der 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.

No! it was her helplessness 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.

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, that 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.

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.

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:

"Where will you put up at Leyden?"

"At the 'White Goat.' I know the landlord well."

"Will he be awake at so late an hour?"

"I will ride ahead and rouse his household. They shall be prepared for
our coming."

"But...."

"You seem to forget, sir," came in somewhat louder tones, "that all the
arrangements for this journey were to be left entirely to my
discretion."

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-humoured irony.

Agai