e room and
whispering suggestions of mischief to be wrought, of a crime to be
easily committed.

"While that man lives," whispered the demon of hate in his ear, "thou
wilt not know a moment's rest. To-morrow when thy hand should be steady
when it wields the dagger against the Stadtholder, it will tremble and
falter, for thoughts of that man will unsettle thy nerves and cause the
blood to tingle in thy veins."

"While that man lives," whispered the demon of revenge, "thou wilt not
know a moment's rest. Thou wilt think of him and of his death, rather
than of thy vengeance against the Stadtholder."

"While that man lives," whispered the demon of jealousy more insistently
than did the other evil spirits, "Gilda will not cease to think of him,
she will plead for him, she will try mayhap to save him and then----"

And the Lord of Stoutenburg groaned aloud in the silence of the night,
and paused in his restless walk. He drew a chair close to the table, and
sat down; then resting his elbows upon the table, he buried his head in
his hands, and remained thus motionless but breathing heavily like one
whose soul is fighting a losing battle.

The minutes sped on. He had no means of gauging the time. It was just
night, black impenetrable night. From down below came the murmur of all
the bustle that was going on, the clang of arms, the measured footsteps
which told of other alert human creatures who were waiting in
excitement and tense expectancy for that dawn which still was far
distant.

The minutes sped on, on the leaden feet of time. How long the Lord of
Stoutenburg had sat thus, silent and absorbed, he could not afterwards
have said. Perhaps after all he had fallen asleep, overcome with fatigue
and with the constant sleeplessness of the past few days. But anon he
was wide awake, slightly shivering with the cold. The tallow candle was
spluttering, almost dying out. With a steady hand the Lord of
Stoutenburg snuffed the smouldering wick, the candle flickered up again.
Then he rose and quietly walked across the room. He pulled open the door
and loudly called for Jan.

A few minutes later Jan was at the door, silent, sullen, obedient as
usual.

"My lord called?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Stoutenburg, "what hour is it?"

"Somewhere near six I should say, my lord. I heard the tower-clock at
Ryswyk strike five some time ago."

"How long is it before the dawn?"

"Two hours, my lord."

"Time to put up a gibbet, Jan? and