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by me, I will smite the Stadtholder with mine own hand."

      This time he had raised his voice, just enough to wake the echo that slept in the deserted edifice.

      "Hush!" whispered one of his friends, "Hush! for God's sake!"

      "Bah! the church is empty," retorted Stoutenburg, "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!"

      "Silence in the name of God!"

      More than one muffled voice had uttered the warning and Beresteyn's hand fell heavily on Stoutenburg's arm.

      "Hush, I say!" he whispered hoarsely, "there's something moving there in the darkness."

      "A rat mayhap!" quoth Stoutenburg lightly.

      "No, no … listen! … some one moves … some one has been there … all along. … "

      "A spy!" murmured the others under their breath.

      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.

      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.

      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.

      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.

      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.

      How slow the darkness was in yielding up its secret!

      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.

      "A ghost!" whispered one of the young men hoarsely.

      "No. A woman," said another, and the words came like a hissing sound through his teeth.

      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.

      "Gilda!" murmured Stoutenburg at last.

      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.

      Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn, no spy of course, just a chance eavesdropper! but possessed nevertheless now of a secret which meant death to them all!

      "How much did she hear think you?" asked Stoutenburg at last.

      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.

      "She cannot have heard much," said one of the others, "we spoke in whispers."

      "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," suggested another.

      "If she did not hear the verger speaking she could not have heard what we said," argued a third somewhat lamely.

      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.

      Stoutenburg now appealed directly to him.

      "What do you think of it, Beresteyn?" he asked.

      "I think that my sister did hear something of our conversation," he answered quietly.

      "Great God!" ejaculated the others.

      "But," added Beresteyn slowly, "I pledge you mine oath that she will not betray us."

      "How will you make sure of that?" retorted Stoutenburg, not without a sneer.

      "That is mine affair."

      "And ours too. We can do nothing, decide on nothing until we are sure."

      "Then I pray you wait for me here," concluded Beresteyn. "I will bring you a surety before we part this night."

      "Let me go and speak to her," urged Stoutenburg.

      "No, no, 'tis best that I should go."

      Stoutenburg made a movement as if he would detain him, then seemed to think better of it, and finally let him go.

      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.

      CHAPTER V BROTHER AND SISTER

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      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.

      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.

      "'Tis late for you to be out this night, Gilda," he said, "and alone."

      "I am only alone for the moment," she replied quietly. "Maria and Jakob and Piet are waiting for me at the north door. I did not know it would be closed."

      "But why are you so late?"

      "I stayed in church after the service."

      "But why?" he insisted more impatiently.

      "I could not pray during service," she said. "My thoughts wandered. I wanted to be alone for a few moments with God."

      "Did you not know then that you were not alone?"

      "No. Not at first."

      "But … afterwards … ?"

      "Your voice, Nicolaes, struck on my ear. I did not want to hear. I wanted to pray."

      "Yet you listened?"

      "No. I did not wish to listen."

      "But you heard?"

      She gave no actual reply, but he could see her profile straight and white, the curved lips

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