are true though some of us believe them not."

"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."

"Your opinion of me, mejuffrouw, is already so low that it matters
little surely if you think me a common thief as well."

"My opinion of you, sir, is based upon your actions."

"And these I own stand in formidable array against me."

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:

"Who is paying you, sir, for this infamy?"

"One apparently who can afford the luxury," he replied airily.

"You will not tell me?"

"Do you think, mejuffrouw, that I could?"

"I may guess."

"It should not be difficult," he assented.

"And you, sir," she continued more vehemently, "are one of the many
tools which the Lord of Stoutenburg doth use to gain his own political
ends."

"The Lord of Stoutenburg?"

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:

"Stoutenburg? Bedonderd!"

"Aye!" she said loftily, "you