head away.

Stoutenburg then pointed to Diogenes.

"Here is your prisoner," he said to Jan, "take him back to the place
from whence you brought him. Guard him well, Jan, for to-morrow he must
hang and remember that your life shall pay for his if he escapes."

Jan thereupon gave a brief word of command, the men ranged themselves
around the prisoner, whose massive figure was thus completely hidden
from Gilda's view; only--towering above the heads of the soldiers--the
wide sweep of the brow caught a glimmer of light from the flickering
lamp overhead.

Soon the order was given. The small knot of men turned and slowly filed
out. The Lord of Stoutenburg was the last to leave. He bowed nearly to
the ground when he finally left Gilda's presence.

And she remained alone, sitting by the fire, and staring into the
smouldering ashes. She had heard news to-night that flooded her soul
with happiness. Her brother whom she loved was innocent of crime, and
God Himself had interfered. He had touched the heart of the Lord of
Stoutenburg and stopped the infamous plot against the Stadtholder's
life. Yet Gilda's heart was unaccountably heavy, and as she sat on,
staring into the fire, heavy tears fell unheeded from her eyes.

CHAPTER XXXVI

BROTHER PHILOSOPHERS

And now for the clang of arms, the movement, the bustle, the excitement
of combat! There are swords to polish, pistols to clean, cullivers to
see to! Something is in the air! We have not been brought hither all the
way to this God-forsaken and fog-ridden spot in order to stare on a
tumble-down molens, or watch a solitary prisoner ere he hang.

Jan knows of course, and Jan is eager and alert, febrile in his
movements, there is a glow in his hollow eyes. And Jan always looks like
that when fighting is in the air, when he sniffs the scent of blood and
hears the resonance of metal against metal. Jan knows of course. He has
no thought of sleep, all night he wanders up and down the improvised
camp. No fires allowed and it is pitch dark, but an occasional glimmer
from a lanthorn lights up compact groups of men lying prone upon the
frozen ground, wrapped in thick coats, or huddled up with knees to chin
trying to keep warm.

A few lanthorns are allowed, far into the interior of that weird forest
of beams under the molens where slender protection against a bitter
north-westerly wind can alone be found.

Shoulder to shoulder, getting warmth one from the other, we are all