet in
the flap of the prisoner's boot, Beresteyn handed the parchment
to Stoutenburg.&nbsp; The latter then ordered Jan to hold up the
lanthorn so that by its light he might read the writing.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">This he did, twice over, with utmost attention;
after which he tore off very carefully a narrow strip from the
top of the document.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Now,&quot; he said quietly, &quot;this
paper, wherever found, cannot compromise you in any way, Nicolaes.&nbsp;
The name of Ben Isaje who alone could trace the cypher signature
back to you, we will scatter to the winds.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he tore the narrow strip which he had severed
from the document into infinitesimal fragments, which he then
allowed the wind to snatch out of his hand and to whirl about
and away into space.&nbsp; But the document itself he folded up
with ostentatious care.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you want with that?&quot; asked
Beresteyn anxiously.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I don't know yet, but it might be very
useful,&quot; replied the other.&nbsp; &quot;So many things may
occur within the next few days that such an ambiguously worded
document might prove of the utmost value.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But . . . the signature . . .&quot; urged
Beresteyn, &quot;my father . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The signature, you told me, friend, is
one that you use in the ordinary way of business whilst the wording
of the document in itself cannot compromise you in any way; it
is merely a promise to pay for services rendered.&nbsp; Leave
this document in my keeping; believe me, it is quite safe with
me and might yet be of incalculable value to us.&nbsp; One never
knows.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! one never does know,&quot; broke
in the prisoner airily, &quot;for of a truth when there's murder
to be done, pillage or outrage, the Lord of Stoutenburg never
knows what other infamy may come to his hand.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Insolent knave!&quot; exclaimed Stoutenburg
hoarsely, as with a cry of unbridled fury he suddenly raised his
arm and with the parchment roll which he held, he struck the prisoner
savagely in the face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Take care, Stoutenburg,&quot; ejaculated
Beresteyn almost involuntarily.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Take care of what,&quot; retorted the
other with a harsh laugh, &quot;the fellow is helpless, thank
God! and I would gladly break my riding whip across his impudent
face.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He was livid and shaking with fury.&nbsp; Beresteyn
-- honestly fearing that in his blind rage he would compromise
his dignity before his subordinates -- dragged him by the arm
away from the presence of this man whom he appeared to hate with
such passionate intensity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg, obdurate at first, almost drunk
with his own fury, tried to free himself from his friend's grasp.&nbsp;
He wanted to lash the man he hated once more in the face, to gloat
for awhile longer on the sight of his enemy now completely in
his power.&nbsp; But all around in the gloom he perceived figures
that moved; the soldiers and mercenaries placed at his disposal
by his friends were here in numbers: some of them had been put
on guard over the prisoner by Jan, and others had joined them,
attracted by loud voices.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg had just enough presence of mind
left in him to realize that the brutal striking of a defenceless
prisoner would probably horrify these men, who were fighters and
not bullies, and might even cause them to turn from their allegiance
to him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">So with desperate effort he pulled himself
together and contrived to give with outward calm some final orders
to Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;See that the ropes are securely fastened,
Jan,&quot; he said, &quot;leave half a dozen men on guard, then
follow me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But to Beresteyn, who had at last succeeded
in dragging him away from this spot, he said loudly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You do not know, Nicolaes, what a joy
it is to me to be even with that fellow at last.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A prolonged laugh, that had a note of triumph
in it, gave answer to this taunt, whilst a clear voice shouted
lustily:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nay! we never can be quite even, my lord;
since you were not trussed like a capon when I forced you to lick
the dust.&quot;</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXIV -- PROTESTATIONS</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Half-an-hour later, the Lord of Stoutenburg was in Gilda's presence.&nbsp;
He was glad enough that Nicolaes Beresteyn -- afraid to meet his
sister -- had refused to accompany him. He, too, felt nervous
and anxious at thought of meeting her face to face at last.&nbsp;
He had not spoken to her since that day in March when he was a
miserable fugitive -- in a far worse plight than was the wounded
man tied with cords to a beam.&nbsp; He had been a hunted creature
then, every man's hand raised against him, his life at the mercy
of any passer-by, and she had given him shelter freely and fearlessly
-- shelter and kind words-- and her ministrations had brought
him luck, for he succeeded in reaching the coast after he parted
from her, and finding shelter once more in a foreign land.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Since then her image had filled his dreams
by night and his thoughts by day.&nbsp; His earlier love for her,
smothered by ambition, rose up at once more strong, more insistent
than before; it became during all these months of renewed intrigues
and plots the one ennobling trait in his tortuous character.&nbsp;
His love for Gilda was in itself not a selfish feeling; neither
ambition nor the mere gratification of obstinate desire entered
in its composition.&nbsp; He loved Gilda for herself alone, with
all the adoration which a pious man would have given to his God,
and while one moment of his life was occupied in planning a ruthless
and dastardly murder, the other was filled with hopes of a happier
future, with Gilda beside him as his idolized wife.&nbsp; But
though his love was in itself pure and selfless, he remained true
to his unscrupulous nature in the means which he adopted in order
to win the object of his love.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Even now, when he entered her presence in the
miserable peasant's hut where he chose to hold her a prisoner,
he felt no remorse at the recollection of what she must have suffered
in the past few days; his one thought was -- now that he had her
completely under his control -- how he could best plead his cause
first, or succeed in coercing her will if she proved unkind.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She received him quite calmly, and even with
a gracious nod of the head, and he thought that he had never seen
her look more beautiful than she did now, in her straight white
gown, with that sweet, sad face of hers framed by a wealth of
golden curls.&nbsp; In this squalid setting of white-washed walls
and rafters blackened with age, she looked indeed -- he thought
-- like one of those fairy princesses held prisoner by a wicked
ogre -- of whom he used to read long ago when he was a child,
before sin and treachery and that insatiable longing for revenge
had wholly darkened his soul.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With bare head and back bent nearly double
in the depth of his homage he approached his divinity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is gracious of you, mejuffrouw, to
receive me,&quot; he said forcing his harsh voice to tones of
gentleness.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I had not the power to refuse, my lord,&quot;
she replied quietly, &quot;seeing that I am in your hands and
entirely at your commands.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I entreat you do not say that,&quot;
he rejoined eagerly, &quot;there is no one here who has the right
to command save yourself.&nbsp; 'Tis I am in your hands and your
most humble slave.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A truce to this farce, my lord,&quot;
she retorted impatiently.&nbsp; &quot;I were not here if you happened
to be my slave, and took commands from me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;'Tis true mayhap that you would not be
here, now, mejuffrouw,&quot; he said blandly, &quot;but I could
only act for the best, and as speedily as I could.&nbsp; The moment
I heard that you were in the hands of brigands I moved heaven
and earth to find out where you were.&nbsp; I only heard this
morning that you were in Rotterdam . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You heard that I was in the hands of
brigands,&quot; she murmured almost gasping with astonishment,
&quot;you heard this morning that I was in Rotterdam . . .?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I sent spies and messengers in every
direction the moment I heard of the abominable outrage against
your person,&quot; he continued with well-feigned vehemence.&nbsp;
&quot;I cannot even begin to tell you what I endured these past
three days, until at last, by dint of ruse and force, I was able
to circumvent the villains who held you captive, and convey you
hither in safety and profound respect until such time as I can
find a suitable escort to take you back to your father.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If what you say is true, my lord, you
could lend me an escort at once, that I might return to my dear
father forthwith.&nbsp; Truly he must have broken his heart by
now, weeping for me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have I not said that I am your slave?&quot;
he rejoined gently, &quot;an you desire to return to Haarlem immediately,
I will see about an escort for you as quickly as may be.&nbsp;
The hour is late now,&quot; he added hypocritically, &quot;but
a man can do much when his heart's desire lies in doing the behests
of a woman whom he worships.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though she frowned at these last words of his,
she leaned forward eagerly to him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will let me go . . . at once . .
. to-night?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At once if it lies in my power,&quot;
he replied unblushingly, &quot;but I fear me that you will have
to wait a few hours; the night is as dark as pitch.&nbsp; It were
impossible to make a start in it.&nbsp; To-morrow, however . .
.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Tomorrow?&quot; she cried anxiously,
&quot;'Tis to-night that I wish to go.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The way to Haarlem is long . . .&quot;
he murmured.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;'Tis not to Haarlem, my lord, but to
Delft that I long to go.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To Delft?&quot; he exclaimed with a perfect
show of astonishment.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She bit her lip and for the moment remained
silent.&nbsp; It had, indeed, been worse than folly to imagine
that he -- of all men in the world -- would help her to go to
Delft.&nbsp; But he had been so gentle, so kind, apparently so
ready to do all that she asked, that for a moment she forgot that
he and he alone was the mover of that hideous conspiracy to murder
which she still prayed to God that she might avert.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I had forgotten, my lord,&quot; she said,
as tears threatened to choke her voice, &quot;I had forgotten.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Forgotten?&nbsp; What?&quot; he asked
blankly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That you are not like to escort me to
Delft.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why not to Delft, an you wish to go there?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But . . .&quot; she murmured, &quot;the
Stadtholder. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah!&quot; he exclaimed, &quot;now I understand.&nbsp;
You are thinking of what you overheard in the cathedral of Haarlem.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed, how could I forget it?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Easily now, Gilda,&quot; he replied with
solemn earnestness.&nbsp; &quot;The plans which my friends and
I formed on that night have been abandoned.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Abandoned?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes!&nbsp; Your brother was greatly impressed
by all that you said to him.&nbsp; He persuaded us all to think
more lengthily over the matter.&nbsp; Then came the news of the
outrage upon your person, and all thoughts of my ambition and
of my revenge faded before this calamity, and I have devoted every
hour of mine existence since then to find you and to restore you
to your home.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Bewildered, wide-eyed, Gilda listened to him.&nbsp;
In all her life hitherto, she had never come into contact with
lying and with deceit: she had never seen a man lying unblushingly,
calmly, not showing signs of confusion or of fear.&nbsp; Therefore,
the thought that this man could be talking so calmly, so simply,
so logically, and yet be trying to deceive her, never for one
moment entered her head.&nbsp; The events of the past few days
crowded in upon her brain in such a maddening array, that, as
she sat here now, face to face with the man whom she had been
so ready to suspect, she could not disentangle from those events
one single fact that could justify her suspicions.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Even looking back upon the conversation which
she had had with that impudent rogue in Leyden and again last
night, she distinctly remembered now that he had never really
said a single thing that implicated the Lord of Stoutenburg or
any one else in this villainy.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She certainly was bewildered and very puzzled
now: joy at the thought that after all the Stadtholder was safe,
joy that her brother's hand would not be stained with murder,
or his honour with treachery, mingled with a vague sense of mistrust
which she was powerless to combat, yet felt ashamed to admit.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then, my lord,&quot; she murmured at
last, &quot;do you really tell me that the outrage of which I
have been the victim was merely planned by villains, for mercenary
motives?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What else could have prompted it?&quot;
he asked blandly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Neither you . . .nor . . . nor any of
your friends had a hand in it?&quot; she insisted.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I?&quot; he exclaimed with a look of
profound horror.&nbsp; &quot;I? . . . to do you such a wrong!&nbsp;
For what purpose, ye gods?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To . . . to keep me out of the way .
. .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I understand,&quot; he said simply.&nbsp;
&quot;And you, Gilda, believed this of me?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I believed it,&quot; she replied calmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You did not realize then that I would
give every drop of my blood to save you one instant's pain?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I did not realize,&quot; she said more
coldly, &quot;that you would give up your ambition for any woman
or for anything.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You do not believe then, that I love
you?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Speak not of love my lord,&quot; she
retorted, &quot;it is a sacred thing.&nbsp; And you methinks do
not know what love is.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed you are right, Gilda,&quot; he
said, &quot;I do not know what is the love of ordinary men.&nbsp;
But if to love you, Gilda, means that every thought, every hope,
every prayer is centred upon you, if it means that neither sleep
nor work, nor danger can for one single instant chase your image
from my soul, if to love you means that my very sinews ache with
the longing to hold you in my arms, and that every moment which
keeps me from your side is torture worse than hell; if love means
all that, Gilda, then do I know to mine own hurt what love is.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And in your ambition, my lord, you allowed
that love to be smothered,&quot; she retorted calmly.&nbsp; &quot;It
is too late now to speak of it again, to any woman save to Walburg
de Marnix.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I'll speak of it to you, Gilda, while
the breath in my body lasts.&nbsp; Walburg de Marnix is no longer
my wife.&nbsp; The law of our country has already set me free.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The law of God binds you to her.&nbsp;
I pray you speak no more of such things to me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are hard and cruel, Gilda.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I no longer love you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will love again,&quot; he retorted
confidently, &quot;in the meanwhile have I regained your trust?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not even that, wholly,&quot; she replied.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me at least do one thing in my own
justification,&quot; he pleaded.&nbsp; &quot;Allow me to prove
to you now and at once that -- great though my love is for you,
and maddening my desire to have you near me -- I could not be
guilty of such an outrage, as I know that in your heart you do
accuse me of.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I did accuse you of it, my lord, I own.&nbsp;
But how can you prove me wrong now and at once?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By bringing before you the only guilty
person in this network of infamy,&quot; he replied hotly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You know him then?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For these three days now I and my faithful
servants have tracked him.&nbsp; I have him here now a prisoner
at last.&nbsp; His presence before you will prove to you that
I at least bore no share in the hideous transaction.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of whom do you speak, my lord?&quot;
she asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of the man who dared to lay hands upon
you in Haarlem . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He is here -- now?&quot; she exclaimed.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A helpless prisoner in my hands,&quot;
he replied, &quot;to-morrow summary justice shall be meted out
to him, and he will receive the punishment which his infamy deserves.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But he did not act on his own initiative,&quot;
she said eagerly, &quot;another man more powerful, richer than
he prompted him -- paid him -- tempted him . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg made a gesture of infinite contempt.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;So, no doubt, he has told you, Gilda.&nbsp;
Men of his stamp are always cowards at heart, even though they
have a certain brutish instinct for fighting -- mostly in self-defence.&nbsp;
He tried to palliate his guilt before you by involving me in its
responsibility.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You,&quot; she whispered under her breath,
&quot;or one of your friends.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You mean your brother Nicolaes,&quot;
he rejoined quietly.&nbsp; &quot;Ah! the man is even a more arrant
knave than I thought.&nbsp; So! he has tried to fasten the responsibility
for this outrage against your person, firstly on me who worship
the very ground you walk on, secondly on the brother whom you
love?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no,&quot; she protested eagerly,
&quot;I did not say that.&nbsp; It was I who . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who thought so ill of me,&quot; broke
in Stoutenburg with gentle reproach, &quot;of me and of Nicolaes.&nbsp;
You questioned the rogue, and he did not deny it, nay more he
enlarged upon the idea, which would place all the profits of this
abominable transaction in his hands and yet exonerate him from
guilt.&nbsp; But you shall question him yourself, Gilda.&nbsp;
By his looks, by his answers, by his attitude you will be able
to judge if I or Nicolaes -- or any of our friends, have paid
him to lay hands upon you.&nbsp; Remember however,&quot; he added
significantly, &quot;that such a low-born knave will always lie
to save his skin, so this do I entreat of you on my knees: judge
by his looks more than by his words, and demand a proof of what
he asserts.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I will judge, my lord, as I think best,&quot;
she retorted coldly.&nbsp; &quot;And now, I pray you, send for
the man.&nbsp; I would like to hear what he has to say.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg immediately turned to obey: there
was a guard outside the door, and it was easy to send one of the
men with orders to Jan to bring the prisoner hither.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Within himself he was frankly taken aback at
Gilda's ready acquiescence -- nay obvious desire to parley with
the foreigner.&nbsp; A sharp pang of jealousy had shot through
his heart when he saw her glowing eyes, her eagerness to defend
the knave.&nbsp; The instinct that guided his fierce love for
Gilda, had quickly warned him that here was a danger of which
he had never even dreamed.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Women were easily swayed, he thought, by a
smooth tongue and a grand manner, both of which -- Stoutenburg
was bound to admit -- the rogue possessed in no scanty measure.&nbsp;
Fortunately the mischief -- if indeed mischief there was -- had
only just begun: and of a truth reason itself argued that Gilda
must loathe and despise the villain who had wronged her so deeply:
moreover Stoutenburg had every hope that the coming interview
if carefully conducted would open Gilda's eyes more fully still
to the true character of the foreign mercenary with the unctuous
tongue and the chivalrous ways.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In any case the Lord of Stoutenburg himself
had nothing to fear from that interview, and he felt that his
own clever words had already shaken the foundations of Gilda's
mistrust of him.&nbsp; Mayhap in desiring to parley with the knave,
she only wished to set her mind at rest finally on these matters,
and also with regard to her own brother's guilt.&nbsp; Stoutenburg
with an inward grim smile of coming triumph passed his hand over
his doublet where -- in an inner pocket -- reposed the parchment
roll which was the last proof of Beresteyn's connivance.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda did not know the cypher-signature, and
the knave would have some difficulty in proving his assertion,
if indeed, he dared to name Nicolaes at all: whilst if he chose
to play the chivalrous part before Gilda, then the anonymous document
would indeed prove of incalculable value.&nbsp; In any case the
complete humiliation of the knave who had succeeded in gaining
Gilda's interest, if nothing more, was Stoutenburg's chief aim
when he suggested the interview, and the document with the enigmatical
signature could easily become a powerful weapon wherewith to make
that humiliation more complete.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And thus musing, speculating, scheming, the
Lord of Stoutenburg sent Jan over to the molens with orders to
bring the prisoner under a strong guard to the jongejuffrouw's
presence, whilst Gilda, silent and absorbed, sat in the tiny room
of the miller's hut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In spite of her loyalty, her love for her brother,
in spite of Stoutenburg's smooth assertions, a burning anxiety
gnawed at her heart -- she felt wretchedly, miserably lonely,
with a sense of treachery encompassing her all round.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But there was a strange glow upon her face,
which of a truth anxiety could not have brought about; rather
must it have been inward anger, which assailed her whenever thoughts
of the rogue whom she so hated intruded themselves upon her brain.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No doubt too, the heat of the fire helped to
enhance that delicate glow which lent so much additional beauty
to her face and such additional brilliance to her eyes.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 35</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXV &shy; THE WITNESS FOR
THE DEFENCE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
The Lord of Stoutenburg was the first to enter: behind him came
Jan, and finally a group of soldiers above whose heads towered
another broad white brow, surmounted by a wealth of unruly brown
hair which now clung matted against the moist forehead.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At a word of command from Stoutenburg, Jan
and the other soldiers departed, leaving him and the prisoner
only before Gilda Beresteyn.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The man had told her on that first night at
Leyden that his name was Diogenes -- a name highly honoured in
the history of philosophy.&nbsp; Well! -- philosophy apparently
was standing him in good stead, for truly it must be responsible
for the happy way in which he seemed to be bearing his present
unhappy condition.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They had tied his arms behind his back and
put a pinion through them, his clothes were torn, his massive
chest was bare, his shirt bore ugly, dark stains upon it, but<BR>
his face was just the same that merry laughing face with the twinkling
eyes, and the gentle irony that lurked round the lines of the
sensitive mouth: at any rate when Gilda -- overcome with pity
-- looked up with sweet compassion on him, she saw that same curious,
immutable smile that seemed even now to mock and to challenge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This is the man, mejuffrouw,&quot; began
Stoutenburg after awhile, &quot;who on New Year's day at Haarlem
dared to lay hands upon your person.&nbsp; Do you recognize him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do recognize him,&quot; replied Gilda
coldly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I imagine,&quot; continued Stoutenburg,
&quot;that he hath tried to palliate his own villainies by telling
you that he was merely a paid agent in that abominable outrage.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not think,&quot; she retorted still
quite coldly, &quot;that this . . . this . . . person told me
that he was being paid for that ugly deed: though when I did accuse
him of it he<BR>
did not deny it.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you hear, fellow?&quot; asked Stoutenburg,
turning sharply to Diogenes, &quot;it is time that all this lying
should cease.&nbsp; By your calumnies and evil insinuations you
have<BR>
added to the load of crimes which already have earned for you
exemplary punishment; by those same lies you have caused the jongejuffrouw
an infinity of pain, over and above the horror which she has endured
through your cowardly attack upon her.&nbsp; Therefore I have
thought it best to send for you now so that in her exalted presence
at least you may desist from further lying and that you may be
shamed into acknowledging the truth.&nbsp; Do you hear, fellow?&quot;
he reiterated more harshly as Diogenes stood there, seemingly
not even hearing what the Lord of Stoutenburg said, for his eyes
in which a quaint light of humour danced were fixed upon Gilda's
hands that lay clasped upon her lap.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The look in the man's face, the soft pallor
on the girl's cheek, exasperated Stoutenburg's jealous temper
beyond his power of control.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you hear?&quot; he shouted once more,
and with a sudden grip of the hand he pulled the prisoner roughly
round by the shoulder.&nbsp; That shoulder had been torn open
with a blow dealt by a massive steel blade which had lacerated
it to the bone; even a philosopher's endurance was not proof against
this sudden rending of an already painful wound. &nbsp;Diogenes'
pale face became the colour of lead: the tiny room began dancing
an irresponsive saraband before his eyes, he felt himself swaying,
for the ground was giving way under him, when a cry, gentle and
compassionate, reached his fading senses, and a perfume of exquisite
sweetness came to his nostrils, even as his pinioned arms felt
just enough support to enable him to steady himself.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda,&quot; broke in Stoutenburg's harsh
voice upon this intangible dream, &quot;I entreat you not to demean
yourself by ministering to that rogue.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My poor ministry was for a wounded man,
my lord,&quot; she retorted curtly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then she turned once more to the prisoner.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are hurt, sir,&quot; she asked as
she let her tender blue eyes rest with kind pity upon him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hurt, mejuffrouw?&quot; he replied with
a laugh, which despite himself had but little merriment in it.&nbsp;
&quot;Ask his Magnificence there, he will tell you that such knaves
as I<BR>
have bones and sinews as tough as their skins.&nbsp; Of a truth
I am not hurt, mejuffrouw . . . only overcome with the humour
of this situation.&nbsp; The Lord of Stoutenburg indignant and
reproachful at thought that another man is proficient in the art
of lying.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By heaven,&quot; cried Stoutenburg who
was white with fury.&nbsp; &quot;Insolent varlet, take . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had seized the first object that lay close
to his hand, the heavy iron tool used for raking the fire out
of the huge earthenware stove; this he raised above his head;
the lust to kill glowed out of his eyes, which had become bloodshot
whilst a thin red foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.&nbsp;
The next moment the life of a philosopher and weaver of dreams
would have been very abruptly ended, had not a woman's feeble
hand held up the crashing blow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hatred, my lord, an you will,&quot; said
Gilda with perfect sangfroid as she stood between the man who
had so deeply wronged her and the upraised arm of his deadly enemy,
&quot;hatred and fair fight, but not outrage, I pray you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg, smothering a curse, threw the
weapon away from him: it fell with a terrific crash upon the wooden
floor.&nbsp; Gilda, white and trembling now after the<BR>
agonizing excitement of the past awful moment, had sunk half-swooning
back against a chair.&nbsp; Stoutenburg fell on one knee and humbly
raised her gown to his lips.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your pardon, Madonna,&quot; he whispered,
&quot;the sight of your exquisite hands in contact with that infamous
blackguard made me mad.&nbsp; I was almost ready to cheat the
gallows of their prey.&nbsp; I gratefully thank you in that you
saved me from the indignity of staining my hand with a vile creature's
blood.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Quietly and dispassionately Gilda drew her
skirts away from him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;An you have recovered your temper, my
lord,&quot; she said coldly, &quot;I pray you ask the prisoner
those questions which you desired to put to him.&nbsp; I am satisfied
that he<BR>
is your enemy, and if he were not bound, pinioned and wounded
he would probably not have need of a woman's hand to protect him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg rose to his feet.&nbsp; He was
angered with himself for allowing his hatred and his rage to get
the better of his prudence, and tried to atone for his exhibition
of<BR>
incontinent rage by a great show of dignity and of reserve.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I must ask you again, fellow -- and for
the last time,&quot; he said slowly turning once more to Diogenes,
&quot;if you have realized how infamous have been your insinuations
against mine honour, and that of others whom the jongejuffrouw
holds in high regard?&nbsp; Your calumnies have caused her infinite
sorrow more bitter for her to bear than the dastardly crime which
you did commit against her person.&nbsp; Have you realized this,
and are you prepared to make amends for your crime and to mitigate
somewhat the grave punishment which you have deserved by speaking
the plain truth before the jongejuffrouw now?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what plain truth doth the jongejuffrouw
desire to hear?&quot; asked Diogenes with equal calm.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg would have replied, but Gilda broke
in quietly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your crime against me, sir, I would readily
forgive, had I but the assurance that no one in whom I trusted,
no one whom I loved had a hand in instigating it.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The ghost of his merry smile -- never very
distant -- spread over the philosopher's pale face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will you deign to allow me, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said, &quot;at any rate to tell you one certain, unvarnished
truth, which mayhap you will not even care to believe, and that
is that I would give my life -- the few chances, that is, that
I still have of it -- to obliterate from your mind the memory
of the past few days.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That you cannot do, sir,&quot; she rejoined,
&quot;but you would greatly ease the load of sorrow which you
have helped to lay upon me, if you gave me the assurance which
I ask.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The prisoner did not reply immediately, and
for one brief moment there was absolute silence in this tiny room,
a silence so tense and so vivid that an eternity of joy and sorrow,
of hope and of fear seemed to pass over the life of these three
human creatures here.&nbsp; All three had eyes and ears only for
one another: the world with its grave events, its intrigues and
its wars fell quite away from them: they were the only people
existing -- each for the other -- for this one brief instant that
passed by.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The fire crackled in the huge hearth, and slowly
the burning wood ashes fell with a soft swishing sound one by
one.&nbsp; But outside all was still: not a sound of the busy<BR>
life around the molens, of conspiracies and call to arms, penetrated
the dense veil of fog which lay upon the low-lying land.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At last the prisoner spoke.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;'Tis easily done, mejuffrouw,&quot; he
said, and all at once his whole face lit up with that light-hearted
gaiety, that keen sense of humour which would no doubt follow
him<BR>
to the grave, &quot;that assurance I can easily give you.&nbsp;
I was the sole criminal in the hideous outrage which brought so
much sorrow upon you.&nbsp; Had I the least hope that God would
hear the prayer of so despicable a villain as I am I would beg
of Him to grant you oblivion of my deed.&nbsp; As for me,&quot;
he added and now real laughter was dancing in his eyes: they mocked
and challenged and called back the joy of life, &quot;as for me,
I am impenitent.&nbsp; I would not forget one minute of the last
four days.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To-morrow then you can take the remembrance
with you to the gallows,&quot; said Stoutenburg sullenly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though a sense of intense relief pervaded him
now, since by his assertions Diogenes had completely vindicated
him as well as Nicolaes in Gilda's sight, his dark face<BR>
showed no signs of brightening.&nbsp; That fierce jealousy of
this nameless adventurer which had assailed him awhile ago was
gnawing at his heart more insistently than before; he could not
combat it, even though reason itself argued that jealousy of so
mean a knave was unworthy, and that Gilda's compassion was only
the same that she would have extended to any dog that had been
hurt.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Even now -- reason still argued -- was it not
natural that she should plead even for a thief.&nbsp; Women hate
the thought of violent death, only an amazon would desire to mete
out death to any enemy: Gilda was warm-hearted, impulsive, the
ugly word &quot;gallows&quot; grated no doubt unpleasantly on
her ear.&nbsp; But even so, and despite the dictates of reason,
Stoutenburg's jealousy and hatred were up in arms the moment she
turned pleading eyes upon him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord,&quot; she said gently, &quot;I
pray you to remember that by this open confession this . . . this
gentleman has caused be infinite happiness.&nbsp; I cannot tell
you what misery my own suspicions have caused me these past two
days.&nbsp; They were harder to bear than any humiliation or sorrow
which I had to endure.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;This varlet's lies confirmed you in your
suspicions, Gilda,&quot; retorted Stoutenburg roughly, &quot;and
his confession -- practically at the foot of the gallows -- is
but a tardy one.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do not speak so cruelly, my lord,&quot;
she pleaded, &quot;you say that . . . that you have some regard
for me . . . let not therefore my prayer fall unheeded on your
ear . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your prayer, Gilda?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My prayer that you deal nobly with an
enemy, whose wrongs to me I am ready to forgive. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;By St. Bavon, mejuffrouw,&quot; here
interposed the prisoner firmly, &quot;an mine ears do not deceive
me you are even now pleading for my life with the Lord of Stoutenburg.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed, sir, I do plead for it with my
whole heart,&quot; she said earnestly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ye gods!&quot; he exclaimed, &quot;and
ye do not interfere!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord!&quot; urged Gilda gently, &quot;for
my sake. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her words, her look, the tears that despite
her will had struggled to her eyes, scattered to the winds Stoutenburg's
reasoning powers.&nbsp; He felt now that nothing while this man
lived would ever still that newly-risen passion of jealousy.&nbsp;
He longed for and desired this man's death more even than that
of the Prince of Orange.&nbsp; His honour had been luckily white-washed
before Gilda by this very man whom he hated.&nbsp; He had a feeling
that within the last half-hour he had made enormous strides in
her regard.&nbsp; Already he persuaded himself that she was looking
on him more kindly, as if remorse at her unjust suspicions of
him had touched her soul on his behalf.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Everything now would depend on how best he
could seem noble and generous in her sight; but he was more determined
than ever that his enemy should stand disgraced before her first
and die on the gallows on the morrow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then it was that putting up his hand to the
region of his heart, which indeed was beating furiously, it encountered
the roll of parchment which lay in the inner pocket of his doublet.&nbsp;
Fate, chance, his own foresight, were indeed making the way easy
for him, and quicker than lightning his tortuous brain had already
formed a plan upon which he promptly acted now.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda,&quot; he said quietly, &quot;though
God knows how ready I am to do you service in all things, this
is a case where weakness on my part would be almost criminal,
for<BR>
indeed it would be to a hardened and abandoned criminal that I
should be extending that mercy for which you plead.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed, my lord,&quot; she retorted coldly,
&quot;though only a woman, I too can judge if a man is an abandoned
criminal or merely a misguided human creature who doth<BR>
deserve mercy since his confession was quite open and frank.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Commonsense did prompt him no doubt to
this half-confession,&quot; said Stoutenburg dryly, &quot;or a
wise instinct to win leniency by his conduct, seeing that he had
no proofs wherewith to substantiate his former lies.&nbsp; Am
I not right, fellow?&quot; he added once more turning to the prisoner,
&quot;though you were forced to own that you alone are responsible
for the outrage against the jongejuffrouw, you have not told her
yet that you are also a forger and a thief.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes looked on him for a moment or two
in silence, just long enough to force Stoutenburg's shifty eyes
to drop with a sudden and involuntary sense of shame,<BR>
then he rejoined with his usual good-humoured flippancy:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It was a detail which had quite escaped
my memory.&nbsp; No doubt your Magnificence is fully prepared
to rectify the omission.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed I wish that I could have spared
you this additional disgrace,&quot; retorted Stoutenburg, whose
sense of shame had indeed been only momentary, &quot;seeing that
anyhow you must hang to-morrow.&nbsp; But,&quot; he added once
more to the jongejuffrouw, &quot;I could not bear you to think,
Gilda, that I could refuse you anything which it is in my power
to grant you.&nbsp; Before you plead for this scoundrel again,
you ought to know that he has tried by every means in his power
-- by lying and by forgery -- to fasten the origin of all this
infamy upon your brother.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Upon Nicolaes,&quot; she cried, &quot;I'll
not believe it.&nbsp; A moment ago he did vindicate him freely.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Only because I had at last taken away
from him the proofs which he had forged.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The proofs? what do you mean, my lord?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;When my men captured this fellow last
night, they found upon him a paper -- a bond which is an impudent
forgery -- purported to have been written by Nicolaes and which
promised payment to this knave for laying hands upon you in Haarlem.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A bond?&quot; she murmured, &quot;signed
by Nicolaes?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I say it again, 'tis an impudent forgery,&quot;
declared Stoutenburg hotly, &quot;we -- all of us who have seen
it and who know Nicolaes' signature could see at a glance that
this one was counterfeit.&nbsp; Yet the fellow used it, he obtained
money on the strength of it, for beside the jewelry which he had
filched from you, we found several hundred guilders upon his person.&nbsp;
Liar, forger, thief!&quot; he cried, &quot;in Holland such men
are broken on the wheel.&nbsp; Hanging is thought merciful for
such damnable scum as they!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And from out the pocket of his doublet he drew
the paper which had been writ by the public scrivener and was
signed with Nicolaes' cypher signature: he handed it<BR>
to Gilda, even whilst the prisoner, throwing back his head, sent
one of his heartiest laughs echoing through the raftered room.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well played, my lord!&quot; he said gaily,
&quot;nay! but by the devils whom you serve so well, you do indeed
deserve to win.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In the meanwhile Gilda, wide-eyed and horrified,
not knowing what to think, nor yet what to believe, scarcely dared
to touch the infamous document whose very presence in her lap
seemed a pollution.&nbsp; She noticed that some portion of the
paper had been torn off, but the wording of the main portion of
the writing was quite clear as was the signature &quot;Schwarzer
Kato&quot; with the triangle above it.&nbsp; On this she looked
now with a curious mixture of loathing and of fear.&nbsp; Schwarzer
Kato was the name of the tulip which her father had raised and
named: the triangle was a mark which the house of Beresteyn oft
used in business.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;O God, have mercy upon me!&quot; she
murmured inwardly, &quot;what does all this treachery mean?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She looked up from one man to the other.&nbsp;
The Lord of Stoutenburg, dark and sullen, was watching her with
restless eyes; the prisoner was smiling, gently, almost self-deprecatingly
she thought, and as he met her frightened glance it seemed as
if in his merry eyes there crept a look of sadness -- even of
pity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What does all this treachery mean?&quot;
she murmured again with pathetic helplessness, and this time just
above her breath.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It means,&quot; said Stoutenburg roughly,
&quot;that at last you must be convinced that this man on whom
you have wasted your kindly pity is utterly unworthy of it.&nbsp;
That<BR>
bond was never written by your brother, it was never signed by
him.&nbsp; But we found it on this villain's person; he has been
trading on it, obtaining money on the strength of his forgery.&nbsp;
He has confessed to you that he had no accomplice, no paymaster
in his infamies, then ask him whence came this bond in his possession,
whence the money which we found upon him.&nbsp; Ask him to deny
the fact that less than twenty-four hours after he had laid hands
on you, he was back again in Haarlem, bargaining with your poor,
stricken father to bring you back to him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He ceased speaking, almost choked now by his
own eloquence, and the rapidity with which the lying words escaped
his lips.&nbsp; And Gilda slowly turned her head<BR>
toward the prisoner, and met that subtly-ironical, good-humoured
glance again.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Is this all true, sir?&quot; she asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What, mejuffrouw?&quot; he retorted.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That this bond promising you payment
for the cruel outrage upon me is a forgery?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;His Magnificence says so, mejuffrouw,&quot;
he replied quietly, &quot;surely you know best if you can believe
him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But this is not my brother's signature?&quot;
she asked: and she herself was not aware what an infinity of pleading
there was in her voice.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No!&quot; he replied emphatically, &quot;it
is not your brother's signature.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then it's a forgery?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We will leave it at that mejuffrouw,&quot;
he said, &quot;that it is a forgery.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A sigh, hoarse and passionate in its expression
of infinite relief, escaped the Lord of Stoutenburg's lips.&nbsp;
Though he knew that the man in any case could have no proof if
he accused Nicolaes, yet there was great satisfaction in this
unqualified confession.&nbsp; Slowly the prisoner turned his head
and looked upon his triumphant enemy, and it was the man with
the pinioned arms, with the tattered clothes and the stained shirt
who seemed to tower in pride, in swagger and in defiance while
the other looked just what he was -- a craven and miserable cur.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once more there was silence in the low-raftered
room.&nbsp; From Gilda's eyes the tears fell slowly one by one.&nbsp;
She could not have told you herself why she was crying at this
moment.&nbsp; Her brother's image stood out clearly before her
wholly vindicated of treachery, and a scoundrel had been brought
to his knees, self-confessed as a liar, a forger and a thief;
the Lord of Stoutenburg was proved to have been faithful and true,
and yet Gilda felt such a pain in her heart that she thought it
must break.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg at last broke the silence
which had become oppressive.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you satisfied, Gilda?&quot; he asked
tenderly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I feel happier,&quot; she replied softly,
&quot;than I have felt these four days past, at thought that my
own brother at least -- nor you, my lord -- had a hand in all
this treachery.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She would not look again on the prisoner, even
though she felt more than she saw, that a distinctly humorous
twinkle had once more crept into his eyes. It seemed however,
as if she wished to say something else, something kind and compassionate,
but Stoutenburg broke in impatiently:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;May I dismiss the fellow now?&quot; he
asked.&nbsp; &quot;Jan is waiting for orders outside.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then I pray you call to Jan,&quot; she
rejoined stiffly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The rogue is securely pinioned,&quot;
he added even as he turned toward the door.&nbsp; &quot;I pray
you have no fear of him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have no fear,&quot; she said simply.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg strode out of the room and anon
his harsh voice was heard calling to Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For a moment then Gilda was alone -- for the
third time now -- with the man whom she had hated more than she
had ever hated a human creature before.&nbsp; She remembered how
last night and again at Leyden she had been conscious of an overpowering
desire to wound him with hard and bitter words.&nbsp; But now
she no longer felt that desire, since Fate had hurt him more cruelly
than she had wished to do.&nbsp; He was standing there now before
her, in all the glory of his magnificent physique, yet infinitely
shamed and disgraced, self-confessed of every mean and horrible
crime that has ever degraded manhood.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Yet in spite of this shame he still looked
splendid and untamed: though his arms were bound to a pinion behind
his back, his broad chest was not sunken, and he held himself
very erect with that leonine head of his thrown well back and
a smile of defiance, almost of triumph, sat upon every line of
his face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Anon she met his eyes; their glance compelled
and held her own.&nbsp; there was nothing but kindly humour within
their depths.&nbsp; Humour, ye gods! whence came the humour of
the situation !&nbsp; Here was a man condemned to death by an
implacable enemy who was not like to show any mercy, and Gilda
herself -- remembering all his crimes -- could no longer bring
herself to ask for mercy for him, and yet the man seemed only
to mock, to smile at fate, to take his present desperate position
as lightly and as airily as another would take a pleasing turn
of fortune's wheel.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Conscious at last that his look of unconquerable
good-humour was working upon her nerves, Gilda forced herself
to break the spell of numbness which had so unaccountably fallen
upon her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I should like to say to you, sir,&quot;
she murmured, &quot;how deeply I regret the many harsh words I
spoke to you at Leyden and . . . and also last night . . . believe
me<BR>
there was no feeling in me of cruelty toward you when I spoke
them.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed, mejuffrouw,&quot; he rejoined
placidly, whilst the gentle mockery in his glance became more
accentuated, &quot;indeed I am sure that your harshness towards
me was only dictated by your kindliness.&nbsp; Believe me,&quot;
he added lightly, &quot;your words that evening at Leyden, and
again last night were most excellent discipline for my temper:
for this do I thank you!&nbsp; they have helped me to bear subsequent
events with greater equanimity.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She bit her lip, feeling vexed at his flippancy.&nbsp;
A man on the point of death should take the last hours of his
life more seriously.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It grieved me to see,&quot; she resumed
somewhat more stiffly, &quot;that one who could on occasions be
so brave, should on others stoop to such infamous tricks.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Man is ever a creature of opportunity,
mejuffrouw,&quot; he said imperturbably.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But I remembered you -- you see -- on
New Year's Eve in the Dam Straat when you held up a mob to protect
an unfortunate girl; oh! it was bravely done!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yet believe me, mejuffrouw,&quot; he
said with a whimsical smile, &quot;that though I own appearances
somewhat belie me, I have done better since.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I wish I could believe you, sir.&nbsp;
But since then . . . oh! think of my horror when I recognized
you the next day -- at Leyden -- after your cowardly attack upon
me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed I have thought of it already,
mejuffrouw.&nbsp; Dondersteen!&nbsp; I must have appeared a coward
before you then!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He gave a careless shrug of the shoulders,
and very quaintly did that carelessness sit on him now that he
was pinioned, wounded and in a relentless enemy's hands.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Perhaps I am a coward,&quot; he added
with a strange little sigh, &quot;you think so; the Loud of Stoutenburg
declares that I am a miserable cur.&nbsp; Does man ever know himself?
I for one have never been worth the study.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nay, sir, there you do wrong yourself,&quot;
she said gently, &quot;I cannot rightly gauge what temptations
did beset you when you lay hands upon a defenceless woman, or
when you forged my brother's name . . . for this you did do, did
you not?&quot; she asked insistently.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Have I not confessed to it?&quot; he
retorted quietly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Alas!&nbsp; And for these crimes must
I despise you,&quot; she added quaintly.&nbsp; &quot;But since
then my mind hath been greatly troubled.&nbsp; Something tells
me -- and would to God I saw it all more clearly -- that much
that you so bravely endure just now, is somehow because of me.&nbsp;
Am I wrong?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He laughed, a dry, gentle, self-mocking laugh.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That I have endured much because of you,
mejuffrouw,&quot; he said gaily, &quot;I'll not deny; my worthy
patron St. Bavon being singularly slack in his protection of me
on two or three memorable occasions; but this does not refer to
my present state, which has come about because half a dozen men
fell upon me when I was unarmed and pounded at me with heavy steel
skates, which they swung by their straps.&nbsp; The skates were
good weapons, I must own, and have caused one or two light wounds
which are but scraps of evil fortune that a nameless adventurer
like myself must take along with kindlier favours.&nbsp; So I
pray you, mejuffrouw, have no further thought of my unpleasant
bodily condition.&nbsp; I have been through worse plights than
this before, and if to-morrow I must hang. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no!&quot; she interrupted with a
cry of horror, &quot;that cannot and must not be.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed it can and must, mejuffrouw.&nbsp;
Ask the Lord of Stoutenburg what his intentions are.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh! but I can plead with him,&quot; she
declared.&nbsp; &quot;He hath told me things to-day which have
made me very happy.&nbsp; My heart is full of forgiveness for
you, who have wronged me so, and I would feel happy in pleading
for you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Something that she said appeared to tickle
his fancy, for at her words he threw his head right back and laughed
immoderately, loudly and long.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ye gods!&quot;&nbsp; he cried, while
she -- a little frightened and puzzled -- looked wide-eyed upon
him -- &quot;let me hear those words ringing in mine ears when
the rope is round my neck.&nbsp; The Lord of Stoutenburg hath
the power to make a woman happy! the words he speaks are joy unto
her heart!&nbsp; Oh! ye gods, let me remember this and laugh at
it until I die!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His somewhat wild laugh had not ceased to echo
in the low-raftered room, nor had Gilda time to recover her composure,
before the door was thrown violently open and the Lord of Stoutenburg
re-entered, followed by Jan and a group of men.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He threw a quick, suspicious glance on Gilda
and on Diogenes, the latter answered him with one of good-humoured
irony, but Gilda -- pale and silent -- turned her head away.&nbsp;
<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg then pointed to Diogenes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Here is your prisoner,&quot; he said
to Jan, &quot;take him back to the place from whence you brought
him.&nbsp; Guard him well, Jan, for to-morrow he must hang and
remember that your life shall pay for his if he escapes.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan thereupon gave a brief word of command,
the men ranged themselves around the prisoner, whose massive figure
was thus completely hidden from Gilda's view;<BR>
only -- towering above the heads of the soldiers -- the wide sweep
of the brow caught a glimmer of light from the flickering lamp
overhead.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Soon the order was given.&nbsp; The small knot
of men turned and slowly filed out.&nbsp; The Lord of Stoutenburg
was the last to leave.&nbsp; He bowed nearly to the ground when
he finally left Gilda's presence.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And she remained alone, sitting by the fire,
and staring into the smouldering ashes. She had heard news to-night
that flooded her soul with happiness.&nbsp; Her brother whom she
loved was innocent of crime, and God Himself had interferred.&nbsp;
He had touched the heart of the Lord of Stoutenburg and stopped
the infamous plot against the Stadtholder's life.&nbsp; Yet Gilda's
heart was unaccountably heavy, and as she sat on, staring into
the fire, heavy tears fell unheeded from her eyes.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXVI &shy; BROTHER PHILOSOPHERS</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
And now for the clang of arms, the movement, the bustle, the excitement
of combat!&nbsp; There are swords to polish, pistols to clean,
cullivers to see to!&nbsp; Something is in the air!&nbsp; We have
not been brought hither all the way to this God-forsaken and fog-ridden
spot in order to stare on a tumbledown molens, or watch a solitary
prisoner ere he hang.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan knows of course, and Jan is eager and alert,
febrile in his movements, there is a glow in his hollow eyes.&nbsp;
And Jan always looks like that when fighting is in the air,<BR>
when he sniffs the scent of blood and hears the resonance of metal
against metal.&nbsp; Jan knows of course.&nbsp; He has no thought
of sleep, all night he wanders up and down the improvised camp.&nbsp;
No fires allowed and it is pitch dark, but an occasional glimmer
from a lanthorn lights up compact groups of men lying prone upon
the frozen ground, wrapped in thick coats, or huddled up with
knees to chin trying to keep warm.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A few lanthorns are allowed, far into the interior
of that weird forest of beams under the molens where slender protection
against a bitter north-westerly wind can alone be found.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Shoulder to shoulder, getting warmth one from
the other, we are all too excited to sleep.&nbsp; Something is
in the air, some fighting to be done, and yet there are only thirty
or forty of us at most: but swords and cullivers have been given
out, and half the night through my lord and his friends, served
only by Jan, have been carrying heavy loads from the molens out
toward the Schie and the wooden bridge that spans it.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Silently, always coming away with those heavy
loads from the molens, and walking with them away into the gloom,
always returning empty-handed, and served only by Jan.&nbsp; Bah,
we are no cullions! 'tis not mighty difficult to guess.&nbsp;
And by the saints! why all this mystery?&nbsp; Some of us are
paid to fight, what care we how we do it? in the open with muskets
or crossbows, or in the dark, with a sudden blow which no man
knows from whence it comes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All night we sit and wait, and all night we
are under the eye of Jan.&nbsp; He serves his lord and helps him
to carry those heavy boxes from the molens to some unknown place
by the Schie, but he is always there when you least expect him,
watching to see that all is well, that there is not too much noise,
that no one has been tempted to light a fire, that we do not quarrel
too hotly among ourselves.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He keeps a watchful eye, too, upon the prisoner:
poor beggar!&nbsp; with a broken shoulder and a torn hip, and
some other wounds too, about his body.&nbsp; A good fighter no
doubt! but there were seven against him, and that was a good idea
to swing heavy skates by their straps and to bring him down with
them.&nbsp; His head was too high, else a blow from those sharp
blades might have ended his life more kindly than the Lord of
Stoutenburg hath planned to do.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A merry devil too!&nbsp; full of quaint jokes
and tales of gay adventure!&nbsp; By Gad! a real soldier of fortune!
devil-may-care! eat and drink and make merry for to-morrow we
may die.&nbsp; Jan has ordered him to be kept tied to a beam!&nbsp;
God-verdomme! but 'tis hard on a wounded man, but he seems tougher
than the beams, and laughter in his throat quickly smothers groans.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Tied to a beam, he is excellent company!&nbsp;
Ye gods, how his hands itch to grip his sword.&nbsp; Piet the
Red over there!&nbsp; let him feel the metal against his palms,
'twill ease<BR>
his temper for sure! Jan is too severe: but 'tis my lord's rage
that was unbridled.&nbsp; Ugh! to strike a prisoner in the face.&nbsp;
'Twas a dirty trick and many saw it.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Heigh-ho, but what matter!&nbsp; To-morrow
we fight, to-morrow he hangs!&nbsp;&nbsp; What of that?&nbsp;
To-morrow most of us mayhap will be lying stark and stiff upon
the frozen ground, staring up at next night's moon, with eyes
that no longer see!&nbsp; A rope round the neck, a hole in the
side, a cracked skull!&nbsp; what matters which mode Dame Death
will choose for our ultimate end.&nbsp; But 'tis a pity about
the prisoner!&nbsp; A true fighter if there was one, a stoic and
a philosopher.&nbsp; &quot;The Cavalier&quot; we pretty soon call
him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What ho!&quot; he shouts, &quot;call
me the Laughing Cavalier!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Poor devil! he tries not to show his hurts.&nbsp;
He suffers much what with that damnable wind and those ropes that
cut into his tough sinews, but he smiles at every twinge of pain;
smiles and laughs and cracks the broadest jokes that have e'er
made these worm-eaten beams ring with their echo.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Laughing Cavalier in sooth!<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There! now we can ease him somewhat.&nbsp;
Jan's back is turned: we dare not touch the ropes, but a cloak
put between his back and the beam, and another just against his
head.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Is that not better, old compeer?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Aye! but is it not good to be a villain and
a rogue and herd with other villains and other rogues who are
so infinitely more kind and gentle than all those noble lords?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes -- his head propped against the rude
cushion placed there by the hand of some rough Samaritan -- has
fallen into a fitful doze.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Whispers around him wake him with a start.&nbsp;
Ye gods! was there even so black a night?&nbsp; The whispers become
more eager, more insistent.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let us but speak with him.&nbsp; We'll
do no harm!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">St. Bavon tell us how those two scare-crows
have got here!&nbsp; For they are here in the flesh, both of them,
Diogenes would have spotted his brother philosophers through darkness
darker than the blackest hell.&nbsp; Pythagoras rolling in fat
and Socrates lean and hungry-looking, peering like a huge gaunt
bird through the gloom.&nbsp; Someone is holding up a lanthorn
and Pythagoras' tip-tilted nose shines with a ruddy glow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But how did you get here, you old mushroom-face?&quot;
asks one of the men.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We had business with him at Rotterdam,&quot;
quoth Socrates with one of his choicest oaths and nodding in the
direction of the prisoner.&nbsp; &quot;All day we have wondered
what has become of him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then in the afternoon,&quot; breaks in
Pythagoras, to the accompaniment of a rival set of expletives,
&quot;we saw him trussed like a fowl and tied into a sledge drawn
by a<BR>
single horse, which started in the wake of a larger one wherein
sat a lovely jongejuffrouw.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then what did you do?&quot; queries some
one.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do?&quot; exclaimed the philosophers
simultaneously and in a tone of deep disgust.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Followed on his trail as best we could,&quot;
rejoins Socrates simply, &quot;borrowed some skates, ran down
the Schie in the wake of the two sledges and their escort.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And after that?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;After that we traced him to this solitary
God-forsaken hole, but presently we saw that this molens was not
so deserted as it seemed, so we hung about until now . . .<BR>
then we ventured nearer . . . and here we are.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Here they were of course, but how was it possible
to contravene the orders of Jan?&nbsp; What could these scarecrows
have to say to the Laughing Cavalier?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Just to ask him if there's anything we
can do,&quot; murmurs Socrates persuasively.&nbsp; &quot;He's
like to hang to-morrow, you said, well! grant something then to
a dying man.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Grave heads shake in the gloom.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Our orders are strict. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;'Tis a matter of life and death it seems.
. . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah! quoth Pythagoras more insinuatingly
still, &quot;we are two to your thirty!&nbsp; What have ye all
to fear?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Here! tie my hands behind my back,&quot;
suggests Socrates.&nbsp; &quot;I only want to speak with him.&nbsp;
How could we help him to escape?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We would not think of such a thing,&quot;
murmurs Pythagoras piously.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Anxious glances meet one another in consultation.&nbsp;
More than one kindly heart beats beneath these ragged doublets.&nbsp;
Bah! the man is to hang to-morrow, why not give pleasure to a
dying man?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If indeed it be a pleasure to look on such
hideous scarecrows a few hours before death.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan is not here.&nbsp; He is with my lord,
helping with those heavy boxes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Five minutes, you old mushroom-face,&quot;
suggests he who has been left in charge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And all the others nod approval.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But they will take no risks about the prisoner.&nbsp;
Pleasure and five minutes' conversation with his friends, yes!
but no attempt at escape.&nbsp; So the men make a wide circle
sitting out of ear-shot, but shoulder to shoulder the thirty of
them who happen to be awake.&nbsp; In the centre of the circle
is the Laughing Cavalier tied to a beam, trussed like a fowl since
he is to hang on the morrow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Close beside his feet is the lanthorn so that
he may have a last look at his friends, and some few paces away
his naked sword which Jan took from him when the men brought him
down.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He has listened to the whispered conversation
-- he knows that his brother philosophers are here.&nbsp; May
the God of rogues and villains bless them for their loyalty.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And now St. Bavon show me the best way
to make use of them!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There is still something to be done, which
hath been left undone, a word hath been given and that pledge
must be fulfilled, and the promised fortune still awaits him who
will bring the jongejuffrouw safely to her father!<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My God, if it were not for that broken
shoulder and that torn hip! . . . there are many hours yet before
the morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Old compeer!&quot; came in a hoarse whisper
close to his ear, &quot;how did you come to such a pass?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They came and took the jongejuffrouw
away from Rotterdam,&quot; he replied also speaking in a whisper.&nbsp;
&quot;I had just returned from Delft, where I had business to
transact and I recognized Jan beside the sledge into which the
jongejuffrouw was stepping even then.&nbsp; He had ten or a dozen
men with him.&nbsp; I felt that they meant mischief -- but I had
to follow . . . I had to find out whither they were taking her.
. . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Verdommt!&quot; growled Socrates under
his breath.&nbsp; &quot;Why did you not take us along?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I meant to come back for you, as soon
as I knew . . . but in the dark . . . and from behind, seven of
these fellows fell upon me . . . they used their skates like javelins<BR>
. . .mine were still on my feet . . . I had only Bucephalus. .
. . A blow from one of the heaviest blades cracked my shoulder,
another caught me on the hip.&nbsp; There were seven of them,&quot;
he reiterated with a careless laugh, &quot;it was only a question
of time, they were bound to bring me down in the end.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But who has done this? queried Pythagoras
with an oath.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A lucky rogue on whom God hath chosen
to smile.&nbsp; But,&quot; he added more seriously and sinking
his voice to the lowest possible whisper, &quot;never mind about
the past.&nbsp; Let us think of the future, old compeers.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are ready,&quot; they replied simultaneously.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A knife?&quot; he murmured, &quot;can
you cut these confounded ropes?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They took everything from us,&quot; growled
Socrates, &quot;ere they let us approach you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Try with your hands to loosen the knots.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What ho! you brigands, what are you doing
there?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In a moment the circle around broke up.&nbsp;
A crowd of angry faces were gathered closely round the philosophers,
and more than one pair of rough hands were laid upon their shoulders.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Play fair, you two!&quot; cried Piet
the Red, who was in command, &quot;or we'll tie you both to the
nearest beams and await my lord's commands.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Easy, easy, friend,&quot; quoth Diogenes
with a pleasant laugh, &quot;my nose was itching and my compeer
held on to my arm while he tried to reach my nose in order to<BR>
scratch it.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then if it itch again,&quot; retorted
the man with an equally jovial laugh, &quot;call for my services,
friend.&nbsp; And now, you two scarecrows! the five minutes are
over.&nbsp; Jan will be here in a moment.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But they formed up the circle once more, kind
and compassionate.&nbsp; Jan was not yet here, and the rogues
had had a warning: they were not like to be at their tricks again.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Never mind about me,&quot; whispered
Diogenes hurriedly as Pythagoras and Socrates, baffled and furious,
were giving forth samples of their choicest vocabularies.&nbsp;
&quot;You see that Chance alone can favour me an she choose, if
not . . . 'tis no matter.&nbsp; What you can do for me is far
more important than cheating the gallows of my carcase.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is it?&quot; they asked simply.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The jongejuffrouw,&quot; he said, &quot;you
know where she is?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;In the hut -- close by,&quot; replied
Socrates, &quot;we saw the sledge draw up there. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But the house is well guarded,&quot;
murmured Pythagoras. <BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nor would I ask you to run your heads
in the same noose wherein mine will swing to-morrow.&nbsp; But
keep the hut well in sight.&nbsp; At any hour -- any moment now
there may be a call of sauve qui peut.&nbsp; Every man for himself
and the greatest luck to the swiftest runner.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But why?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Never mind why.&nbsp; It is sure to happen.&nbsp;
Any minute you may hear the cry . . . confusion, terror . . .
a scramble and rush for the open.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And our opportunity,&quot; came in a
hoarse whisper from Socrates.&nbsp; &quot;I think that I begin
to understand.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We lie low for the present and when sauve
qui peut is called we come straight back here and free you . .
. in the confusion they will have forgotten you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If the confusion occurs in time,&quot;
quoth Diogenes with his habitual carelessness, &quot;you may still
find me here trussed like a fowl to this verdommte beam.&nbsp;
But I have an idea that the Lord of Stoutenburg will presently
be consumed with impatience to see me hang . . . he has just finished
some important work by the bridge on the Schie . . . he won't
be able to sleep and the devil will be suggesting some mischief
for his idle hands to do.&nbsp; There will be many hours to kill
before daylight, one of them might be well employed in hanging
me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then we'll not leave you an instant,&quot;
asserted Pythagoras firmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What can you do, you two old scarecrows,
against the Lord of Stoutenburg who has thirty men here paid to
do his bidding?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are not going to lie low and play
the part of cowards while you are being slaughtered.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You will do just what I ask, faithful
old compeers,&quot; rejoined Diogenes more earnestly than was
his wont.&nbsp; &quot;You will lie very low and take the greatest
possible care not to run your heads into the same rope wherein
mayhap mine will dangle presently.&nbsp; Nor will you be playing
the part of cowards, for you have not yet learned the A B C of
that part, and you will remember that on your safety and freedom
of action lies my one chance, not so much of life as of saving
my last shred of honour.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you mean?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The jongejuffrouw --&quot; he whispered,
&quot;I swore to bring her back to her father and I must cheat
a rascal of his victory.&nbsp; In the confusion -- at dawn to-morrow
-- think above all of the jongejuffrouw. . . . In the confusion
you can overpower the guard -- rush the miller's hut where she
is . . . carry her off . . . the horses are in the shed behind
the hut . . . you may not have time to think of me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Silence -- they listen. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;One of us with the jongejuffrouw -- the
other to help you --&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Silence . . . I may be a dead man by
then -- the jongejuffrouw remember -- make for Ryswyk with her
first of all -- thence straight to Haarlem -- to her father --
you can do it easily.&nbsp; A fortune awaits you if you bring
her safely to him.&nbsp; Fulfil my pledge, old compeers, if I
am not alive to do it myself.&nbsp; I don't ask you to swear --
I know you'll do it -- and if I must to the gallows first I'll
do so with a cry of triumph.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But you . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Silence!&quot; he murmured again peremptorily,
but more hoarsely this time for fatigue and loss of blood and
tense excitement are telling upon his iron physique at last<BR>
-- he is well-nigh spent and scarce able to speak.&nbsp; &quot;Silence
-- I can hear Jan's footsteps.&nbsp; Here! quick! inside my boot
. . . a wallet?&nbsp; Have you got it?&quot; he added<BR>
with a brief return to his habitual gaiety as he felt Socrates'
long fingers groping against his shins, and presently beheld his
wallet in his compeer's hand.&nbsp; &quot;You will find money
in there -- enough for the journey.&nbsp; Now quick into the night,
you two -- disappear for the nonce, and anon when sauve qui peut
rings in the air -- to-night or at dawn or whenever this may be,
remember the jongejuffrouw first of all and when you are ready
give the cry we all know so well -- the cry of the fox when it
lures its prey.&nbsp; If I am not dangling on a gibbet by then,
I shall understand.&nbsp; But quick now! -- Jan comes! -- Disappear
I say! . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Quietly and swiftly Socrates slipped the wallet
with some of the money back into his friend's boot, the rest he
hid inside his own doublet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Strange that between these men there was no
need of oaths.&nbsp; Pythagoras and Socrates had said nothing:
silent and furtive they disappeared into the darkness.&nbsp; Diogenes'
head sank down upon his breast with a last sigh of satisfaction.
&nbsp;He knew that his compeers would do what he had asked.&nbsp;
Jan's footsteps rang on the hard-frozen ground -- silently the
living circle had parted and the philosophers were swallowed up
by the gloom.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan looks suspiciously at the groups of men
who now stand desultorily around.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who was standing beside the prisoner
just now?&quot; he asks curtly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;When, captain?&quot; queries one of the
men blandly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A moment ago.&nbsp; I was descending
the steps.&nbsp; The lanthorn was close to the prisoner; I saw
two forms -- that looked unfamiliar to me -- close to him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh!&quot; rejoined Piet the Red unblushingly,
&quot;it must have been my back that you saw, captain.&nbsp; Willem
and I were looking to see that the ropes had not given way.&nbsp;<BR>
The prisoner is so restless. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan -- not altogether re-assured -- goes up
to the prisoner.&nbsp; He raises the lanthorn and has a good and
comprehensive look at all the ropes.&nbsp; Then he examines the
man's face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What ho!&quot; he cries, &quot;a bottle
of spiced wine from my wallet.&nbsp; The prisoner has fainted.&quot;</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXVII &shy; DAWN</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
What a commotion when dawn breaks at last; it comes grey, dull,
leaden, scarce lighter than the night, the haze more dense, the
frost more biting.&nbsp; But it does break at last after that
interminable night of excitement and sleeplessness and preparations
for the morrow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan has never closed an eye, he has scarcely
rested even, pacing up and down, in and out of those gargantuan
beams, with the molens and its secrets towering above his head.&nbsp;
Nor I imagine did those noble lords and mynheers up there sleep
much during this night; but they were tired and lay like logs
upon straw paillasses, living over again the past few hours, the
carrying of heavy iron boxes one by one from the molens to the
wooden bridge, the unloading there, the unpacking in the darkness,
and the disposal of the death-dealing powder, black and evil smelling,
which will put an end with its one mighty crash -- to tyranny
and the Stadtholder's life.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Tired they are but too excited to sleep: the
last few hours are like a vivid dream; the preparation of the
tinder, the arrangements, the position to be taken up by Beresteyn
and Heemskerk, the two chosen lieutenants who will send the wooden
bridge over the Schie flying in splinters into the air.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Van Does too has his work cut out.&nbsp; General
in command of the forces -- foreign mercenaries and louts from
the country -- he has Jan for able captain.&nbsp; The Mercenaries
and the louts know nothing yet of what will happen to-morrow --
when once the dawn has broken -- but they are well prepared; like
beasts of the<BR>
desert they can scent blood in the air; look at them polishing
up their swords and cleaning their cullivers! they know that to-morrow
they will fight, even though to-night they have had no orders
save to see that one prisoner tied with ropes to a beam and fainting
with exposure and loss of blood does not contrive to escape.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But the Lord of Stoutenburg is more wakeful
than all.&nbsp; Like a caged beast of prey he paces up and down
the low, narrow weighing-room of the molens, his hands tightly
clenched behind his back, his head bare, his cloak cast aside
despite the bitter coldness of the night.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Restless and like a beast of prey; his nostrils
quiver with the lust of hate and revenge that seethes within his
soul.&nbsp; Two men doth he hate with a consuming passion of hatred,
the Stadtholder Prince of Orange, sovereign ruler of half the
Netherlands, and a penniless adventurer whose very name is unknown.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Both these men are now in the power of the
Lord of Stoutenburg.&nbsp; The bridge is prepared, the powder
laid, to-morrow justice will be meted out to the tyrant; God alone
could save him now, and God, of a surety, must be on the side
of a just revenge.&nbsp; The other man is helpless and a prisoner;
despite his swagger and his insolence, justice shall be meted
out to him too; God alone could save him, and God, of a surety,
could not be on the side of an impudent rogue.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">These thoughts, which were as satisfying to
the Lord of Stoutenburg as food placed at an unattainable distance
is to a starving beast, kept him awake and pacing up and down
the room after he had finished his work under the bridge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He could not sleep for thinking of the prisoner,
of the man's insolence, of the humiliation and contempt wherewith
every glance he had brought shame to his cheeks.&nbsp; The Lord
of Stoutenburg could not sleep also for thinking of Gilda, and
the tender, pitying eyes wherewith she regarded the prisoner,
the gentle tone of her voice when she spoke to him, even after
proof had been placed before her that the man was a forger and
a thief.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg could not sleep and
all the demons of jealousy, of hatred and of revenge were chasing
him up and down the room and whispering suggestions of mischief
to be wrought, of a crime to be easily committed.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;While that man lives,&quot; whispered
the demon of hate in his ear, &quot;thou wilt not know a moment's
rest.&nbsp; Thou wilt think of him and of his death, rather than
of thy vengeance against the Stadtholder.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;While that man lives,&quot; whispered
the demon of jealousy more insistently than did the other evil
spirits, &quot;Gilda will not cease to think of him, she will
plead for him, she will try mayhap to save him and then --&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And the Lord of Stoutenburg groaned aloud in
the silence of the night, and paused in his restless walk. He
drew a chair close to the table, and sat down; then resting his
elbows upon the table, he buried his head in his hands, and remained
thus motionless but breathing heavily like one whose soul is fighting
a losing battle.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The minutes sped on.&nbsp; He had no means
of gauging the time.&nbsp; It was just night, black impenetrable
night.&nbsp; From down below came the murmur of all the bustle
that was going on, the clang of arms, the measured footsteps which
told of other alert human creatures who were waiting in excitement
and tense expectancy for that dawn which still was far distant.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The minutes sped on, on the leaden feet of
time. How long the Lord of Stoutenburg had sat thus, silent and
absorbed, he could not afterwards have said.&nbsp; Perhaps after
all he had fallen asleep, overcome with fatigue and with the constant
sleeplessness of the past few days.&nbsp; But anon he was wide
awake, slightly shivering with the cold.&nbsp; The tallow candle
was spluttering, almost dying out.&nbsp; With a steady hand the
Lord of Stoutenburg snuffed the smouldering wick, the candle flickered
up again.&nbsp; Then he rose and quietly walked across the room.&nbsp;
He pulled open the door and loudly called for Jan.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A few minutes later Jan was at the door, silent,
sullen, obedient as usual.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord called?&quot; he asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes,&quot; replied Stoutenburg, &quot;what
hour is it?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Somewhere near six I should say, my lord.&nbsp;
I heard the tower-clock at Ryswyk strike five some time ago.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How long is it before the dawn?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Two hours, my lord.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Time to put up a gibbet, Jan? and to
hang a man?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Plenty of time for that, my lord,&quot;
replied Jan quietly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then see to it, Jan, as speedily as you
can.&nbsp; I feel that that man down below is our evil genius.&nbsp;
While he lives Chance will be against us, of that I am as convinced
as I am of the justice of our cause.&nbsp; If that man lives,
Jan, the Stadtholder will escape us; I feel it in my bones: something
must have told me this in the night -- it is a premonition that
comes from above.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then the man must not live, my lord,&quot;
said Jan coldly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You recognize that too, Jan, do you not?&quot;
rejoined Stoutenburg eagerly.&nbsp; &quot;I am compelled in this
-- I won't say against my will, but compelled by a higher, a supernatural
power.&nbsp; You, too, believe in the supernatural, do you not,
my faithful Jan?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I believe, my lord, first and foremost
in the justice of our cause.&nbsp; I hate the Stadtholder and
would see him dead.&nbsp; Nothing in the world must place that
great aim of ours in jeopardy.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg drew a deep breath of satisfaction.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then see to the gibbet, my good Jan,&quot;
he said in a firm almost lusty voice, &quot;have it erected on
the further side of the molens so that the jongejuffrouw's eyes
are not scandalized by the sight.&nbsp; When everything is ready
come and let me know, and guard him well until then, Jan, guard
him with your very life; I want to see him hang, remember that!&nbsp;
Come and tell me when the gallows are ready and I'll go to see
him hang . . . I want to see him hang. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Jan without another word salutes the Lord
of Stoutenburg and then goes out.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And thus it is that a quarter of an hour later
the silence of the night is broken by loud and vigorous hammering.&nbsp;
Jan sees to it all and a gibbet is not difficult to erect.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then men grumble of course; they are soldiers
and not executioners, and their hearts for the most have gone
out to that merry compeer -- the Laughing Cavalier -- with his
quaint jokes and his cheerful laugh.&nbsp; He has been sleeping
soundly too for several hours, but now he is awake.&nbsp; Jan
has told him that his last hour has come: time to put up a gibbet
with a few stiff planks taken from the store-room of the molens
and a length of rope.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He looks round him quite carelessly.&nbsp;
Bah! death has no terrors for such a splendid soldier as he is.&nbsp;
How many times hath he faced death ere this? -- why he was at
Prague and at Madgeburg where few escaped with their lives.&nbsp;
He bears many a fine scar on that broad chest of this and none
upon his back.&nbsp; A splendid fighter, if ever there was one!<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But hanging?&nbsp; Bah!<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The men murmur audibly as plank upon plank
is nailed.&nbsp; Jan directs operations whilst Piet the Red keeps
guard over the prisoner.&nbsp; Two or three of the country louts
know something of carpentering.&nbsp; They do the work under Jan's
watchful eye.&nbsp; They grumble but they work, for no one has
been paid yet, and if you rebel you are like to be shot, and in
any case you lose your pay.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Diogenes leaning up against the beam watches
with lazy quaintly smiling eyes the preparations that are going
on not a hundred paces away from him.&nbsp; After a while the
darkness all around is beginning to yield to the slow insistence
of dawn. &nbsp;It rises slowly behind the veils of mist which
still envelop the distant East.&nbsp; Gradually an impalpable
greyness creeps around the molens, objects begin to detach themselves
one by one out of the gloom, the moving figures of the mercenaries,
the piles of arms heaped up here and there out of the damp, the
massive beams slimy and green which support the molens, and a
little further on the tall erection with a projecting arm round
which great activity reigns.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes watches it all with those same lazy
eyes, and that same good-humoured smile lingering round his lips.&nbsp;
That tall erection over there which still looks ghostlike through
the mist is for him.&nbsp; The game of life is done and he has
lost.&nbsp; Death is there at the end of the projecting arm on
which even now Jan is fixing a rope.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Death in itself matters but little,&quot;
mused the philosopher with his gently ironical smile.&nbsp; &quot;I
would have chosen another mode than hanging . . . but after all
'tis swift and sure; and of course now she will never know.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Know what, O philosopher?&nbsp; What is it
that she -- Gilda -- with the fair curls and the blue eyes, the
proud firm mouth and round chin -- what is it that she will never
know?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She will never know that a nameless, penniless
soldier of fortune has loved her with every beat of his heart,
every thought of his brain, with every sinew and every aspiration.&nbsp;
She will never know that just in order to remain near her, when
she was dragged away out of Rotterdam he affronted deliberately
the trap into which he fell.&nbsp; She will never know that for
her dear sake, he has borne humiliation against which every nerve
of his splendid nature did inwardly rebel, owning to guilt and
shame lest her blue eyes shed tears from a brother's sin.&nbsp;
She will never know that the warning to the Stadtholder came from
him, and that he was neither a forger nor a thief, only just a
soldier of fortune with a contempt for death, and an unspoken
adoration for the one woman who seemed to him as distant from
him as the stars.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But there were no vain regrets in him now;
no regret of life, for this he always held in his own hand ready
to toss it away for a fancy of an ideal -- no regret of the might-have-been
because he was a philosopher, and the very moment that love for
the unattainable was born in his heart he had already realized
that love to him could only mean a memory.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Therefore when he watched the preparations
out there in the mist, and heard the heavy blows upon the wooden
planks and the murmurs of his sympathizers at their work, he only
smiled gently, self-deprecatingly, but always good-humouredly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">If the Lord of Stoutenburg only knew how little
he really cared.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXVIII &shy; THE HOUR</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
A curiously timid voice roused the philosopher from his dreams.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Is there aught I can do for you, sir?&nbsp;
Alas! my friend the Lord Stoutenburg is deeply angered against
you.&nbsp; I could do nothing with him on your behalf.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes turned his head in the direction whence
had come the voice.&nbsp; He saw Nicolaes Beresteyn standing there
in the cold grey mist, with this fur cloak wrapped closely up
to his chin, and his face showing above the cloak, white and drawn.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The situation was not likely to escape Diogenes'
irrepressible sense of humour.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Mynheer Beresteyn, he exclaimed; &quot;Dondersteen!
what brings your Mightiness here at this hour?&nbsp; A man on
the point of death sir, has no call for so pitiable a sight as
is your face just now.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I heard from my Lord Stoutenburg what
happened in the hut last night,&quot; said Beresteyn in a faltering
voice, and determined not to heed the other's bantering tone.&nbsp;
&quot;You exonerated me before my sister . . . sir, this was a
noble act . . . I would wish to thank you . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And do so with quaking voice and shaking
knees,&quot; quoth Diogenes with unalterable god-humour, through
which there pierced however an obvious undercurrent of contempt.&nbsp;
&quot;Ye gods!&quot; he added with a quaint sigh, &quot;these
men have not even the courage of their infamy!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The words, the tone, the shrug of the shoulders
which accompanied these, stung Nicolaes Beresteyn's dormant dignity
to the quick.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not wonder,&quot; he said more firmly,
&quot;that you feel bitter contempt for me now.&nbsp; Your generosity
for which I did not crave hath placed me momentarily at a disadvantage
before you.&nbsp; Yet believe me I would not be outdone my you
in generosity; were it not for my allegiance to the Lord Stoutenburg
I would go straight to my sister now and confess my guilt to her
. . . You believe me I trust,&quot; he added, seeing that Diogenes'
merry eyes were fixed mockingly upon him, &quot;did fate allow
it I would gladly change places with you even now.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am about to hang, sir,&quot; quoth
Diogenes lightly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Alas!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And you are forced, you say, to play
a craven's part; believe me, sir, I would not change places with
you for a kingdom.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do believe you, sir,&quot; rejoined
Beresteyn earnestly, &quot;yet I would have you think of me as
something less of a coward than I seem.&nbsp; Were I to make full
confession to<BR>
my sister now, I should break her heart -- but it would not save
your neck from the gallows.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And a rogue's neck, sir, is of such infinitely
less value than a good woman's heart.&nbsp; So I pray you say
no more about it.&nbsp; Death and I are old acquaintances, oft
hath he nodded to me en passant, we are about to become closer
friends, that is all.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Some day my sister shall know, sir, all
that you have done for her and for me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The ghost of a shadow passed over the Laughing
Cavalier's face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That sir, I think had best remain 'twixt
you and me for all times.&nbsp; But this I would have you know,
that when I accepted the ignoble bargain which you proposed to
me in my friend Hals' studio, I did so because I thought that
the jongejuffrouw would be safer in my charge then than in yours!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn was about to retort more hotly when
Jan, closely followed by half a dozen men, came with swift, firm
footsteps up to the prisoner.&nbsp; He saluted Beresteyn deferentially
as was his wont.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your pardon, mynheer,&quot; he said,
&quot;my lord hath ordered that the prisoner be forthwith led
to execution.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes' pale face became the colour of lead.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;One moment, Jan,&quot; he said, &quot;one
moment.&nbsp; I must speak with my lord . . . I . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord is with the jongejuffrouw,&quot;
said Jan curtly, &quot;shall I send to tell him that you desire
to speak with him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No -- no -- that is I . . . I&nbsp; .
. .&quot; stammered Nicolaes who, indeed, was fighting a cruel
battle with his own weakness, his own cowardice now.&nbsp; It
was that weakness which had brought him to the abject pass in
which he now stood, face to face with the man he had affected
to despise, and who was about to die, laden with the crimes which
he Nicolaes had been the first to commit.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg's influence over him had been paramount,
through it he had lost all sense of justice, of honour and of
loyalty; banded with murderers he had ceased to recognize the
very existence of honesty, and now he was in such a plight morally,
that though he knew himself to be playing an ignoble r&ocirc;le,
he did not see the way to throw up the part and to take up that
of an honest man.&nbsp; One word from him to Gilda, his frank
confession of his own guilt, and she would so know how to plead
for the condemned man that Stoutenburg would not dare to proceed
with this monstrous act.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But that word he had not the courage to speak.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With dull eyes and in sullen silence he watched
Piet the Red untying under Jan's orders the ropes which held the
prisoner to the beam, and then securing others to keep his arms
pinioned behind his back.&nbsp; The mist now was of a faint silvery
grey, and the objects around had that mysterious hushed air which
the dawn alone can lend.&nbsp; The men, attracted by the sight
of a fellow creature in his last living moments, had gathered
together in close knots of threes and fours.&nbsp; They stood
by, glowering and sombre, and had not Jan turned a wilfully deaf
ear to their murmurings he would have heard many an ugly word
spoken under their breath.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">These were of course troublous and fighting
times, when every man's hand was against some other, when every
able-bodied man was firstly a soldier and then only a peaceable
citizen.&nbsp; Nor was the present situation an uncommon one:
the men could not know what the prisoner had done to deserve this
summary punishment.&nbsp; He might have been a spy -- an informer
-- or merely a prisoner of war.&nbsp; It was no soldier's place
to interfere, only to obey orders and to ask no questions.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But they gave to the splendid personality of
the condemned man the tribute of respectful silence.&nbsp; Whilst
Jan secured the slender white hands of the prisoner, and<BR>
generally made those awful preparations which even so simple a
death as hanging doth demand, jests and oaths were stilled one
by one among these rough fighting men, not one head but was uncovered,
not a back that was not straightened, not an attitude that was
not one of deference and attention.&nbsp; Instinct -- that unerring
instinct of the soldier -- had told them that here was no scamp
getting his just reward, but a brave man going with a careless
smile to his death.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Has mynheer finished with the prisoner?&quot;
asked Jan when he saw that Piet had finished his task and that
the prisoner was ready to be led away.&nbsp; &quot;Is there aught
your greatness would still desire to say to him?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Only this,&quot; said Beresteyn firmly,
&quot;that were his hands free I would ask leave to grasp them.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A look of kindly amusement fell from the prisoner's
eyes upon the pale face of the young man.<BR>
&nbsp;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have never known you, sir, save by
a quaint nickname,&quot; continued Beresteyn earnestly, &quot;but
surely you have kith and kin somewhere.&nbsp; Have you no father
or<BR>
mother living whom you will leave to mourn?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The prisoner made no immediate reply, the smile
of kindly amusement still lingered round his lips, but presently
with an instinctive gesture of pride, he threw back his head and
looked around him, as one who has nothing to fear and but little
to regret.&nbsp; He met the sympathetic glance cast on him by
the man who had done him -- was still doing him -- an infinite
wrong, and all round those of his mute and humble friends who
seemed to be listening eagerly now for the answer which he would
give to mynheer.&nbsp; Then with a quick sweep his eyes suddenly
rested on the wooden erection beyond the molens that loomed out
so tragically through the mist, pointing with its one weird arm
to some infinite distance away.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Something in the gentle pathos of this humble
deference that encompassed him, something mayhap in the solemnity
of that ghostly arm suddenly seemed to melt the thin crust of
his habitual flippancy.&nbsp; He looked back on Beresteyn and
said softly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have a friend, Frans Hals -- the painter
of pictures -- tell him when next you see him that I am glad his
portrait of me is finished, and that I asked God to bless him
for all his goodness has meant to me in the past.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But your father, sir,&quot; urged Beresteyn,
&quot;your kindred . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My father, sir,&quot; replied Diogenes
curtly, &quot;would not care to hear that his son had died upon
the gallows.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn would have spoken again but Jan interposes
once more, humbly but firmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord's orders,&quot; he now says briefly,
&quot;and time presses, mynheer.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn stands back, smothering a sigh.&nbsp;&nbsp;
Jan on ahead, then Piet the Red and the six soldiers with the
prisoner between them.&nbsp; A few steps only divide them from
the gruesome erection that looms more solidly now out of the mist.&nbsp;
Beresteyn, wrapping his head up in the cloak to shut out sound
and sight, walks rapidly away in the opposite direction.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XXXIX &shy; &quot;SAUVE
QUI PEUT&quot;</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P>&nbsp;</P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then it is that, out of the thickness of the
fog a figure suddenly emerges running and panting: a man has fallen
up against the group of soldiers who have just halted<BR>
beside the gibbet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is Lucas of Sparendam come back from
Delft,&quot; they cry as soon as they recognize the stained face,
wet with the frost and the mist.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Already Jan -- who with Piet's help was busy
with the rope -- has heard the name.&nbsp; His wan, thin face
has become the colour of ashes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Lucas of Sparendam back from Delft,&quot;
he murmurs, &quot;the Lord save us all!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Lucas of Sparendam was sent yesterday to Delft
by the Lord of Stoutenburg to spy and to find out all that was
going on inside the Prinzenhof where slept the Stadtholder and
his bodyguard of one hundred men-at-arms: and now he has come
back running and panting: his clothes torn, his face haggard and
spent.&nbsp; He has run all the way from Delft -- a matter of
a league and a half!&nbsp; Why should a man half kill himself
by endeavouring to cover a league and a half in one hour?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A drop of hot wine for Lucas,&quot; cries
one of the soldiers. &quot;He is faint.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The other men -- there are close on forty all
told -- crowd round the gibbet now, those in charge of the prisoner
have much ado to keep the space clear.&nbsp; They don't say anything
just yet, but there is a strange, restless look in their eyes
and their lips tremble with all the unspoken questions.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Only two men remain calm and silent, Jan has
never ceased in his task of adjusting the ropes, and the prisoner
stands quite still, bound with cords, and neither looking<BR>
on Lucas nor yet on the gibbet above him.&nbsp; His eyes are half
closed and there is a strained look on his merry face as if he
were trying to listen to something that was too far off to hear.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But one man in the meanwhile is ready with
the bottle of spiced wine, the best cordial there is for a fainting
man.&nbsp; The others make way for him so that he can minister
to Lucas.&nbsp; And Lucas drinks the wine eagerly, then he opens
his eyes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are betrayed,&quot; he murmurs.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Great God!&quot; exclaims Jan dully.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Betrayed!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What does it mean?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No one heeds the prisoner now.&nbsp; They all
crowd around Lucas.&nbsp; Jan calls out his orders in vain: Piet
the Red alone listens to what he says, the others all want to
know what Lucas means. They had been in the thick of a plot of
course, they all knew that: a guet-apens had been prepared by
the Lord of Stoutenburg for the Stadtholder whom he hates.&nbsp;
The heavy boxes of course -- gunpowder . . . to blow up the wooden
bridge when the Stadtholder and his escort are half way across!<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Of course they had all guessed it, thought
on it all through the night while they polished the arms -- the
swords and the pistols and the cullivers -- which had been served
out to them.&nbsp; They had guessed of course -- the foreign mercenaries
who were always in the thick of every conspiracy and well paid
for being so -- they had been the first to guess and they had
told the country louts who only grinned enjoying the prospect
of the fun.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But now they were betrayed.&nbsp; Lucas of
Sparendam had come back with the news, and even Jan stopped in
his hideous task in order to listen to what he had to say.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It all happened yesterday,&quot; quoth
Lucas as soon as he had recovered his breath, &quot;the rumour
began in the lower quarters of the town.&nbsp; Nobody knows who
began it.&nbsp; Some say that a foreigner came into the city in
the early morning and sat down at one of the taverns to eat and
drink with one of the Prince's soldiers.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A foreigner?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan turns to look on the prisoner and encounters
his mocking glance.&nbsp; Smothering a curse he resumes his task
of adjusting the rope upon the gibbet, but his fingers are<BR>
unsteady and his work doth not progress.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, a foreigner,&quot; continued Lucas
volubly, &quot;though it all has remained very mysterious.&nbsp;
The Prince's soldiers spoke of it amongst themselves . . . the
foreigner had said something about a guet-apens, a plot against
the Stadtholder's life on his way to the North . . . then one
of the officers heard the rumour and carried it to one of his
superiors . . . By the evening it had reached the Stadtholder's
ears.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then what happened?&quot; they all asked
eagerly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nothing for some hours,&quot; replied
Lucas, &quot;but I know that spies were sent round in every direction,
and that by midnight there was general talk in the city that the
Stadtholder would not continue his journey to the North.&nbsp;
When the captain of the guard came to him for orders the Prince
said curtly: 'We do not start to-morrow!'&nbsp; As soon as I heard
of this I made preparations.&nbsp; It was then an hour after midnight.&nbsp;
I was still alert and listening: all round me -- as I made ready
to leave the city -- I<BR>
heard rumours among the soldiers and spies of the Stadtholder,
of their knowledge of a lonely spot -- a deserted molens -- near
Ryswyk where they declared many men did lately congregate.&nbsp;
I heard too that soon after dawn the Prince's guard would make
straight for the molens, so I put on my snow shoes and started
to run, despite the darkness and the fog, for we are all betrayed
and the Stadtholder's soldiers will be on us in a trice.&quot;
<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Hardly are the words out of Lucas Sparendam's
mouth than the commotion begins, the disbanding; there is a roar
and a bustle and a buzz: metal clashing, men rushing, cries of
&quot;we are betrayed! sauve qui peut!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At first there is a general stampede for the
places where the arms are kept -- the muskets, the swords and
the cullivers -- but these are thrown down almost as soon as they
are picked up.&nbsp; They are no use now and worse than useless
in a fight.&nbsp; But pistols are useful, in case of pursuit.&nbsp;
&quot;Quick, turn, fire! . . . so where are the pistols?&nbsp;
Jan, where are those pistols?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There are not enough to go round: about a dozen
were served out last night, and there are forty pairs of hands
determined to possess one at least.&nbsp; So they begin to fight
for them, tearing one another to pieces, shouting execrations,
beating round with bare fists, since the other arms have already
been laid down.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Now the confusion becomes worse than any that
might reign among a herd of animals who are ready to rend one
another: they tear the clothes off one another's<BR>
back, the skin off one another's face: fear -- hideous, overwhelming,
abject fear, has made wild beasts of these men.&nbsp; The mist
envelops them, it is barely light in this basement beneath the
molens: lanthorns have long ago been kicked into extinction.&nbsp;
The hot breath of forty panting throats mingles with the mist,
and the heat of human bodies fever-heated with passion, fights
against the strength of the frost.&nbsp; The frozen ground yields
under the feet, clots of mud are thrown up by the stampede, from
the beams up aloft the heavy icicles melt and drip monotonously,
incessantly down upon those faces, red and perspiring in an agony
of demented fear.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan and Piet the Red stand alone beside the
prisoner: a sense of duty, of decency hath kept their blood cool.&nbsp;
Until they are relieved from their post of guarding this man by
orders from their lord, they will not move.&nbsp; Let the others
rage and scream and tumble over one another, there must be at
least a few soldiers among this rabble.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And the prisoner looks on all this confusion
with eyes that dance and sparkle with the excitement of what is
yet to come.&nbsp; Torn rags and broken accoutrements soon lie
in a litter in the mud, trampled in by forty pairs of feet.&nbsp;
There is not one face now that is not streaked with blood, not
one throat that is not hoarse with terror -- the terror of the
unknown.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In vain Jan from his post beside the prisoner
shouts, harangues, appeals, threatens!&nbsp; A fight? yes! defeat?
why not?&nbsp; but betrayal! . . . no, no, let's away.&nbsp; The
Stadtholder is fiercer than any Inquisitor of Spain . . . his
cruelty last February almost turned the nation against him.&nbsp;
But now -- this second conspiracy --<BR>
Stoutenburg again! What hope for his followers?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The horrors of last February perpetrated in
the Gevangen Poort of 'S Graven Hage still cause many a rough
cheek to blanch at their recollection.&nbsp; Men had gone mad
who had heard the cries which pierced those stone walls then.&nbsp;
One executioner had thrown down his bloody tools and fled from
the place like one possessed!&nbsp; Van Dyk and Korenwinder, Slatius
and the rest had been in hell ere a merciful death at last released
them from the barbaric cruelty of the Prince of Orange.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No, no! such a fate cannot be risked.&nbsp;
We are betrayed! let us fly!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Suddenly one man starts to run.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am for the coast!&quot; he shouts,
and incontinently takes to his heels.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Sauve qui peut!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Like irresponsible creatures they throw down
the very weapons for which they have been fighting.&nbsp; The
one man has given the signal for the run. &nbsp;Everything now
is thrown aside, there is no thought save for flight.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A splashing of the mud, a general shout, a
scramble, a clatter -- they run -- they run --crying to those
who are behind to follow and run too.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">In five minutes the dark basement is clear
of noise -- a litter of broken arms lies in one heap close by,
others are scattered all over the ground in the mud, together
with torn clothing, rags of leather and of cloth and great red
pools that mingle with the melted ice.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The mist surrounds it all, this abandoned battle
field wherein fear was the victor over man.&nbsp; The swiftly
flying figures are soon swallowed up by the grey wall which<BR>
lies dense and heavy over the lowland around; for the time they
appear like ghosts with blurred outlines of torn doublets and
scraps of felt hats placed awry; then the outline gets more dim
as they run, and the kindly mist hides them from view.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Under the molens all is silent now.&nbsp; Jan
and Piet the Red guard the prisoner alone.&nbsp; The gallows are
ready or nearly so, but there is no one to send to the Lord of
Stoutenburg to tell him this -- as he hath commanded -- so that
he may see this man hang whom he hates.&nbsp; And it would not
be safe to leave the prisoner unguarded.&nbsp; Only from time
to time Jan looks to see that the ropes still hold fast, but for
the most part his eyes are fixed upon the mist on his left, and
by the avenging hordes sent by the Prince of Orange.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Now that all those panting, perspiring human
creatures have gone, the frost is more bitter, more biting than
before; but neither Piet nor Jan seem to heed it, though<BR>
their flesh is blue with the cold.&nbsp; Overhead there is a tramp
of feet; the noble mynheers must have heard the confusion, they
must have seen the flight; they are even now preparing to do in
a slightly more dignified way what the foreign mercenaries and
the louts from the country have done so incontinently.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The prisoner, hearing this tramp of feet over
his head, looks more alertly around him.&nbsp; He sees that Jan
and Piet have remained on guard even whilst the others have<BR>
fled.&nbsp; He also sees the pile of heaped-up arms, the broken
metal, the rags and the mud, and through the interstices of the
wooden steeps the booted feet of the mynheers running helter-skelter
down; and a mad, merry laugh -- that holds a world of joy in its
rippling tones -- breaks from his lips.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The next moment from far away comes a weird
cry through the mist.&nbsp; A fox on the alert tries to lure his
prey with that quaint cry of his, which appeals to the young<BR>
birds and encourages them to come.&nbsp; What should a fox be
doing on these ice-covered tracks? he must have strayed from very
far, from over the moor mayhap beyond Gonda; hunger no doubt hath
made a wanderer of him, an exile from his home.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan listens -- greatly astonished -- what should
a fox be doing here?&nbsp; Piet is impassive, he knows nothing
of the habits of foxes; sea-wolves are more familiar to him.&nbsp;
With his eyes Jan instinctively questions the prisoner:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What should a fox be doing here on these
ice-bound flats?&quot; he mutely asks.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But the prisoner apparently cares nothing about
the marvels of nature, cares nothing about exiled foxes.&nbsp;
His head is erect, his eyes dance with glee, a happy smile lights
up his entire face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan remembered that the others last night had
called the wounded man the Laughing Cavalier.&nbsp; A Cavalier
he looked, every inch of him; the ropes mattered nothing, nor
the torn clothing; proud, triumphant, happy, he was laughing with
all the light-hearted gaiety which pertains to youth.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Laughing Cavalier forsooth.&nbsp;&nbsp;
Lucky devil! if he can laugh!&nbsp; Jan sighed and marvelled when
the Lord of Stoutenburg would relieve him from his post.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XL &shy; THE LOSER PAYS</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Nicolaes Beresteyn had not gone far when Lucas of Sparendam came
running with the news.&nbsp; He heard it all, he saw the confusion,
the first sights of sauve qui peut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At first he was like one paralyzed with horror
and with fear; he could not move, his limbs refused him service.&nbsp;
Then he thought of his friends -- some up in the molens, others
at various posts on the road and by the bridge -- they might not
hear the confusion and the tumult, they might not see the coming
sauve qui peut; they might not hear that the Stadtholder's spies
are on the alert, and that his bodyguard might be here at any
time.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Just then the disbanding began.&nbsp; Nicolaes
Beresteyn pushed his way through the fighting, quarrelling crowd
to where Lucas of Sparendam, still exhausted and weak, was leaning
up against a beam.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Their lordships up in the molens,&quot;
he said in a voice still choked with fear, &quot;and the Lord
of Stoutenburg in the hut with the jongejuffrouw . . . Come and
tell them at once all that you know.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And he dragged Lucas of Sparendam in his wake.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg was at Gilda's feet
when Beresteyn ran in with Lucas to tell him the news.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After he had given Jan the orders to prepare
the gallows for the summary execution of the prisoner he had resumed
his wild, restless pacing up and down the room.&nbsp; There was
no remorse in him for his inhuman and cowardly act, but his nerves
were all on the jar, and that perpetual hammering which went on
in the distance drove him to frantic exasperation.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A picture of the happenings in the basement
down below would obtrude itself upon his mental vision; he saw
the prisoner -- careless, contemptuous, ready for death; Jan sullen
but obedient; the men murmuring and disaffected.&nbsp; He felt
as if the hammering was now directed against his own head, he
could have screamed aloud with the agony of this weary, expectant
hour.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then he thought of Gilda.&nbsp; Slowly the
dawn was breaking, the hammering had ceased momentarily; silence
reigned in the basement after the turbulence of the past hour.&nbsp;
The Lord of Stoutenburg did not dare conjecture what this silence
meant.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The thought of Gilda became more insistent.&nbsp;
He snatched up a cloak and wrapping it closely round him, he ran
out into the mist.&nbsp; Quickly descending the steps, he at once
turned his back on the basement where the last act of the supreme
tragedy would be enacted presently.&nbsp;&nbsp; He felt like a
man pursued, with the angel of Nemesis close to his heels, hour-glass
in hand to mark the hour of retribution.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He hoped to find rest and peace beside Gilda;
he would not tell her that he had condemned the man to death.&nbsp;
Let her forget him peaceably and naturally; the events of to-day
would surely obliterate other matters from her mind.&nbsp; What
was the life of a foreign vagabond beside the destinies of Holland
which an avenging God would help to settle today?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg had walked rapidly
to the hut where he hoped to find Gilda ready to receive him.&nbsp;
He knocked at the door and Maria opened it to him.&nbsp; To his
infinite relief she told him that the jongejuffrouw had broken
her fast and would gladly speak with him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda, he thought, looked very pale and fragile
in the dim light of two or three tallow candles placed in sconces
about the room.&nbsp; There were dark circles round here eyes
and a pathetic trembling of her lips proclaimed the near presence
of tears.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But there was an atmosphere of peace in the
tiny room, with its humble little bits of furniture and the huge
earthenware stove from which the pleasing glow of a wood fire
emanated and shed a cheerful radiance around.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg felt that here in Gilda's
presence he could forget his ambitions and his crimes, the man
whom he was so foully putting to death, his jealousies and even
his revenge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He drew a low chair close to her and half-sitting
half-kneeling, began speaking to her as gently, as simply as his
harsh voice and impatient temperament would allow.&nbsp;<BR>
He spoke mostly about the future, only touching very casually
on the pain which she had caused him by her unjust suspicions
of him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda listened to him in silence for awhile.&nbsp;
She was collecting all her will-power, all her strength of purpose
for the task which lay before her -- the task of softening a hardened
and treacherous heart, of rousing in it a spark of chivalry and
of honour so that it showed mercy there where it now threatened
injustice, cruelty and almost inhuman cowardice.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A brave man's life was in the hands of this
man, who professed love for her; and though Gilda rejected that
love with contempt, she meant, womanlike, to use that love as
a mainspring for the softened mood which she wished to call forth.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The first thought that had broken in upon her
after a brief and troubled sleep was that a brave young life would
be sacrificed to-day to gratify the petty spite of a fiend.&nbsp;
She had been persuaded yesterday that the man who -- though helpless
and pinioned -- stood before her in all the splendour of manhood
and of a magnificent<BR>
personality was nothing but a common criminal -- a liar, a forger
and a thief.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though this thought should have made her contented,
since by bringing guilt home to a man who was nothing to her,
it exonerated her brother whom she loved, she had felt all night,
right through the disturbing dreams which had floated through
her consciousness, a leaden weight sitting upon her heart, like
the sense of the committal of some great and irreparable wrong.&nbsp;
Indeed, she felt that if here in this very place which he had
filled last night with his exuberant vitality, she had to think
of him as silent and cold for all eternity, such a thought would
drive her mad.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg's honeyed words fell
unheeded on her ear; his presence near her filled her with horror;
she only kept up a semblance of interest in him,<BR>
because he held the fate of another man in the hollow of his hand.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was preparing in her mind what she was
going to say to him, she rehearsed the words which were most likely
to appeal to his callous nature.&nbsp; Already she was nerving
herself for the supreme effort of pleading for a brave man's life
when suddenly the tramping of heavy feet outside the hut, confused
shouts and clang of arms, caused Stoutenburg to jump to his feet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The door was torn open, and Nicolaes Beresteyn
stood for a moment on the threshold, pale, speechless, with body
trembling and moisture thick upon his brow.&nbsp;<BR>
Lucas of Sparendam was close behind him equally pale and still.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At first sight of her brother Gilda had uttered
a little cry of joy; but that cry soon died upon her lips.&nbsp;
Beresteyn had scarcely looked on her, his glance at once had<BR>
found that of Stoutenburg, and the two men seemed to understand
one another.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are betrayed?&quot; cried Stoutenburg
hoarsely.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn nodded in reply.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Lucas of Sparendam in short jerky sentences
retold once more the tale of all that had happened at Delft: the
Prince of Orange warned, the spies which he had sent<BR>
broadcast, the bodyguard which even now was on its way.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They know of this place,&quot; murmured
Beresteyn between quivering lips, &quot;they might be here at
any moment.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Through the open door there came the noise
of the men fighting, the cries of rage and of fear, the clatter
of metal and the tramping of many feet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;They are scared and half mad,&quot; said
Lucas of Sparendam, &quot;in five minutes the sauve qui peut will
commence.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are quite near the coast,&quot; said
Stoutenburg with outward calm, though is voice was choked and
his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, &quot;go you and tell
the others, Beresteyn,&quot; he added, turning to his friend,
&quot;then collect all our papers that are in the molens.&nbsp;
Thank God there are only a few that might compromise us at all.<BR>
Heemskerk and van Does will help you, they are not like to be
seized with panic.&nbsp; We can then make quietly for Scheveningen,
where the boats are ready.&nbsp; There is a<BR>
sledge here and a pair of horses which I shall need; but it is
less than a league to Scheveningen, and you can all walk it easily.&nbsp;
Tell the others not to lose time and I will follow with the sledge
as soon as may be.&nbsp; There is no cause for a panic and we
can all save ourselves.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn made ready to go.&nbsp; He took less
pains than Stoutenburg to conceal his terror and his knees frankly
shook under him.&nbsp; At the door he paused.&nbsp; He had<BR>
suddenly remembered Gilda.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had risen from her chair and stood now
like a statue carved in stone, white to the lips, wide-eyed, her
whole expression one of infinite horror.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It had all been lies then, all that Stoutenburg
had told her yesterday!&nbsp; He had concealed the monstrous truth,
lying to her with every word he uttered.&nbsp; Now he stood there
pale and trembling, the traitor who in his turn has been betrayed.&nbsp;
Fear and blind rage were fighting their last deathly battle in
his soul.&nbsp; The edifice of his treachery was crumbling around
him; God's hand -- through an unknown channel -- had set the limit
to his crimes.&nbsp; Twice a traitor, he had twice failed.&nbsp;
Already he could see the disbanding of his mercenary troops, the
beginning of that mad, wild flight to the coast, and down the
steps of the molens his friends too were running helter-skelter,
without thought of anything save of their own safety.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It would be so immeasurably horrible to fall
into the Stadtholder's hands.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Gilda, pale and silent, stood between the
two men who had lied to her, outraged her to the end.&nbsp; Nicolaes
was a traitor after all; he had cast the eternal shroud of shame
over the honour and peace of his house.&nbsp; An God did not help
him now, his death would complete that shame.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She tried to hold his glance, but he would
not look at her; she felt that his wrath of her almost bordered
on hatred because he believed that she had betrayed them<BR>
all.&nbsp; His eyes were fixed upon his leader and friend, and
all the anxiety which he felt was for that one man.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You must not delay, Nicolaes,&quot; said
Stoutenburg curtly, &quot;go, warn the others and tell them to
make for Scheveningen.&nbsp; But do you wait for me -- we'll follow
anon in the sledge and, of course, Gilda comes with us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Beresteyn said firmly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Of course, Gilda comes with us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was not afraid, even when he said this,
even when his fierce glance rested upon her, and she was too proud
to make an appeal to him.&nbsp;&nbsp; It was her turn now to avert
her glance from him; to the bottom of her soul she loathed his
cowardice, and the contempt with which she regarded him now was
almost cruel in its intensity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He went out of the room followed by Lucas of
Sparendam, and now she was once more alone with the Lord of Stoutenburg.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Gilda,&quot; he cried with a fierce oath,
&quot;when did you do this?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It was not I, my lord,&quot; she replied
calmly, &quot;you and Nicolaes did all that lay in your power
to render me helpless in this.&nbsp; God knows I would not have
betrayed you . . . it is His hand that hath pointed the way to
one who was more brave than I.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;'Tis false,&quot; he exclaimed violently,
&quot;no one knew of our plans save those who now must flee because
like us they have been betrayed.&nbsp; No sane man would wilfully
put his head in the halter; and there are no informers amongst
us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You need not believe me, my lord,&quot;
she rejoined coldly, &quot;an you do not wish.&nbsp; But remember
that I have never learnt the art of lying, nor could I be the
Judas to betray my own brother.&nbsp; Therefore do I pledge you
my word that I had no share in this decree of God.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If not yourself,&quot; he retorted, &quot;you
spoke of it to some one . . . who went to the Stadtholder . .
. and warned him! to some one . . . some one who . . . Ah!&quot;
he cried suddenly with a loud and ghoulish scream wherein rage,
horror and fear and a kind of savage triumph too rang out, &quot;I
see that I have guess aright.&nbsp; You did speak of what you
knew . . . to the miserable knave whom Nicolaes paid to outrage
you . .and you offered him money to betray your own brother.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is false!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is true -- I can read it in your face.&nbsp;
That man went to Delft yesterday -- he was captured by Jan on
his back to Rotterdam.&nbsp; He had fulfilled your errand and
warned the Prince of Orange and delivered me and all my friends
into hands that never have known mercy.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He was blind with passion now and looked on
her with bloodshot eyes that threatened to kill.&nbsp; But Gilda
was not cast in the same mould as was this traitor.&nbsp; <BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Baffled in his crime, fear had completely unmanned
him, but with every cry of rage uttered by Stoutenburg she became
more calm and less afraid.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Once more, my lord,&quot; she said quietly
in the brief interval of Stoutenburg's ravings and while he was
forced to draw breath, &quot;do I pledge my word to you that I
had no hand in saving the Stadtholder's life.&nbsp; That God chose
for this another instrument than I, I do thank Him on my knees.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">While she spoke Stoutenburg had made a quick
effort to regain some semblance of composure, and now he contrived
to say quite calmly and with an evil sneer upon his face:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That instrument of God is an I mistake
not tied to a post with ropes like an ox ready for the butcher's
hand.&nbsp; Though I have but sorry chances of escape myself and
every minute hath become precious, I can at least spend five in
making sure that his fate at any rate be sorrier than mine.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Her face became if possible even paler than
before.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you mean to do?&quot; she murmured.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The man who has betrayed me to the Price
of Orange is the same man who laid hands upon you in Haarlem --
is that not so?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot say,&quot; she said firmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The same man who was here in this room
yesterday, bound and pinioned before you?&quot; he insisted.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I do not know.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Will you swear then that you never spoke
to him of the Prince of Orange, and of our plans?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not of your plans . . .&quot; she protested
calmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You see that you cannot deny it, Gilda,&quot;
he continued with that same unnatural calm which seemed to her
far more horrible than his rage had been before.&nbsp; &quot;Willingly
or unwittingly you let that man know what you overheard in the
Groote Kerk on New Year's Eve. &nbsp;Then you bribed him into
warning the Prince of Orange, since you could not do it yourself.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is false,&quot; she reiterated wildly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Once more that evil sneer distorted his pale
face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well!&quot; he said, &quot;whether you
bribed him or not matters to me but little. &nbsp;I do believe
that willingly you would not have betrayed Nicolaes or me or any
of our friends to the Stadtholder, knowing what he is.&nbsp; But
you wanted to cross our plans, you wanted to warn the Stadtholder
of his danger, and you -- not God -- chose that man for your instrument.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is not true -- I deny it,&quot; she
repeated fearlessly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You may deny it with words, Gilda, but
your whole attitude proclaims the truth.&nbsp; Thank God!&quot;
he cried with a note of savage triumph in his voice, &quot;that
man is still a helpless prisoner in my hands.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you mean?&quot; she murmured.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I mean that it is good to hold the life
of one's deadliest enemy in the hollow of one's hand.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But you would not slay a defenceless
prisoner,&quot; she cried.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He laughed, a bitter, harsh, unnatural laugh.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Slay him,&quot; he cried &quot;aye that
I will, if it is not already done.&nbsp; Did you hear the hammering
and the knocking awhile ago?&nbsp; It was Jan making ready the
gibbet.&nbsp; And now -- though the men have run away like so
many verdommde cowards, I know that Jan at any rate has remained
faithful to his post.&nbsp; The gibbet is still there, and Jan
and I and Nicolaes, we have three pairs of hands between us, strong
enough to make an enemy swing twixt earth and heaven, and three
pairs of eyes wherewith to see an informer perish upon the gallows.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But already she had interrupted him with a
loud cry of overwhelming horror.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you a fiend to think of such a thing?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No&quot; he replied, &quot;only a man
who has a wrong to avenge.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The wrong was in your treachery,&quot;
she retorted, even while indignation nearly choked the words in
her throat, &quot;no honest man could refuse to warn another that
a<BR>
murderous trap had been laid for him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Possibly.&nbsp; But through that warning
given by a man whom I hate, my life is practically at an end.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Life can only be ended by death,&quot;
she pleaded, &quot;and yours is in no danger yet.&nbsp; In a couple
of hours as you say you will have reached the coast.&nbsp; No
doubt you have<BR>
taken full measures for your safety.&nbsp; The Stadtholder is
sick.&nbsp; He hath scarce a few months to live; when he dies
everything will be forgotten, you can return and begin your life
anew.&nbsp; Oh! you will thank God then on your knees, that this
last hideous crime doth not weigh upon your soul.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A wrong unavenged would weigh my soul
down with bitterness,&quot; he said sombrely.&nbsp; &quot;My life
is done, Gilda.&nbsp; Ambition, hope, success, everything that
I care for has gone from me.&nbsp; Nicolaes may begin his life
anew; he is young and his soul is not like mine consumed with
ambition and with hatred.&nbsp; But for that one man, I were to-day
Stadtholder of half our provinces and sole ruler of our United
Netherlands, instead of which from this hour forth I shall be
a fugitive, a pariah, an exile.&nbsp; All this do I owe to one
man,&quot; he added fiercely, &quot;and I take my revenge, that
is all.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He made a feint as if ready to go.&nbsp; But
Gilda with a moan of anguish had already held him back.&nbsp;
Despite the loathing which the slightest contact with such a fiend
caused her, she clung with both her hands to his arm.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord!&quot; she entreated, &quot;in
the name of your dear mother, in the name of all that is yet good
and pure and noble in you, do not allow this monstrous crime to
add to the heavy load of sin which rests upon your soul.&nbsp;
God is just,&quot; she added earnestly, &quot;God will punish
us all if such an infamy is done now at this supreme hour when
our destinies are being weighed in the balance.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But he looked down on her suddenly, with an
evil leer which sent a chill right through her to her heart.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you pleading for a man who mayhap
hath sent your brother to the scaffold?&quot; he asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">His glance now was so dark and so cruel, the
suspicion which lurked in it was so clear, that for the moment
Gilda was overawed by this passion of hate and jealousy which
she was unable to fathom.&nbsp; The quick hot blood of indignation
rushed to her pale cheeks.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It was of Nicolaes that I was thinking,&quot;
she said proudly, &quot;if that man dies now, I feel that such
a dastardly crime would remain a lasting stain upon the honour
of our house.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The crime is on you, Gilda,&quot; he
retorted, &quot;in that you did betray us all.&nbsp; Willingly
or unwittingly, you did deliver me into the hands of my most bitter
enemy.&nbsp; But I pray you, plead no more for a knave whom you
surely must hate even more bitterly than I do hate him.&nbsp;
The time goes by, and every wasted minute becomes dangerous now.&nbsp;
I pray you make yourself ready to depart.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had not given up all thoughts of pleading
yet; though she knew that for the moment she had failed, there
floated vaguely at the back of her mind a dim hope that God would
not abandon her in this her bitterest need.&nbsp; He had helped
her in her direst trouble; He had averted the hideous treachery
which threatened to stain her father's honoured name and her own
with a hideous mark of shame; surely He would not allow this last
most terrible crime to be committed.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No doubt that vague frame of mind, born of
intense bodily and mental fatigue, betrayed itself in the absent
expression in her eyes, for Stoutenburg reiterated impatiently:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I can give you a quarter of an hour wherein
to make ready.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;A quarter of an hour,&quot; she murmured
vaguely, &quot;to make ready? . . . for what?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;For immediate departure with me and your
brother for Belgium.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Still she did not understand.&nbsp; A deep
frown of puzzlement appeared between her brows.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Departure? -- with you? -- what do you
mean, my lord?&quot; she asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I mean,&quot; he replied roughly, &quot;that
out of the wreckage of all my ambitions, my desires and my hopes
I will at least save something that will compensate me for all
that I have lost. You said just now that life could only end in
death.&nbsp; Well! next to mine ambition and my desire for vengeance,
you, Gilda, as you know, do fill my entire soul.&nbsp; With you
beside me I may try to begin life anew.&nbsp; I leave for the
coast in less than half an hour; Nicolaes will be with us and
he will care for you.&nbsp; But I will not go without you, so
you must come with us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Never!&quot; she said firmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But Stoutenburg only laughed with careless
mockery.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who will protect you?&quot; he said,
&quot;when I take you in my arms and carry you to the sledge,
which in a quarter of an hour will be ready for you?&nbsp; Who
will protect you when I carry you in my arms from the sledge to
the boat which awaits us at Scheveningen?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nicolaes,&quot; she rejoined calmly,
&quot;is my brother -- he would not permit such an outrage.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">An ironical smile curled the corners of his
cruel lips.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Do you really think, Gilda,&quot; he
said, &quot;that Nicolaes will run counter to my will?&nbsp; I
have but to persuade him that your presence in Holland will be
a perpetual menace<BR>
to our safety.&nbsp; Besides, you heard what he said just now;
that you, of course, would come with us.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My dead body you can take with you,&quot;
she retorted, &quot;but I -- alive -- will never follow you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then 'tis your dead body I'll take, Gilda,&quot;
he said with a sneer, &quot;I will be here to fetch you in a quarter
of an hour, so I pray you make ready while I go to deal with that
meddlesome instrument of God.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She was spent now, and had no strength for
more; a great numbness, an overpowering fatigue seemed to creep
into her limbs.&nbsp; She even allowed him to take her hand and
to raise it to his lips, for she was quite powerless to resist
him; only when she felt those burning lips against her flesh a
shudder of infinite loathing went right through her body.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Soon he turned on his heel and strode out of
the room. &nbsp;She heard the thin wooden door fall to with a
bang behind him; but she could no longer see, a kind of darkness
had fallen over her eyes, a darkness, in which only one figure
appeared clearly -- the figure of a man upon a gibbet.&nbsp; All
else was blackness around her, impenetrable blackness, almost
tangible in its intensity, and out of the blackness which seemed
like that of a dungeon there came cries as of human creatures
in hell.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Lord have mercy upon him!&quot; her lips,
cold and white, murmured vaguely and insistently, &quot;Lord have
mercy upon him!&nbsp; Lord have mercy upon us all!&quot;</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 41</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XLI &shy; &quot;VENGEANCE
IS MINE&quot;</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It was like a man possessed of devils that the Lord of Stoutenburg
ran out through the mist toward the molens.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The grey light of this winter's morning had
only vaguely pierced the surrounding gloom, and the basement beneath
the molens still looked impenetrably dark.&nbsp; Dark and silent!
the soldier -- foreign mercenaries and louts -- had vanished in
the fog, arms hastily thrown down littered the mud-covered ground,
swords, pistols, muskets, torn clothing, here and there a neck-cloth,
a steel bonnet, a bright coloured sash.&nbsp; Stoutenburg saw
it all, right through the gloom, and he ground his teeth together
to smother a cry of agonised impotence.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Only now and then a ghostly form flitted swift
and silent among the intricate maze of beams, a laggard left behind
in the general scramble for safety, or a human<BR>
scavenger on the prowl for loot.&nbsp; Now and then a groan or
a curse came from out the darkness, and a weird, shapeless, moving
thing would crawl along in the mud like some creeping reptile
seeking its lair.&nbsp; But Stoutenburg looked neither to right
nor left.&nbsp; He paid no heed to these swiftly fleeting ghostlike
forms. He knew well enough that he would find silence here, that
three dozen men -- cowards and mercenaries all -- had been scattered
like locusts before a gale.&nbsp; Overhead he heard the tramping
of feet, his friends -- Beresteyn, Heemskerk, van Does -- were
making ready for flight.&nbsp; His one scheme of vengeance --
that for which he had thirsted and plotted and sinned -- had come
to nought, but he had yet another in his mind -- one which, if
successful, would give him no small measure of satisfaction for
the failure of the other.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And ahead the outline of the hastily improvised
gallows detached itself out of the misty shroud, and from the
Lord of Stoutenburg's throat there came a fierce cry of joy which
surely must have delighted all the demons in hell.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He hurried on, covering with swift eager steps
the short distance that separated him from the gibbet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He called loudly to Jan, for it seemed to him
as if the place was unaccountably deserted.&nbsp; He could not
see Jan nor yet the prisoner, and surely Piet the Red had not
proved a coward.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The solid beams above and around him threw
back his call in reverberating echoes.&nbsp; He called again,
and from far away a mocking laugh seemed alone to answer him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Like a frightened beast now he bounded forward.&nbsp;
There were the gallows not five paces away from him; the planks
hastily hammered together awhile ago were<BR>
creaking weirdly, buffeted by the wind, and up aloft the rope
was swinging, beating itself with a dull, eerie sound against
the wood.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The Lord of Stoutenburg -- dazed and stupefied
-- looked on this desolate picture like a man in a dream.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The voice came feebly from somewhere close
by.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord! for pity's sake!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was Jan's voice of course.&nbsp; The Lord
of Stoutenburg turned mechanically in the direction from whence
it came.&nbsp; Not far from where he was standing he saw Jan lying
on the ground against a beam, with a scarf wound loosely round
his mouth and his arms held with a cord behind his back.&nbsp;
Stoutenburg unwound the scarf and untied the cord, then he murmured
dully:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jan?&nbsp; What does this mean?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The men all threw down their arms, my
lord,&quot; said Jan as soon as he had struggled to his feet,
&quot;they ran like cowards when Lucas of Sparendam brought the
news.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I knew that,&quot; said Stoutenburg hoarsely,
&quot;curse them all for their miserable cowardice.&nbsp; But
the prisoner, man, the prisoner?&nbsp; What have you done with
him?&nbsp; Did I not order you to guard him with your life?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then is mine own life forfeit, my lord,&quot;
said Jan simply, &quot;for I did fail in guarding the prisoner.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A violent oath broke from Stoutenburg's trembling
lips.&nbsp; He raised his clenched fist, ready to strike in his
blind, unreasoning fury the one man who had remained faithful
to him to the last.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan slowly bent the knee.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Kill me, my lord,&quot; he said calmly,
&quot;I could not guard the prisoner.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg was silent for a moment, then his
upraised arm fell nervelessly by his side.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How did it happen?&quot; he asked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I scarce can tell you, my lord,&quot;
replied Jan, &quot;the attack on us was so quick and sudden.&nbsp;
Piet and I did remain at our post, but in the rush and the panic
we presently were left alone beside the prisoner.&nbsp; Two men
-- who were his friends -- must have been on the watch for this
opportunity, they fell on us from behind and caught us unawares.&nbsp;
We called in vain for assistance; it was a case of sauve qui peut
and every one for himself, in a trice the cords that bound the
prisoner were cut, and three men had very quickly the best of
us.&nbsp; Piet, though wounded in the leg, contrived to escape,
but it almost seemed as if those three demons were determined
to spare me.&nbsp; Though by God,&quot; added Jan fervently, &quot;I
would gladly have died rather than have seen all this shame!&nbsp;
When they had brought me down they wound a scarf round my mouth
and left me here tied to a beam, while they disappeared in the
fog.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg made no comment on this brief narrative,
even the power or cursing seemed to have deserted him.&nbsp; He
left Jan kneeling there on the frozen ground, and without a word
he turned on his heel and made his way once more between the beams
under the molens back toward the hut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Vengeance indeed had eluded his grasp.&nbsp;
The two men whom on earth he hated most had remained triumphant
while he himself had been brought down to the lowest depths of
loneliness and misery.&nbsp; Friendless, kinless now, life indeed,
as he had told Gilda, was at an end for him.&nbsp; Baffled vengeance
would henceforth make him a perpetual exile and a fugitive with
every man's hand raised against him, a price once more upon his
head.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The world doth at times allow a man to fail
in the task of his life, it will forgive that one failure and
allow the man to try again.&nbsp; But a second failure is unforgivable,
men turn away from the blunderer in contempt.&nbsp; Who would
risk life, honour and liberty in a cause that has twice failed?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg knew this.&nbsp; He knew that within
the next hour his friends would already have practically deserted
him.&nbsp; Panic-stricken now they would accompany him as far
as the coast, they would avail themselves of all the measures
which he had devised for their mutual safety, but in their innermost
hearts they would already have detached themselves from his further
ill-fortunes; and anon, in a few months mayhap, when the Stadtholder
had succumbed to the disease which was threatening his life, they
would all return to their homes and to their kindred and forget
this brief episode wherein their leader's future had been so completely
and so irretrievably wrecked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">They would forget, only he -- Stoutenburg --
would remain the pariah, the exile, that carries the brand of
traitor for ever upon the pages of his life.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And now the hut is once more in sight, and
for one brief instant an inward light flickers up in Stoutenburg's
dulled eyes.&nbsp; Gilda is there, Gilda whom he loves, and whose
presence in the sorrow-laden years that are to come would be a
perpetual compensation for all the humiliation and all the shame
which he had endured.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To-day mayhap she would follow him unwillingly,
but Stoutenburg's passion was proof against her coldness.&nbsp;
He felt that he could conquer her, that he could win her love,
when once he had her all to himself in a distant land, when she
-- kinless too and forlorn -- would naturally turn to him for
protection and for love.&nbsp; He had little<BR>
doubt that he would succeed, and vaguely in his mind there rose
the pale ray of hope that her love would then bring him luck,
or at any rate put renewed energy in him to begin his life anew.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XLII &shy; THE FIGHT IN
THE DOORWAY</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
It seemed to Stoutenburg that from the back of the hut there came
the sound of bustle and activity: he thought that mayhap Beresteyn
had had the good idea of making the sledge ready for departure,
and he called out loudly to his friend.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was a mocking voice, however, that rose
in response:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Was your Magnificence perchance looking
for me?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Out of the mist which still hung round the
small building Diogenes' tall figure suddenly loomed before the
Lord of Stoutenburg.&nbsp; He was standing in the doorway of the
hut, with his back to it; one hand -- the right one -- was thrust
inside his doublet, the left was on the hilt of his sword; his
battered hat was tilted rakishly above his brow and he was regarding
his approaching enemy with a look of keen amusement and of scorn.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">At first Stoutenburg thought that his fevered
fancy was playing his eyes a weird and elusive trick, then as
the reality of what he saw fully burst upon his senses he uttered
a loud and hoarse cry like a savage beast that has been wounded.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Plepshurk! smeerlap!' he cried fiercely.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Rogue!&nbsp; Villain!&nbsp; Menial!&nbsp;
Varlet! and all that you care to name me, my lord!&quot; quoth
the philosopher lightly, &quot;and entirely at your service.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jan!&quot; cried Stoutenburg, &quot;Jan!
In the name of hell where are you?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not very far, my lord,&quot; rejoined
the other.&nbsp; &quot;Jan is a brave soldier but he was no match
for three philosophers, even though one of them at first was trussed
like a fowl.&nbsp; Jan stuck to his post, my lord, remember that,&quot;
he added more seriously, &quot;even when all your other followers
and friends were scattered to the winds like a crowd of mice at
the approach of a cat.&nbsp; We did not hurt Jan because he is
a brave soldier, but we tied him down lest he ran to get assistance
whilst assistance was still available.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You insolent knave . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You speak rightly, my lord:&nbsp; I am
an insolent knave, and do so rejoice in mine insolence that I
stayed behind here -- while my brother philosophers accomplish
the task which I have put upon them -- on purpose to exercise
some of that insolence upon you, and to see what power a man that
to curb his temper and to look pleasant, whilst an insolent knave
doth tell him to his face that he is an abject and degraded cur.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then by Heaven, you abominable plepshurk,&quot;
cried Stoutenburg white with passion, &quot;since you stayed here
to parley with me, I can still give you so complete a retort that
your final insolence will have to be spoken in hell.&nbsp; But
let me pass now.&nbsp; I have business inside the hut.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I know you have, my lord,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes coolly,&nbsp; &quot;but I am afraid that your business
will have to wait until two philosophers named respectively Pythagoras
and Socrates have had time to finish theirs.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What do you mean?&nbsp; Let me pass,
I tell you, or . . . &quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Or the wrath of your Magnificence will
once more be upon mine unworthy head.&nbsp; Dondersteen! what
have I not suffered already from that all-powerful wrath!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You should have been hanged ere this
. . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;It is an omission, my lord, which I fear
me we must now leave to the future to rectify.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Stand aside, man,&quot; cried Stoutenburg,
who was hoarse with passion.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! not just yet!&quot; was the other's
calm reply.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Stand aside!&quot; reiterated Stoutenburg
wildly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He drew his sword and made a quick thrust at
his enemy; he remembered the man's wounded shoulder and saw that
his right hand was temporarily disabled.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah, my lord!&quot; quoth Diogenes lightly,
as with his left he drew Bucephalus out of its scabbard, &quot;You
had forgotten or perhaps you never knew that during your follower's
scramble for safety my sword remained unheeded in an easily accessible
spot, and also that it is as much at home in my left hand as in
my right.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Like a bull goaded to fury Stoutenburg made
a second and more vigorous thrust at his opponent.&nbsp; But Diogenes
was already on guard: calm, very quiet in his movements in the
manner of the perfect swordsman. Stoutenburg, hot with rage, impetuous
and clumsy, was at once at a disadvantage whilst this foreign
adventurer,<BR>
entirely self-possessed and good-humoured, had the art of the
sword at his finger-tips -- the art of perfect self-control, the
art of not rushing to the attack, the supreme art of waiting for
an opportunity.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">No feint or thrust at first, only on guard,
quietly on guard, and Bucephalus seemed to be infinitely multiplied
at times so quickly did the bright steel flash out in the grey
light and then subside again.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg was at once conscious of his own
disadvantage.&nbsp; He was no match for this brilliant sword play;
his opponent did indeed appear to be only playing with<BR>
him, but Stoutenburg felt all the time that the abominable knave
might disarm him at any moment if he were so minded.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nor could he see very clearly: the passionate
blood in him had rushed to his head and was beating furiously
in his temples, whilst the other man with the additional<BR>
advantage of a good position against the wall, kept up a perfect
fusillade of good-humoured comments.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well attacked, my lord!&quot; he cried
gaily,&nbsp; &quot;Dondersteen! were I as fat as your Magnificence
supposes, your sword would ere now have made a hole in my side.&nbsp;
Pity I am not broader, is it not? or more in the way of your sword.&nbsp;
There,&quot; he added as with a quick and sudden turn of the wrist
he knocked his opponent's weapon out of his hand, &quot;allow
me to return you this most useful sword.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He had already stooped and picked up Stoutenburg's
sword, and now was holding it with slender finger tips by the
point of its blade, and smiling, urbane and mocking, he held it
out at arm's length, bowing the while with courtly, ironical grace.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Shall we call Jan, my lord,&quot; he
said airily, &quot;or one of your friends to aid you?&nbsp; Some
of them I noticed just now seemed somewhat in a hurry to quit
this hospitable molens, but mayhap one or two are still lingering
behind.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg, blind with rage, had snatched
his sword back out of the scoffer's hand.&nbsp; He knew that the
man was only playing with him, only keeping him busy here to prevent
his going to Gilda.&nbsp; This thought threw him into a frenzy
of excitement and not heeding the other's jeers he cried out at
the top of his voice:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jan!&nbsp; Jan!&nbsp; Nicolaes!&nbsp;
What-ho!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And the other man putting his hand up to his
mouth also shouted lustily:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jan!&nbsp; Nicolaes!&nbsp; What ho!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Had Stoutenburg been less blind and deaf to
aught save to his own hatred and his own fury, he would have heard
not many paces away, the sound of horses' hoofs upon the hard
ground, the champing of bits, the jingle of harness.&nbsp; But
of this he did not think, not just yet.&nbsp; His thoughts were
only of Gilda, and that man was holding the door of the hut because
he meant to dispute with him the possession of Gilda.&nbsp; He
cast aside all sense of pride and shame.&nbsp; He was no match
with a foreign mercenary, whose profession was that of arms; there
was no disgrace in his want of skill.&nbsp; But he would not yield
the ground to this adventurer who meant to snatch Gilda away from
him.&nbsp; After all the man had a wounded shoulder and a lacerated
hip; with the aid of Jan and Nicolaes he could soon be rendered
helpless.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">New hope rose in the Lord of Stoutenburg's
heart, giving vigour to his arm.&nbsp; Now he heard the sound
of running footsteps behind him; Jan was coming to his aid and
there were others; Nicolaes no doubt and Heemskerk.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My lord! my lord!&quot; cried Jan, horrified
at what he saw.&nbsp; He had heard the clang of steel against
steel and had caught up the first sword that came to his hand.&nbsp;
His calls and those of Stoutenburg as well as the more lusty ones
of Diogenes reached the ears of Beresteyn, who with his friend
Heemskerk was making a final survey of the molens, to search for
compromising papers that might have been left about.&nbsp; They
too heard the cries and the clash of steel; they ran down the
steps of the molens, only to meet Jan who was hurrying toward
the hut with all his might.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I think my lord is being attacked,&quot;
shouted Jan as he flew past, &quot;and the jongejuffrouw is still
in the hut.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">These last words dissipated Nicolaes Beresteyn's
sudden thoughts of cowardice.&nbsp; He too snatched up a sword
and followed by Heemskerk he ran in Jan's wake.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The stranger, so lately a prisoner condemned
to hang, was in the doorway of the hut, with his back to it, his
sword in his left hand keeping my Lord of Stoutenburg at arm's
length.&nbsp; Jan, Nicolaes and Heemskerk were on him in a trice.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Two, three, how many of you?&quot; queried
Diogenes with a laugh, as with smart riposte he met the three
blades which suddenly flashed out against him. &quot;Ah, Mynheer
Beresteyn, my good Jan, I little thought that I would see you
again.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me pass, man,&quot; cried Beresteyn,&nbsp;
&quot;I must to my sister.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not yet, friend,&quot; he replied, &quot;till
I know what your intentions are.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For one instant Beresteyn appeared to hesitate.&nbsp;
The kindly sentiment which had prompted him awhile ago to speak
sympathetic words to a condemned man who had taken so much guilt
upon his shoulders, still fought in his heart against his hatred
for the man himself.&nbsp; Since that tragic moment at the foot
of the gallows which had softened his mood, Beresteyn had learnt
that it was this man who had betrayed him and his friends to the
Stadtholder, and guessed that it was Gilda who had instigated
or bribed him into that betrayal.&nbsp; And now the present position
seemed to ring vividly before his mind the picture of that afternoon
in the &quot;Lame Cow&quot; at Haarlem, when the knave whom he
had paid to keep Gilda safely out of the way was bargaining with
his father to bring her back to him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All the hatred of the past few days -- momentarily
lulled in the face of a tragedy -- rose up once more with renewed
intensity in his heart.&nbsp; Here was the man who had betrayed
him, and who, triumphant, was about to take Gilda back to Haarlem
and receive a fortune for his reward.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">While Heemskerk, doubtful and hesitating, marvelled
if 'twere wise to take up Stoutenburg's private quarrels rather
than follow his other friends to Scheveningen<BR>
where safety lay, Jan and Beresteyn vigorously aided by Stoutenburg
made a concerted attack upon the knave.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But it seemed as easy for Bucephalus to deal
with three blades as with one: now it appeared to have three tongues
of pale grey flame that flashed hither and thither; -- backwards,
forwards, left, right, above, below, parry, riposte, an occasional
thrust, and always quietly on guard.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes was in his greatest humour laughing
and shouting with glee.&nbsp; To any one less blind with excitement
than were these men it would soon have been clear that he was
shouting for the sole purpose of making a noise, a noise louder
than the hammerings, the jinglings, the knocking that was going
on at the back of the hut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To right and left of the front of the small
building a high wooden paling ran for a distance of an hundred
paces or so enclosing a rough yard with a shed in the rear.&nbsp;
It was impossible to see over the palings what was going on behind
them and so loudly did the philosopher shout and laugh, and so
vigorously did steel strike against steel that it was equally
impossible to perceive the sounds that came from there.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But suddenly Stoutenburg was on the alert:
something had caught his ear, a sound that rose above the din
that was going on in the doorway . . . a woman's piercing<BR>
shriek.&nbsp; Even the clang of steel could not drown it, nor
the lusty shouts of the fighting philosopher.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For a second he strained his ear to listen.&nbsp;
It seemed as if invisible hands were suddenly tearing down the
wooden palisade that hid the rear of the small building from his
view; before his mental vision a whole picture rose to sight.&nbsp;
A window at the back of the hut broken in, Gilda carried away
by the friends of this accursed adventurer -- Jan had said that
two came to his aid at the foot of the gallows -- Maria screaming,
the sledge in wait, the horses ready to start.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My God, I had not thought of that,&quot;
he cried, &quot;Jan!&nbsp; Nicolaes!&nbsp; in Heaven's name!&nbsp;
Gilda!&nbsp; After me!&nbsp; quick!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And then he starts to run, skirting the palisade
in the direction whence come now quite distinctly that ceaseless
rattle, that jingle and stamping of the ground which proclaims
the presence of horses on the point of departure.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jan, in Heaven's name, follow me!&quot;
cries Stoutenburg, pausing one instant ere he rounds the corner
of the palisade.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nicolaes, leave that abominable knave!&nbsp;
Gilda, I tell you!&nbsp; Gilda!&nbsp; They are carrying her away!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan already has obeyed, grasping his sword
he does not pause to think.&nbsp; My lord has called and 'tis
my lord whom he follows.&nbsp; He runs after Stoutenburg as fast
as his tired limbs will allow.&nbsp; Heemskerk, forgetting his
own fears in the excitement of this hand-to-hand combat, follows
in their wake.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Nicolaes, too, at Stoutenburg's call, is ready
to follow him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He turns to run when a grasp of iron falls
upon his arm, holding it like a vice.&nbsp; He could have screamed
with the pain, and the sword which he held falls out of his nerveless
fingers.&nbsp; The next moment he feels himself dragged by that
same iron grasp through the open door into the hut, and hears
the door slammed to and locked behind him.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Your pardon if I have been rough, mynheer,&quot;
said Diogenes' pleasant voice, &quot;but there was no time to
argue outside that door and you seemed in such a mighty hurry
to run straight into that yawning abyss of disgrace.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The grasp upon his arm had not relaxed, but
it no longer hurt.&nbsp; Yet it was so firm and so absolute that
Nicolaes felt powerless to wrench himself away.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me go!&quot; he cried hoarsely.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not just yet, mynheer,&quot; rejoined
Diogenes coolly, &quot;not while this hot temper is upon you.&nbsp;
Let the Lord of Stoutenburg and our friend Jan fight to their
heart's content with a fat philosopher who is well able to hold
his own against them, while the other who is lean and a moderately
good coachman sees that a pair of horses do not rear and bolt
during the fray.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me go, man, I tell you,&quot; cried
Beresteyn who was making frantic efforts to free himself from
that slender white grapnel which held his arm as in a vice.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;One moment longer, mynheer, and you shall
go.&nbsp; The horses of which I speak are harnessed to a sledge
wherein is the jongejuffrouw your sister.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes! verdommte Keerl! let me get to her
or . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;As soon as the fat philosopher has disposed
of the Lord of Stoutenburg and of Jan he too will jump into the
sledge and a minute later will be speeding on its way to<BR>
Haarlem.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And there will be three of us left here
to hang you to that same gallows on which you should have dangled
an hour ago,&quot; exclaimed Beresteyn savagely.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Possibly,&quot; retorted Diogenes dryly,
&quot;but even so your sister will be on the way to Haarlem rather
than to exile whither the Lord of Stoutenburg and you -- her brother
-- would drag her.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And what is it to you, you abominable
plepshurk, whither I go with my sister and my friend?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Only this, mynheer, that yesterday in
this very room I proclaimed myself a forger, a liar and a thief
before the jongejuffrouw in order that her love for her only brother
should not receive a mortal wound.&nbsp; At that moment I did
not greatly care for that lie,&quot; he added with his wonted
flippancy, &quot;but time hath lent it enchantment:&nbsp; It is
on the whole one of the finest lies I ever told in my life; moreover
it carried conviction; the jongejuffrouw was deceived.&nbsp; Now
I will not see that pet lie of mine made fruitless by the abominable
action which you have in contemplation.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn made no immediate reply.&nbsp; Easily
swayed as he always was by a character stronger than his own,
the words spoken by the man whom he had always affected to despise,
could not fail to move him.&nbsp; He knew that that same abominable
action of which he was being accused had indeed been contemplated
not only by Stoutenburg but also by himself.&nbsp; It had only
required one word from Stoutenburg -- &quot;Gilda of course comes
with us&quot; -- one hint that her presence in Holland would be
a perpetual menace to his personal safety, and he had been not
only willing but fully prepared to put this final outrage upon
the woman whom he should have protected with his life.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Therefore now he dared not meet the eager,
questioning glance of this adventurer, in whose merry eyes the
look of irrepressible laughter was momentarily veiled by one of
anxiety.&nbsp; He looked around him restlessly, shiftily; his
wandering glance fell on the narrow inner door which stood open,
and he caught a glimpse of a smaller room beyond, with a window
at the further end of it.&nbsp; That window had been broken in
from without, the narrow frame torn out of its socket and the
mullion wrenched out of its groove.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Through the wide breach thus made in the lath
and mud walls of the hut, Beresteyn suddenly saw the horses and
the sledge out there in the open.&nbsp; The fight of awhile ago
by the front door had now been transferred to this spot.&nbsp;
A short fat man with his back to the rear of the sledge was holding
the Lord Stoutenburg and Heemskerk at a couple of arm's lengths
with the point of his sword. Jan was apparently not yet on the
scene.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Another man, lean and tall, was on the box
of the sledge, trying with all his might to hold a pair of horses
in, who frightened by the clang of steel against steel, by the<BR>
movement and the shouting, were threatening to plunge and rear
at any moment.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Diogenes laughed aloud.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My friend Pythagoras seems somewhat hard
pressed,&quot; he said, &quot;and those horses might complicate
the situation at any moment.&nbsp; I must to them now, mynheer.&nbsp;
Tell me then quickly which you mean to do; behave like an honest
man or like a cur?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What right have you to dictate to me?&quot;
said Beresteyn sullenly.&nbsp; &quot;I have no account to give
you of mine own actions.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;None I admit,&quot; rejoined the philosopher
placidly, &quot;but let me put the situation a little more clearly
before you.&nbsp; On the one hand you must own that I could at
this moment with very little trouble and hardly any scruples render
you physically helpless first, then lock you up in this room,
and go and join my friends outside.&nbsp; On the other hand you
could leave this room sound in body and at heart an honest man,
jump into the sledge beside your sister and convey her yourself
safely back to the home from whence you -- her own brother --
should never have allowed her to be taken.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot do it,&quot; retorted Beresteyn
moodily,&nbsp; &quot;I could not meet my father face to face after
what has happened.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Think you Gilda would tell him that his
only son has played the part of traitor?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She loathes and despises me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She has a horror of that treacherous
plot.&nbsp; But the plot has come to naught; and she will consider
that you are punished enough for it already, and feel happy that
you are free from Stoutenburg's clutches.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot leave Stoutenburg now, and she
must go with him.&nbsp; She hates me for the outrage which was
committed against her.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;She does not know your share in it,&quot;
said Diogenes quickly, &quot;have I not told you that I lied admirably?&nbsp;
She believes me to be the only culprit and to have forged your
name to hide mine own infamy.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A hot flush rose to Beresteyn's pale cheeks.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I cannot bear to profit by your generosity,&quot;
he said dully.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Pshaw man!&quot; rejoined the other not
without a tone of bitterness, &quot;what matters what my reputation
is in her sight?&nbsp; She despises me so utterly already that
a few sins more or less cannot lower me further in her sight.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No! no!&nbsp; I cannot do it,&quot; persisted
Beresteyn.&nbsp; &quot;Go to your friends, man,&quot; he added
fiercely, &quot;the fat one is getting sorely pressed, the other
cannot cope with the horses much longer! go to their aid! and
kill me if you are so minded.&nbsp; Indeed I no longer care, and
in any case I could not survive all this shame.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Die by all means when and where you list,&quot;
said Diogenes placidly, &quot;but 'tis your place first of all
to take your sister now under your own protection, to keep her
in<BR>
the knowledge that whatever sins you may have committed your were
at least true and loyal to herself.&nbsp; By Heaven man, hath
she not suffered enough already in her person, in her pride, above
all in her affections?&nbsp; Your loyalty to her at this moment
would be ample compensation for all that she hath suffered. Be
an honest man and take her to her home.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;How can I?&nbsp; I have no home: and
she is a menace to us all . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am a menace to you, you weak-hearted
craven,&quot; cried Diogenes whose moustache bristled with fury
now, &quot;for by Heaven I swear that you shall not leave this
place with a whole skin save to do an honest man's act of reparation.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And as if to give greater emphasis to his words
Diogenes gave the other man's arm a vigorous wrench which caused
Beresteyn to groan and curse with pain.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I may have to hurt you worse than this
presently,&quot; said the philosopher imperturbably as he dragged
Beresteyn -- who by now felt dizzy and helpless -- to the nearest
chair and deposited him there.&nbsp; &quot;Were you not her brother,
I believe I should crack your obstinate skull; as it is . . .
I will leave you here to take counsel with reason and honesty
until I have finally disposed of my Lord of Stoutenburg.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He ran quickly to the outer door, pushed the
bolts home, gave the key an extra turn and then pulled it out
of the lock and threw it out of the window.&nbsp; Beresteyn --
somewhat stunned with emotion, a little faint with that vigorous
wrench on his arm, and prostrate with the fatigue and excitement
of the past two days -- made no attempt to stop him.&nbsp; No
doubt he realized that any such attempt would indeed be useless:
there was so much vitality, so much strength in the man that his
tall stature appeared to Nicolaes now of giant-like proportions,
and his powers to savour of the supernatural.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He watched him with dull, tired eyes, as he
finally went out of the room through the inner door; no doubt
this too he locked behind him.&nbsp; Beresteyn did not know; he
half lay, half sat in the chair like a log, the sound of the fight
outside, of the shouts that greeted Diogenes' arrival, of the
latter's merry laughter that went echoing through the mist, only
reached his dull perceptions like a far-off dream.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But in his mind he saw it all: the walls of
the hut were transparent before his mental vision, he saw now
the unequal fight; a perfect swordsman against Stoutenburg's<BR>
unreasoning attacks and Heemskerk's want of skill.&nbsp; Jan too
will have joined them by now, but he was loutish and clumsy.&nbsp;
The issue would have been a foregone conclusion even without the
aid of the fat knave who had held his own already for nearly ten
minutes. Yet, though his thoughts were not by any means all clear
upon the subject, Beresteyn made no attempt to go to his own friend's
assistance.&nbsp; Vaguely some pleasing visions began to float
through space around him.&nbsp; It seemed as if the magic personality
of a nameless adventurer still filled this narrow room with its
vitality, with its joy and with its laughter.&nbsp; The optimistic
breeziness which emanated from the man himself had lingered here
after he was gone.&nbsp; His cheerful words still hung and reverberated
upon the cold, wintry air.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;After all, why not?&quot; mused Beresteyn.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda knew of his share in the conspiracy against
the Stadtholder of course.&nbsp; But that conspiracy had now aborted;
Gilda would never betray her brother's share in it either to the
Stadtholder's vengeance or to her father's wrath.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And she had been made to believe that he was
not the mover in the outrage against her person.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then -- why not?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She had been forcibly dragged out of this hut;
she knew that Stoutenburg meant to take her away with him into
exile; even if she had been only partially conscious since she
was taken to the sledge, she would know that a desperate fight
had been going on around her.&nbsp; Then if he, Nicolaes now appeared
upon the scene -- if he took charge of her and of the sledge,
and with the help of one or other of those knaves outside sped
away with her north to Haarlem, would she not be confirmed in
her belief in his loyalty, would he not play a heroic r&ocirc;le,
make her happy and himself free?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then -- why not?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All the papers relating to the aborted conspiracy
which might have compromised him he had upon his person even now.&nbsp;
He and Heemskerk had themselves<BR>
collected the in the weighing-room of the molens after Lucas of
Sparendam had brought his terrible news.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then -- why not?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He rose briskly from his chair.&nbsp; The outer
door of the hut was locked -- he crossed to the inner door that
was just on the latch and he threw it open.&nbsp; Before him now
was the broken window frame through which peeped the dull grey
light of this misty winter's morning.&nbsp; Out in the open through
the filmy veil of the fog he could see the final phases of an
unequal fight.&nbsp; Stoutenburg and Heemskerk were both disarmed
and Jan had just appeared upon the scene.&nbsp; More far-seeing
than were the Lord of Stoutenburg and Mynheer Heemskerk, he had
very quickly realized that sword in hand no one was a match for
this foreigner and his invincible blade.&nbsp; When the fighting
was transferred from the doorway of the hut to the open roadway
in the rear, he had at first followed in the wake of his chief,
then he had doubled back, swiftly running to the molens, and in
the basement from out the scattered litter of arms hastily thrown
down, he had quickly picked up a couple of pistols, found some
ammunition, quietly loaded the weapons and with them in his hand
started to run back to the hut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All this had taken some few minutes while Pythagoras
had borne the brunt of a vigorous attack from the Lord of Stoutenburg
and Mynheer Heemskerk, whilst<BR>
Diogenes parleyed with Beresteyn inside the hut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn saw the whole picture before him.&nbsp;
He had thrown open the door, and looked through the broken window
at the precise moment when the Lord of Stoutenburg's sword flew
out of his hand.&nbsp; Then it was that Jan came running along,
shouting to my lord.&nbsp; Stoutenburg turned quickly, saw his
faithful lieutenant and caught sight of the pistols which he held.&nbsp;
The next second he had snatched one out of Jan's hand, and the
pale ray of a wintry sun penetrating through the mist found its
reflection in a couple of steel barrels pointed straight at a
laughing philosopher.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn from within felt indeed as if his
heart stood still for that one brief, palpitating second.&nbsp;&nbsp;
Was Fate after all taking the decision for the future -- Gilda's
and his -- out of his hands into her own?&nbsp; Would a bullet
end that vigorous life and still that merry laugh and that biting
tongue for ever, and leave Nicolaes to be swayed once more by
the dark schemes and arbitrary will of his friend Stoutenburg?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Fate was ready, calmly spinning the threads
of human destinies.&nbsp; But there are some men in the world
who have the power and the skill to take their destinies in their<BR>
own hands. The philosopher and weaver of dreams, the merry Laughing
Cavalier was one of these.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">What the Lord of Stoutenburg had seen that
he perceived equally quickly; he, too, had caught sight of Jan,
he too, realized that the most skilled swordsman is but a<BR>
sorry match against a pair of bullets.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But while Beresteyn held his breath and Stoutenburg
tried to steady the trembling of his hand, he raised Bucephalus
above his head and with a wild shout pointed toward the southern
horizon far away.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The Stadtholder's guard!&quot; he cried
lustily, &quot;they are on us! Sauve qui peut!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Three cries of mad terror rent the air, there
was a double detonation, a great deal of smoke.&nbsp; The horses
in the sledge reared and plunged wildly, forcing those who were
nearest to the vehicle to beat a precipitate retreat.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At the horses' heads, you wooden-headed
bladder,&quot; shouted Diogenes lustily.&nbsp; Pythagoras did
his best to obey, while Socrates was nearly dragged off the box
by the frightened horses.&nbsp; Heemskerk had already incontinently
taken to his heels.&nbsp; Jan had dropped his weapon which Diogenes
at once picked up.&nbsp; The Lord of Stoutenburg was preparing
to fire again.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Sauve qui peut, my lord!&quot; cried
Diogenes &quot;before I change my mind and put a hole through
you heel, which will prevent your running away fast enough to
escape the Stadtholder's wrath.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was another detonation.&nbsp; The horses
reared and plunged again.&nbsp; When Beresteyn once more obtained
a clear view of the picture, he saw the Lord of Stoutenburg stretched
out on his back upon the ground in a position that was anything
but dignified and certainly very perilous, for Diogenes was towering
above him was holding him by both feet.&nbsp; The tall soldierly
figure of the foreigner stood out clearly silhouetted against
the grey, misty light: his head with its wealthy of unruly brown
curls was thrown back with a gesture that almost suggested boyish
delight in some impish mischief, whilst his infectious laugh echoed
and re-echoed against the walls of the molens and of the hut.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Jan was on his hands and knees crawling toward
those two men -- the conqueror and the conquered -- with no doubt
a vague idea that he might even now render assistance to my lord.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Here, Pythagoras, old fat head,&quot;
cried Diogenes gaily, &quot;see that our friend here does not
interfere with me: and that he hath not a concealed poniard somewhere
about his person, then collect all pistols and swords that are
lying about, well out of harm's way.&nbsp; In the meanwhile what
am I to do with his Magnificence? he is kicking like a vicious
colt and that shoulder of mine is beginning to sting like fury.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Kill me, man, kill me!&quot; cried Stoutenburg
savagely, &quot;curse you, why don't you end this farce?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because, my lord,&quot; said Diogenes
more seriously that was his wont, &quot;the purest and most exquisite
woman on God's earth did once deign to bestow the priceless<BR>
jewel of her love upon you.&nbsp; Did she know of your present
plight, she would even now be pleading for you: therefore,&quot;
he added more flippantly, &quot;I am going to give myself the
satisfaction of making you a present of the last miserable shred
of existence which you will drag on from this hour forth in wretchedness
and exile to the end of your days.&nbsp; Take your life and freedom,
my lord,&quot; he continued in response to the invectives which
Stoutenburg muttered savagely under his breath, &quot;take it
at the hands of the miserable plepshurk whom you so despise.&nbsp;
It is better methinks to do this rather than fall into the hands
of the Stadtholder, whose mercy for a fallen enemy would be equal
to your own.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then he shouted to Pythagoras.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Here, old compeer!&nbsp; search his Magnificence
for concealed weapons, and then make ready to go. &nbsp;We have
wasted too much time already.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Despite Stoutenburg's struggles and curses
Pythagoras obeyed his brother philosopher to the letter.&nbsp;
His lordship and Jan were both effectually disarmed now.&nbsp;
Then only did Diogenes allow Stoutenburg to struggle to his feet.&nbsp;
He had his sword in his left hand and Pythagoras stood beside
him.&nbsp; Jan found his master's hat and cloak and helped him
on with them, and then he said quietly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;The minutes are precious, my lord, 'tis
a brief run to Ryswyk: my Lord of Heemskerk has gone and Mynheer
Beresteyn has disappeared.&nbsp; Here we can do nothing more.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nothing, my good Jan,&quot; said Diogenes
more seriously, &quot;you are a brave soldier and a faithful servant.&nbsp;
Take his Magnificence away to safety.&nbsp; You have well deserved
your own.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Stoutenburg gave a last cry of rage and of
despair.&nbsp; For a moment it seemed as if his blind fury would
still conquer reason and prudence and that he meant once more
to make an attack upon his victorious enemy, but something in
the latter's look of almost insolent triumph recalled him to the
peril of his own situation: he passed his hand once or twice over
his brow, like a man who is dazed and only just returning to consciousness,
then he called loudly to Jan to follow him, and walked rapidly
away northwards through the fog.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Beresteyn went up to the broken window and
watched him till he was out of sight, then he looked on Diogenes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">That philosopher also watched the retreating
figure of the Lord of Stoutenburg until the fog swallowed it up,
then he turned to his friend.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Pythagoras, old compeer,&quot; he said
with a shrug of his broad shoulders, &quot;what would you take
to be walking at this moment in that man's shoes?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I wouldn't do it, friend,&quot; rejoined
Pythagoras placidly, &quot;for the possession of a running river
of home-brewed ale.&nbsp; And I am mightily dry at the present
moment.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Jump up then on the box beside Socrates,
you old wine-tub, and get to Leyden as quickly as these horses
will take you.&nbsp; A halt at Voorburg will refresh you all.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But you?&quot; queried Socrates from
his post of vantage.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I shall make my way to Ryswyk first and
get a horse there.&nbsp; I shall follow you at a distance, and
probably overtake you before you get to Leyden.&nbsp; But you
will not see me after this . . . unless there is trouble, which
is not likely.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But the jongejuffrouw?&quot; persisted
Socrates.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hush!&nbsp; I shall never really lose
sight of you and the sledge.&nbsp; But you must serve her as best
you can.&nbsp; Someone will be with her who will know how to take
care of her.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Who?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Her own brother of course, Mynheer Beresteyn.&nbsp;
Over the sill, mynheer!&quot;&nbsp; he now shouted, calling to
Nicolaes who still stood undecided, shamed, hesitating in the
broken framework of the window, &quot;over the sill, 'tis only
three feet from the ground, and horses and men are quite ready
for you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He gave a lusty cheer of satisfaction as Beresteyn,
throwing all final cowardly hesitations to the wind, suddenly
made up his mind to take the one wise and prudent course.&nbsp;
He swung himself through the window, and in a few moments was
standing by Diogenes' side.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Let me at last tell you, sir . . .&quot;
he began earnestly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hush! -- tell me nothing now . . .&quot;
broke in the other man quickly, &quot;the jongejuffrouw might
hear.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But I must thank you --&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;If you say another word,&quot; said Diogenes,
sinking his voice to a whisper, &quot;I'll order Socrates to drive
on and leave you standing here.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Into the sledge, man, in Heaven's name.&nbsp;
The jongejuffrouw is unconscious, her woman daft with fear. When
the lady regains consciousness let her brother's face be the first
sight to comfort her.&nbsp; Into the sledge man,&quot; he added
impatiently, &quot;or by Heaven I'll give the order to start.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And without more ado, he hustled Nicolaes into
the sledge.&nbsp; The latter bewildered, really not clear with
himself as to what he ought to do, peeped tentatively beneath<BR>
the cover of the vehicle.&nbsp; He saw his sister lying there
prone upon the wooden floor of the sledge, her head rested against
a bundle of rugs hastily put together for her<BR>
comfort.&nbsp; Maria was squatting beside her, her head and ears
muffled in a cloak, her hands up to her eyes; she was moaning
incoherently to herself.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda's eyes were closed, and her face looked
very pale: Beresteyn's heart ached at the pitiful sight.&nbsp;
She looked so wan and so forlorn that a sharp pang of remorse
for all his cruelty to her shot right through his dormant sensibilities.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was just room for him under the low cover
of the sledge; he hesitated no longer now, he felt indeed as if
nothing would tear him away from Gilda's side until she was safely
home again in their father's arms.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A peremptory order:&nbsp; &quot;En avant,&quot;
struck upon his ear, a shout from the driver to his horses, the
harness rattled, the sledge creaked upon its framework and then
slowly began to move: Beresteyn lifted the flap of the hood at
the rear of the vehicle and looked out for the last time upon
the molens and the hut, where such a tragic act in his life's
drama had just been enacted.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He saw Diogenes still standing there, waving
his hat in farewell: for a few moments longer his splendid figure
stood out clearly against the flat grey landscape beyond, then
slowly the veil of mist began to envelop him, at first only blurring
the outline of his mantle or his sash, then it grew more dense
and the sledge moved away more rapidly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The next moment the Laughing Cavalier had disappeared
from view.</FONT></P>

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  <TITLE>Chapter 43</TITLE>
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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XLIII &shy; LEYDEN ONCE
MORE</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
After that Gilda had lived as in a dream: only vaguely conscious
that good horses and a smoothly gliding vehicle were conveying
her back to her home. Of this fact she was sure Nicolaes was sitting
quite close under the hood of the sledge and when first she became
fully aware of the reality of his presence, he had raised her
hand to his lips and had said in response to a mute appeal from
her eyes:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;We are going home.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After that a quiet sense of utter weariness
pervaded her being, and she fell into a troubled sleep.&nbsp;
She did not heed what went on around her, she only knew that once
or twice during the day there was a halt for food and drink.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The nearness of her brother, his gentleness
toward her, gave her a sense of well-being, even though her heart
felt heavy with a great sorrow which made the whole future appear
before her like an interminable vista of blank and grey dullness.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It was at her suggestion that arrangements
were made for an all night halt at Leyden, which city they reached
in the early part of the afternoon.&nbsp; She begged Nicolaes
that they might put up at the hostelry of the &quot;White Goat&quot;
on the further side of the town, and that from thence a messenger
might be sent to her father, asking him to come and meet her there
on the morrow.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Though Nicolaes was not a little astonished
at this suggestion of Gilda's -- seeing that surely she must be
longing to be home again and that Haarlem could easily have been
reached before night -- he did not wish to run counter to her
will.&nbsp; True enough, he dreaded the meeting with his father,
but he knew that it had to come, and felt that whatever might
be the future consequences of it all -- he could not possibly
bear alone the burden of remorse and of shame which assailed him
every time he encountered Gilda's tear-stained eyes, and saw how
wearied and listless she looked.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">So he called a halt at the &quot;White Goat&quot;
and as soon as he saw his sister safely installed, with everything
ordered for her comfort, and a tasteful supper prepared, he sent
a messenger on horseback at once to Haarlem to his father.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Gilda had deliberately chosen to spend the
night at the hostelry of the &quot;White Goat&quot; because she
felt that in that quaint old building with its wide oak staircase
-- over which she had been carried five days ago, dizzy and half
fainting -- the blackened rafters would mayhap still echo with
the sound of a merry laughter which she would never hear again.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But when the sledge finally turned in under
the low gateway and drew up in the small courtyard of the inn
-- when with wearied feet and shaking knees she walked up those
oaken stairs, it seemed to her that the vivid memories which the
whole place recalled were far harder to bear than those more intangible
ones which -- waking and sleeping -- had tortured her up to now.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The bedroom too, with the smaller one leading
out of it, was the same in which she had slept.&nbsp; As the obsequious
waiting-wench threw open the door for the noble jongejuffrouw
to pass through she saw before her the wide open hearth with its
crackling fire, the high-backed chair wherein she had sat, the
very footstool which he had put to her feet.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It seemed to her at first as if she could not
enter, as if his splendid figure would suddenly emerge out of
the semi-darkness to confront her with his mocking eyes and his
smiling face.&nbsp; She seemed to see him everywhere, and she
had to close her eyes to chase away that all to insistent vision.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The waiting-wench did not help matters either,
for she asked persistently and shyly about the handsome mynheer
who had such an irresistible fund of laughter in him.&nbsp; Maria
too, in her mutterings and grumblings, contrived -- most unwittingly,
since she adored Gilda -- to inflict a series of tiny pin-pricks
on an already suffering heart.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Tired in body and in mind, Gilda could not
sleep that night.&nbsp; She was living over again every second
of the past five days: the interview with that strangely winning
person -- a stranger still to her then -- here in this room! how
she had hated him at first! how she had tried to shame and wound
him with her words, trying all the while to steel her heart against
that irresistible gaiety and good humour which shone from him
like a radiance: then that second interview in Rotterdam! did
she still hate him them? and if not when was hatred first changed
into the love which now so completely filled her soul?<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Looking back on those days, she could not tell.&nbsp;
All that she knew was that when he was brought before her helpless
and pinioned she already loved him, and that since that moment
love had grown and strengthened until her whole heart was given
to that same nameless soldier of fortune whom she had first despised.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">To live over again those few brief days which
seemed now like an eternity was a sweet, sad pleasure which Gilda
could endure, but what became intolerable in the darkness and
in the silence of the night was the remembrance of the immediate
past.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Clearly cut out before her mental vision were
the pictures of her life this morning in the hut beside the molens:
and indeed, it was a lifetime that had gone by in those few hours.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Firstly Stoutenburg's visit in the early morning,
his smooth words and careless chatter! she, poor fool! under the
belief all the time that the treacherous plot had been abandoned,
and that she would forthwith be conveyed back to her father.&nbsp;
Her thoughts of pleading for the condemned man's life: then the
tramping of feet, the cries of terror, her brother's appearance
bringing the awful news of betrayal.&nbsp; She lived over again
those moments of supreme horror when she realized how Stoutenburg
had deceived her, and that Nicolaes himself was but a traitor
and a miserable liar.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She knew then that it was the adventurer, the
penniless soldier of fortune whom she had tried to hate and to
despise, who had quietly gone to warn the Stadtholder, and that
his action had been the direct working of God's will in a brave
and loyal soul: she knew also by a mysterious intuition which
no good woman has ever been able to resist, that the man who had
stood before her -- self-convicted and self-confessed -- had accepted
that humiliation to save her the pain of fearing and despising
her own brother.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The visions now became more dim and blurred.&nbsp;
She remembered Stoutenburg's fury, his hideous threats of vengeance
on the man who had thrown himself across his treacherous path.&nbsp;
She remembered pleading to that monster, weeping, clinging to
his arm in a passionate appeal.&nbsp; She remembered the soul
agony which she felt when she realized that that appeal had been
in vain.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then she had stood for a moment silent and
alone in the hut.&nbsp; Stoutenburg had left her in order to accomplish
that hideous act of revenge.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After that she remembered nothing clearly.&nbsp;
She could only have been half-conscious and all round her there
was a confusion of sounds, of shouts and clash of arms: she thought
that she was being lifted out of the chair into which she had
fallen in a partial swoon, that she heard Maria's cries of terror,
and that she felt the cold damp morning air striking upon her
face.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Presently she knew that Nicolaes was beside
her, and that she was being taken home.&nbsp; All else was a blank
or a dream.&nbsp; <BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Now she was tossing restlessly upon the lavender-scented
bed in this hostelry so full of memories.&nbsp; Her temples were
throbbing, her eyes felt like pieces of glowing charcoal in her
head.&nbsp; The blackness around her weighed upon her soul until
she felt that she could not breathe.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Outside the silence of the night was being
gravely disturbed: there was the sound of horses' hoofs upon the
cobblestones of the yard, the creaking of a vehicle brought to
a standstill, the usual shouts for grooms and ostlers.&nbsp; A
late arrival had filled the tranquil inn with its bustle and its
noise.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then once again all was still, and Gilda turned
her aching head upon the pillow.&nbsp; Though the room was not
hot, and the atmosphere outside heavy with frost, she felt positively
stifled.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">After a while this feeling of oppression became
intolerable, she rose, and in the darkness she groped for her
fur-lined cloak which she wrapped closely around her.&nbsp; Then
she found her way across to the window and drew aside the curtain.&nbsp;
No light penetrated through the latticed panes: the waning moon
which four nights ago had been at times so marvellously brilliant,
had not yet risen above the horizon line.&nbsp; As Gilda's fingers
fumbled for the window-latch she heard a distant church clock
strike the midnight hour.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">She threw open the casement.&nbsp; The sill
was low and she leaned out peering up and down the narrow street.&nbsp;
It was entirely deserted and pitch dark save where on the wall
opposite the light from a window immediately below her threw its
feeble reflection. Vaguely she wondered who was astir in the small
hostelry.&nbsp; No doubt it was the tap-room which was there below
her, still lighted up, and apparently with its small casement
also thrown open, like the one out of which she was leaning. <BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">For now, when the reverberating echo of the
chiming clock had entirely died away, she was conscious of a vague
murmur of voices coming up from below, confused at first and undistinguishable,
but presently she heard a click as if the casement had been pushed
further open or mayhap a curtain pulled aside, for after that
the sound of the voices became more distinct and clear.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">With beating heart and straining ears Gilda
leaned as far out of the window as she could, listening intently:
she had recognized her father's voice, and he was speaking so
strangely that even as she listened she felt all the blood tingling
in her veins.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My son, sir,&quot; he was saying, &quot;had,
I am glad to say, sufficient pride and manhood in him not to bear
the full weight of your generosity any longer.&nbsp; He sent a
special messenger on horseback out to me this afternoon.&nbsp;
As soon as I knew that my daughter was here I came as fast as
sleigh and the three best horses in my stables could bring me.&nbsp;
I had no thought, of course, of seeing you here.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I had no thought that you should see
me, sir,&quot; said a voice which by its vibrating tones had the
power of sending the hot blood rushing to the listener's neck
and cheeks.&nbsp; &quot;Had I not entered the yard just as your
sledge turned in under the gateway, you had not been offended
by mine unworthy presence.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would in that case have searched the
length and breadth of this land to find you, sir,&quot; rejoined
Cornelius Beresteyn earnestly, &quot;for half an hour later my
son had told me the whole circumstances of his association with
you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;An association of which Mynheer Nicolaes
will never be over-proud, I'll warrant,&quot; came in slightly
less flippant accents than usual from the foreigner.&nbsp; &quot;Do
I not stand self-confessed as a liar, a forger and abductor of
helpless women?&nbsp; A fine record forsooth: and ere he ordered
me to be hanged by Lord of Stoutenburg did loudly proclaim me
as such before his friends and before his followers.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;His friends, sir, are the sons of my
friends.&nbsp; I will loudly proclaim you what you truly are:
a brave man, a loyal soldier, a noble gentleman!&nbsp; Nicolaes
has told me every phase of his association with you, from his
shameful proposal to you in regard to his own sister, down to
this moment when you still desired that Gilda and I should remain
in ignorance of his guilt.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;What is the good, mynheer, of raking
up all this past?&quot; said the philosopher lightly, &quot;I
would that Mynheer Nicolaes had known how to hold his tongue.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Thank God that he did not,&quot; retorted
Cornelius Beresteyn hotly, &quot;had he done so I stood in peril
of failing -- for the first time in my life -- in an important<BR>
business obligation.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not towards me, mynheer, at any rate.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, sir, towards you,&quot; affirmed
Beresteyn decisively.&nbsp; &quot;I promised you five hundred
thousand guilders if you brought my daughter safely back to me.&nbsp;
I know from mine own son, sir, that I owe her safety to no one
but to you.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ours was an ignoble bargain, mynheer,&quot;
said Diogenes with his wonted gaiety, and though she could not
see him, Gilda could picture his face now alive with merriment
and suppressed laughter.&nbsp; &quot;The humour of the situation
appealed to me -- it proved irresistible -- but the bargain in
no way binds you seeing that it was I who had been impious enough
to lay hands upon your daughter.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;At my son's suggestion I know,&quot;
rejoined Beresteyn quietly, &quot;and from your subsequent acts,
sir, I must infer that you only did it because you felt that she
was safer under your charge than at the mercy of her own brother
and his friends . . . Nay! do not protest,&quot; he added earnestly,
&quot;Nicolaes, as you see, is of the same opinion.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;May Heaven reward you, sir, for that
kindly thought of me,&quot; said Diogenes more seriously, &quot;it
will cheer me in the future, when I and all my doings will have
faded from your ken.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are not leaving Holland, sir?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not just now, mynheer, while there is
so much fighting to be done.&nbsp; The Stadtholder hath need of
soldiers . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And he will, sir, find none better than
you throughout the world.&nbsp; And with a goodly fortune to help
you. . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Speak not of that, mynheer,&quot; he
said firmly, &quot;I could not take your money.&nbsp; If I did
I should never know a happy hour again.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Oh!&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I am quite serious, sir, though indeed
you might not think that I can ever be serious.&nbsp; For six
days now I have had a paymaster: Mynheer Nicolaes' money has burned
a hole in my good humour, it has scorched my hands, wounded my
shoulder and lacerated my hip, it has brought on me all the unpleasant
sensations which I have so carefully avoided hitherto, remorse,
humiliation, and one or two other sensations which will never
leave me until my death.&nbsp; It changed temporarily the shiftless,
penniless soldier of fortune into a responsible human being, with
obligations and duties.&nbsp; I had to order horses, bespeak lodgings,
keep accounts.&nbsp; Ye gods, it made a slave of me!&nbsp; Keep
your money, sir, it is more fit for you to handle than for me.&nbsp;
Let me go back to my shiftlessness, my penury, my freedom, eat
my fill to-day, starve to-morrow, and<BR>
one day look up at the stars from the lowly earth, with a kindly
bullet in my chest that does not mean to blunder.&nbsp; And if
in the days to come your thoughts ever do revert to me, I pray
you think of me as happy or nearly so, owning no master save my
whim, bending my back to none, keeping my hat on my head when
I choose, and ending my days in a ditch or in a palace, the carver
of mine own destiny, the sole arbiter of my will.&nbsp; And now
I pray you seek that rest of which you must be sorely in need.&nbsp;
I start at daybreak to-morrow: mayhap we shall never meet again,
save in Heaven, if indeed, there be room there for such a thriftless
adventurer as I.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But whither do you mean to go, sir?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;To the mountains of the moon, sir,&quot;
rejoined the philosopher lightly, &quot;or along the milky way
to the land of the Might-Have-Been.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Before we part, sir, may I shake you
by the hand?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">There was silence down below after that.&nbsp;
Gilda listened in vain, no further words reached her ears just
then.&nbsp; She tiptoed as quietly as she could across the room,
finding her way with difficulty in the dark.&nbsp; At last her
fumbling fingers encountered the latch of the door of the inner
room where Maria lay snoring lustily.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It took Gilda some little time to wake the
old woman, but at last she succeeded, and then ordered her, very
peremptorily, to strike a light.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Are you ill, mejuffrouw?&quot; queried
Maria anxiously even though she was but half awake.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;No,&quot; replied Gilda curtly, &quot;but
I want my dress -- quick now,&quot; she added, for Maria showed
signs of desiring to protest.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The jongejuffrouw was in one of those former
imperious moods of hers when she exacted implicit obedience from
her servants.&nbsp; Alas! the last few days had seen that mood
submerged into an ocean of sorrow and humiliation, and Maria --
though angered at having been wakened out of a first sleep --
was very glad to see her darling looking so alert and so brisk.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Indeed -- the light being very dim -- Maria
could not see the brilliant glow that lit up the jongejuffrouw's
cheeks as with somewhat febrile gestures she put on her dress
and smoothed her hair.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Now put on your dress too, Maria,&quot;
she said when she was ready, &quot;and tell my father, who is
either in the tap-room down below or hath already retired to his<BR>
room, that I desire to speak with him.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">And Maria, bewildered and flustered, had no
option but to obey.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XLIV &shy; BLAKE OF BLAKENEY</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
While Maria completed a hasty toilet, Gilda's instinct had drawn
her back once more to the open window.&nbsp; 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.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Cornelius Beresteyn was speaking now:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Indeed,&quot; he said, &quot;It will
be the one consolation left to me, since you do reject my friendship,
sir.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not your friendship, sir -- only your
money,&quot; interposed Diogenes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Well! you do speak of lifelong parting.&nbsp;
But your two friends have indeed deserved well of me.&nbsp; Without
their help no doubt you, sir, first and then my dearly loved daughter
would have fallen victims to that infamous Stoutenburg.&nbsp;
Will a present of twenty thousand guilders each gratify them,
do you think?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">A ringing laugh roused the echoes of the sleeping
hostelry.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Twenty thousand guilders! ye gods!&quot;
exclaimed Diogenes merrily.&nbsp; &quot;Pythagoras, dost hear,
old bladder-face?&nbsp; Socrates, my robin, dost realize it?&nbsp;
Twenty thousand guilders each in your pockets, old compeers.&nbsp;
Lord! how drunk you will both be to-morrow.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Out of the confused hubbub that ensued Gilda
could disentangle nothing definite; there was a good deal of shouting
and clapping of pewter mugs against a table, and through it all
that irresponsible, infectious laughter which -- strangely enough
-- had to Gilda's ears at this moment a curious tone, almost of
bitterness, as if its merriment was only forced.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then when the outburst of gaiety had somewhat
subsided she once more heard her father's voice.&nbsp; Maria was
dressed by this time, and now at a word from Gilda was ready to
go downstairs and to deliver the jongejuffrouw's message to her
father.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You spoke so lightly just now, sir, of
dying in a ditch or palace,&quot; Cornelius Beresteyn was saying,
&quot;but you did tell me that day in Haarlem that you had kith
and kindred in England.&nbsp; Where is that father of whom you
spoke, and your mother who is a saint?&nbsp;&nbsp; Your irresponsible
vagabondage will leave her in perpetual loneliness.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;My mother is dead, sir,&quot; said Diogenes
quietly, &quot;my father broke her heart.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Even then he hath a right to know that
his son is a brave and loyal gentleman.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;He will only know that when his son is
dead.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;That was a cruel dictum, sir.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Not so cruel as that which left my mother
to starve in the streets of Haarlem.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Aye! ten thousand times more cruel, since
your dear mother, sir, had not to bear the awful burden of lifelong
remorse.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Bah!&quot; rejoined the philosopher with
a careless shrug of the shoulders, &quot;a man seldom feels remorse
for wrongs committed against a woman.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But he doth for those committed against
his flesh and blood -- his son --&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have no means of finding out, sir,
if my father hath or hath not remorse for his wilful desertion
of wife and child -- England is a far-off country -- I would not
care to undertake so unprofitable a pilgrimage.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then why not let me do so, sir?&quot;
queried Cornelius Beresteyn calmly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes.&nbsp; Why not?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Why should you trouble, mynheer, to seek
out the father of such a vagabond as I?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Because I would like to give a man --
an old man your father must be now -- the happiness of calling
you his son.&nbsp; You say he lives in England.&nbsp; I often
go to England on business.&nbsp; Will you not at least tell me
your father's name?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I have no cause to conceal it, mynheer,&quot;
rejoined Diogenes carelessly.&nbsp; &quot;In England they call
him Blake of Blakeney; his home is in Sussex and I believe that
it is a stately home.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But I know the Squire of Blakeney well,&quot;
said Cornelius Beresteyn eagerly, &quot;my bankers at Amsterdam
also do business for him.&nbsp; I know that just now he is in
Antwerp on a mission from King James of England to the Archduchess.&nbsp;
He hath oft told Mynheer Beuselaar, our mutual banker, that he
was moving heaven and earth to find the son whom he had lost.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Heaven and earth take a good deal of
moving,&quot; quoth Diogenes lightly, &quot;once a wife and son
have been forsaken and left to starve in a foreign land.&nbsp;
Mine English father wedded my mother in the church of St. Pieter
at Haarlem.&nbsp; My friend Frans Hals -- God bless him -- knew
my mother and cared for me after she died.&nbsp; He has all the
papers in his charge relating to the marriage.&nbsp; It has long
ago been arranged between us that if I die with ordinary worthiness,
he will seek out my father in England and tell him that mayhap
-- after all -- even though I have been a vagabond all my life
-- I have never done anything that should cause him to blush for
his son.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Apparently at this juncture, Maria must have
knocked at the door of the tapperij, for Gilda, whose heart was
beating more furiously than ever, heard presently the well-known
firm footsteps of her father as he rapidly ascended the stairs.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Two minutes later Gilda lay against her father's
heart, and her hand resting in his she told him from beginning
to end everything that she had suffered from the moment when after
watch-night service in the Groote Kerk she first became aware
of the murmur of voices, to that when she first realized that
the man whom she should have hated, the knave whom she should
have despised, filled her heart and soul to the exclusion of all
other happiness in the world, and that he was about to pass out
of her life for ever.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">It took a long time to tell -- for she had
suffered more, felt more, lived more in the past five days than
would fill an ordinary life -- nor did she disguise anything from
her father, not even the conversation which she had had at Rotterdam
in the dead of night with the man who had remained nameless until
now, and in consequence of which he had gone at once to warn the
Stadtholder and had thus averted the hideous conspiracy which
would have darkened for ever the destinies of many Dutch homes.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Of Nicolaes she did not speak; she knew that
he had confessed his guilt to his father, who would know how to
forgive in the fullness of time.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">When she had finished speaking her father said
somewhat roughly:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;But for that vervloekte adventurer down
there, you would never have suffered, Gilda, as you did.&nbsp;
Nicolaes . . .&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Nicolaes, father dear,&quot; she broke
in quietly, &quot;is very dear to us both.&nbsp; I think that
his momentary weakness will endear him to us even more.&nbsp;
But he was a tool in the hands of that unscrupulous Stoutenburg
-- and but for that nameless and penniless soldier whose hand
you were proud to grasp just now, I would not be here in your
arms at this moment.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Ah!&quot; said Cornelius Beresteyn dryly,
&quot;is this the way that the wind blows, my girl?&nbsp; Did
you not know then that the rascal -- the day after he dared to
lay hands upon you -- was back again in Haarlem bargaining with
me to restore you to my arms in exchange for a fortune?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And two days later, father dear,&quot;
she retorted, &quot;he endured insults, injuries, cruelties from
Stoutenburg, rather than betray Nicolaes' guilt before me.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hm!&quot; murmured Cornelius, and there
was a humorous twinkle in his eyes as he looked down upon his
daughter's bowed head.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;And but for that same rascal, father,&quot;
she continued softly, &quot;you would at this moment be mourning
a dead daughter and Holland a hideous act of treachery.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Hush, my dear!&quot; cried the old man
impulsively, as he put his kind protecting arms round the child
whom he loved so dearly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I would never have followed the Lord
of Stoutenburg while I lived,&quot; she said simply.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Please God,&quot; he said earnestly,
&quot;I would sooner have seen you in the crypt beside your mother.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then, father, hath not the rascal you
speak of deserved well of us?&nbsp; Can we not guess that even
originally he took me away from Haarlem, only because he knew<BR>
that if he refused the bargain proposed to him by mine own brother,
Stoutenburg would have found some other means of ensuring my silence.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;You are a good advocate, my girl,&quot;
rejoined Cornelius with a sly wink which brought the colour rushing
up to Gilda's cheeks.&nbsp; &quot;I think, by your leave, I'll
go and shake that vervloekte Keerl once more by the hand . . .
And . . . shall I tell him that you bear him no ill-will?&quot;
he added roguishly.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Yes, father dear, tell him that,&quot;
she said gently.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Then will you go to bed, dear?&quot;
he asked, &quot;you are overwrought and tired.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;I will sit by the window quietly for
a quarter of an hour,&quot; she said, &quot;after that I promise
you that I will go peaceably to bed.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He kissed her tenderly, for she was very dear
to him, but being a man of vast understanding and profound knowledge
of men and things, the humorous twinkle did not altogether fade
from his eyes as he finally bade his daughter &quot;Good night,&quot;
and then quietly went out of the room.</FONT></P>

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<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">CHAPTER XLV &shy; THE END</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes sat beside the window in the tapperij listening with
half an ear to the sounds in and about the hostelry which were
dying out one by one.&nbsp; At first there had been a footfall
in the room overhead which had seemed to him the sweetest music
that man could hear.&nbsp; It had paced somewhat restlessly up
and down and to the Laughing Cavalier, the gay and irresponsible
soldier of fortune, it had seemed as if every creaking of a loose
board beneath the featherweight of that footfall found its echo
in his heart.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">But anon Mynheer Cornelius Beresteyn was called
away and then all was still in the room upstairs, and Diogenes
burying his head in his hands evoked the picture of that room
as he had seen it five days ago.&nbsp; The proud jongejuffrouw
in her high-backed chair, looking on him with blue eyes which
she vainly tried to render hard through their exquisite expression
of appealing, childlike gentleness: and he groaned aloud with
the misery of the inevitable which with stern finger bade him
go and leave behind him all the illusions, all the dreams which
he had dared to weave.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Had she not told him that she despised him,
that his existence was as naught to her, that she looked on him
as a menial and a knave, somewhat below the faithful henchmen
who were in her father's service?&nbsp; Ye gods! he had endured
much in his life of privations, of physical and mental pain, but
was there aught on earth or in the outermost pits of hell to be
compared with the agony of this ending to a dream.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The serving-wench came in just then.&nbsp;
She scarcely dared approach the mynheer with the merry voice and
the laughter-filled eyes who now looked so inexpressibly sad.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Yet she had a message for him.&nbsp; Mynheer
Cornelius Beresteyn, she said, desired to speak with him once
more.&nbsp; The wench had murmured the words shyly, for her heart
was aching for the handsome soldier and the tears were very near
her eyes.&nbsp; But hearing the message he had jumped up with
alacrity and was immediately ready to follow her.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Mynheer Beresteyn had a room on the upper floor,
she explained, as she led the way upstairs.&nbsp; The old man
was standing on the narrow landing and as soon as Diogenes appeared
upon the stairs, he said simply:<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;There was something I did forget to say
to you downstairs; may I trouble you, sir, to come into my room
for a moment.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He threw open one of the doors that gave on
the landing and politely stood aside that his visitor might pass
through.&nbsp; Diogenes entered the room: he heard the door<BR>
being closed behind him, and thought that Mynheer Beresteyn had
followed him in.&nbsp; <BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">The room was very dimly lighted by a couple
of tallow candles that flickered in their sconces, and at first
he could not see into the dark recesses of the room.&nbsp; But
presently something moved, something ethereal and intangible,
white and exquisite.&nbsp; It stirred from out the depths of the
huge high-backed chair, and from out the gloom there came a little
cry of surprise and of joy which was as the call of bird or angel.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">He did not dare to move, he scarcely dared
to breathe. He looked round for Mynheer Beresteyn who had disappeared.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Surely this could be only a dream.&nbsp; Nothing
real on earth could be so exquisite as that subtle vision which
he had of her now, sitting in the high-backed chair, leaning slightly
forward toward him.&nbsp; Gradually his eyes became accustomed
to the gloom: he could see her quite distinctly no, her fair curls
round her perfect head, her red lips parted, her eyes fixed upon
him with a look which he dared not interpret.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">All around him was the silence and the darkness
of the night, and he was alone with her just as he had been in
this very room five days ago and then again at Rotterdam.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;St. Bavon, you rogue!&quot; he murmured,
&quot;where are you?&nbsp; How dare you leave me in the lurch
like this?&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Then -- how it all happened he could not himself
have told you -- he suddenly found himself at her feet, kneeling
beside the high-backed chair; his arms were round her shoulders
and he could feel the exquisite perfume of her breath upon his
cheek.<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;St. Bavon,&quot; he cried exultingly
to himself, &quot;go away, you rogue! there's no need for your
admonitions now.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">Mynheer Beresteyn tiptoed quietly into the
room. The roguish smile still played around his lips.&nbsp; He
came up close to the high-backed chair and placed his hand upon
his daughter's head.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
Diogenes looked up, and met the kindly eyes of the old man fixed
with calm earnestness upon him.</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Mynheer,&quot; he said, and laughter which contained a world
of happiness as well as of joy danced and sparkled in every line
of his face, &quot;just now I refused one half of your fortune!&nbsp;
But 'tis your greatest treasure I claim from you now.&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1"><BR>
&quot;Nay! you rascal,&quot; rejoined Beresteyn, as he lifted
his daughter's chin gently with one finger and looked into her
deep blue eyes which were brimful of happiness, &quot;methinks
that that treasure is yours already!&quot;</FONT></P>

<P><FONT SIZE="+1">&quot;Go back, good St. Bavon,&quot; cried
the Laughing Cavalier in an ecstasy of joy.&nbsp; &quot;Your heaven
-- you rogue -- is not more perfect than this.&quot;<BR>
</FONT></P>

<P><CENTER><B><FONT SIZE="+1">The End</FONT></B></CENTER></P>

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