l," said Gilda with perfect sangfroid as she
stood between the man who had so deeply wronged her and the upraised arm
of his deadly enemy, "hatred and fair fight, but not outrage, I pray
you."

Stoutenburg, smothering a curse, threw the weapon away from him: it fell
with a terrific crash upon the wooden floor. Gilda, white and trembling
now after the agonizing excitement of the past awful moment, had sunk
half-swooning back against a chair. Stoutenburg fell on one knee and
humbly raised her gown to his lips.

"Your pardon, Madonna," he whispered, "the sight of your exquisite hands
in contact with that infamous blackguard made me mad. I was almost ready
to cheat the gallows of their prey. I gratefully thank you in that you
saved me from the indignity of staining my hand with a vile creature's
blood."

Quietly and dispassionately Gilda drew her skirts away from him.

"An you have recovered your temper, my lord," she said coldly, "I pray
you ask the prisoner those questions which you desired to put to him. I
am satisfied that he is your enemy, and if he were not bound, pinioned
and wounded he would probably not have need of a woman's hand to protect
him."

Stoutenburg rose to his feet. He was angered with himself for allowing
his hatred and his rage to get the better of his prudence, and tried to
atone for his exhibition of incontinent rage by a great show of dignity
and of reserve.

"I must ask you again, fellow--and for the last time," he said slowly
turning once more to Diogenes, "if you have realized how infamous have
been your insinuations against mine honour, and that of others whom the
jongejuffrouw holds in high regard? Your calumnies have caused her
infinite sorrow more bitter for her to bear than the dastardly crime
which you did commit against her person. Have you realized this, and are
you prepared to make amends for your crime and to mitigate somewhat the
grave punishment which you have deserved by speaking the plain truth
before the jongejuffrouw now?"

"And what plain truth doth the jongejuffrouw desire to hear?" asked
Diogenes with equal calm.

Stoutenburg would have replied, but Gilda broke in quietly:

"Your crime against me, sir, I would readily forgive, had I but the
assurance that no one in whom I trusted, no one whom I loved had a hand
in instigating it."

The ghost of his merry smile--never very distant--spread over the
philosopher's pale face.

"Will you deign to allow me, mejuffrouw,