the feeling had come
back to him that the white figure before him was only a vision--or
mayhap a dream--from which, however, he hoped not to awaken too soon.

"At your command, mejuffrouw," was all that he said, and he remained
standing quite close to the door, with half the width of the room
between himself and her.

But to himself he murmured under his breath:

"St. Bavon and the Holy Virgin, do ye both stand by me now!"

"I do not know, sir," she began after awhile, "if my coming here at this
hour doth greatly surprise you, but in truth the matter which brings me
is so grave that I cannot give a thought to your feelings or to mine
own."

"And mine, mejuffrouw, are of such little consequence," he said
good-humouredly seeing that she appeared to wait for a reply, "that it
were a pity you should waste precious time in considering them."

"Nor have I come to talk of feelings, sir. My purpose is of deadly
earnestness. I have come to propose a bargain for your acceptance."

"A bargain?"

"Yes. A bargain," she reiterated. "One I hope and think that you will
find it worth while to accept."

"Then may I crave the honour of hearing the nature of that bargain,
mejuffrouw?" he asked pleasantly.

She did not give him an immediate reply but remained quite still and
silent for a minute or even two, looking with wide-open inquiring eyes
on the tall figure of the man who had--to her mind--done her such an
infinite wrong. She noted and acknowledged quite dispassionately the air
of splendour which became him so well--splendour of physique, of youth
and of strength, and those laughing eyes that questioned and that
mocked, the lips that always smiled and the straight brow with its noble
sweep which hid the true secret of his personality. And once again--as
on that evening at Leyden--she fell almost to hating him, angered that
such a man should be nothing better than a knave, a mercenary rogue paid
to lend a hand in unavowable deeds.

He stood her scrutiny as best he could, answering her look of haughty
condescension with one of humble deference; but the smile of gentle
irony never left his lips and tempered the humility of his attitude.

"You have owned to me, sir," resumed Gilda Beresteyn at last, "that you
have been paid for the infamous work which you are doing now; for laying
hands on me in the streets of Haarlem and for keeping me a prisoner at
the good will of your employer. To own to such a trade, sir, is to admit