y blood to
save you one instant's pain?"

"I did not realize," she said more coldly, "that you would give up your
ambition for any woman or for anything."

"You do not believe then, that I love you?"

"Speak not of love, my lord," she retorted, "it is a sacred thing. And
you methinks do not know what love is."

"Indeed you are right, Gilda," he said, "I do not know what is the love
of ordinary men. But if to love you, Gilda, means that every thought,
every hope, every prayer is centred upon you, if it means that neither
sleep nor work, nor danger can for one single instant chase your image
from my soul, if to love you means that my very sinews ache with the
longing to hold you in my arms, and that every moment which keeps me
from your side is torture worse than hell; if love means all that,
Gilda, then do I know to mine own hurt what love is."

"And in your ambition, my lord, you allowed that love to be smothered,"
she retorted calmly. "It is too late now to speak of it again, to any
woman save to Walburg de Marnix."

"I'll speak of it to you, Gilda, while the breath in my body lasts.
Walburg de Marnix is no longer my wife. The law of our country has
already set me free."

"The law of God binds you to her. I pray you speak no more of such
things to me."

"You are hard and cruel, Gilda."

"I no longer love you."

"You will love again," he retorted confidently, "in the meanwhile have I
regained your trust?"

"Not even that, wholly," she replied.

"Let me at least do one thing in my own justification," he pleaded.
"Allow me to prove to you now and at once that--great though my love is
for you, and maddening my desire to have you near me--I could not be
guilty of such an outrage, as I know that in your heart you do accuse me
of."

"I did accuse you of it, my lord, I own. But how can you prove me wrong
now and at once?"

"By bringing before you the only guilty person in this network of
infamy," he replied hotly.

"You know him then?"

"For these three days now I and my faithful servants have tracked him. I
have him here now a prisoner at last. His presence before you will prove
to you that I at least bore no share in the hideous transaction."

"Of whom do you speak, my lord?" she asked.

"Of the man who dared to lay hands upon you in Haarlem...."

"He is here--now?" she exclaimed.

"A helpless prisoner in my hands," he replied, "to-morrow summary
justice shall be meted out to him, and he will rece