a obeyed him mechanically. First she closed the window; then she
went to the door listening against the panel with all her senses on the
alert. 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. 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.

"Is Nicolaes home?" asked Stoutenburg, suddenly.

"Not just now," she replied, "but he, too, will be home anon.... My
father is at home...."

"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."

"You must not count on Nicolaes either, my lord," she pleaded, "nor must
you stay here a moment longer ... I heard my father's step in the
passage already. He is sure to come and bid me good-night before he goes
to bed...."

"I am spent, Gilda," he murmured, and indeed his breath came in such
feeble gasps that he could scarce speak. "I have not touched food for
two days. 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. I had gained the good will of an important official in
the prison, but Groeneveld is too much of a coward to make a fight for
freedom. Then I was recognized by a group of workmen outside my dead
father's house. I read recognition in their eyes--knowledge of me and
knowledge of the money which that recognition might mean to them. 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. 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. 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. You would not sell me, Gilda, for you are
rich, and you loved me once," he added hoarsely, while his thin, grimy
hands clutched the arms of the chair and