was unworthy, and that Gilda's compassion was only the same that
she would have extended to any dog that had been hurt.

Even now--reason still argued--was it not natural that she should plead
for the villain just as any tender-natured woman would plead even for a
thief. Women hate the thought of violent death, only an amazon would
desire to mete out death to any enemy: Gilda was warm-hearted,
impulsive, the ugly word "gallows" grated no doubt unpleasantly on her
ear. But even so, and despite the dictates of reason, Stoutenburg's
jealousy and hatred were up in arms the moment she turned pleading eyes
upon him.

"My lord," she said gently, "I pray you to remember that by this open
confession this ... this gentleman has caused me infinite happiness. I
cannot tell you what misery my own suspicions have caused me these past
two days. They were harder to bear than any humiliation or sorrow which
I had to endure."

"This varlet's lies confirmed you in your suspicions, Gilda," retorted
Stoutenburg roughly, "and his confession--practically at the foot of the
gallows--is but a tardy one."

"Do not speak so cruelly, my lord," she pleaded, "you say that ... that
you have some regard for me ... let not therefore my prayer fall
unheeded on your ear...."

"Your prayer, Gilda?"

"My prayer that you deal nobly with an enemy, whose wrongs to me I am
ready to forgive...."

"By St. Bavon, mejuffrouw," here interposed the prisoner firmly, "an
mine ears do not deceive me you are even now pleading for my life with
the Lord of Stoutenburg."

"Indeed, sir, I do plead for it with my whole heart," she said
earnestly.

"Ye gods!" he exclaimed, "and ye do not interfere!"

"My lord!" urged Gilda gently, "for my sake...."

Her words, her look, the tears that despite her will had struggled to
her eyes, scattered to the winds Stoutenburg's reasoning powers. He felt
now that nothing while this man lived would ever still that newly-risen
passion of jealousy. He longed for and desired this man's death more
even than that of the Prince of Orange. His honour had been luckily
white-washed before Gilda by this very man whom he hated. He had a
feeling that within the last half-hour he had made enormous strides in
her regard. Already he persuaded himself that she was looking on him
more kindly, as if remorse at her unjust suspicions of him had touched
her soul on his behalf.

Everything now would depend on how best he could seem noble and ge