from the army,
or were known to be rogues and thieves.

Gilda Beresteyn, who had a soft heart, always kept a few kreutzers in
the palm of her hand ready to give to any of these poor outcasts who
happened to beg for alms along the embankment, but she never liked to
stop here in order to give those other alms, which she knew were oft
more acceptable than money--the alms of kindly words.

To-night, however, she herself felt miserable and lonely and the voice
that came to her out of the darkness of the narrow passage which leads
to the Chapel of St. Pieter was peculiarly plaintive and sweet.

"For the love of Christ, gentle lady," murmured the voice softly.

Gilda stopped, ready with the kreutzers in her hand. But it was very
dark just here and the snow appeared too deep to traverse; she could not
see the melancholy speaker, though she knew of course that it was a
woman.

"Bring the lanthorn a little nearer, Jakob," she said.

"Do not stop, mejuffrouw, to parley with any of these scamps," said
Maria as she clung fearsomely to her mistress's cloak.

"For the love of Christ, gentle lady!" sighed the pitiable voice out of
the darkness again.

Jakob brought the lanthorn nearer.

Some half a dozen steps up the passage a pathetic little figure appeared
to view, the figure of a woman--a mere girl--with ragged shift and bare
legs half buried in the depths of the snow.

Gilda without hesitation went up to her, money in hand, her own feet
sinking in ankle deep into the cold, white carpet below. The girl
retreated as the kind lady advanced, apparently scared by the two men
who had paused one at each corner of the passage holding their lanthorns
well above their heads.

"Don't be frightened, girl," said Gilda Beresteyn gently, "here's a
little money. You look so cold, poor child!"

The next moment a double cry behind her caused her to turn in a trice:
she had only just time to take in the terrifying fact that Piet and
Jakob had dropped their lanthorns to the ground even as thick dark
cloths were thrown over their heads--before she found herself firmly
seized round the waist by a powerful arm whilst some kind of scarf was
wound quickly round her face.

She had not the time to scream, the enveloping scarf smothered her cry
even as it formed in her throat. The last thing of which she was clearly
conscious was of a voice--which strangely enough sounded
familiar--saying hurriedly:

"Here, take thy money, girl, and run hom