"You would not tell him?" he exclaimed hoarsely.

"Not unless...."

"Unless what?"

"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."

Before he could detain her by word or gesture she had slipped past him
and turned to walk quickly toward the facade 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.

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.

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!

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