the
unknown.

In vain Jan from his post beside the prisoner shouts, harangues,
appeals, threatens! A fight? yes! defeat? why not? but betrayal!... no,
no, let's away. The Stadtholder is fiercer than any Inquisitor of
Spain ... his cruelty last February almost turned the nation against
him. But now--this second conspiracy--Stoutenburg again! what hope for
his followers?

The horrors of last February perpetrated in the Gevangen Poort of 'S
Graven Hage still cause many a rough cheek to blanch at their
recollection. Men had gone mad who had heard the cries which pierced
those stone walls then. One executioner had thrown down his bloody tools
and fled from the place like one possessed! Van Dyk and Korenwinder,
Slatius and the rest had been in hell ere a merciful death at last
released them from the barbaric cruelty of the Prince of Orange.

"No, no! such a fate cannot be risked. We are betrayed! let us fly!"

Suddenly one man starts to run.

"I am for the coast!" he shouts, and incontinently takes to his heels.

"_Sauve qui peut!_"

Like irresponsible creatures they throw down the very weapons for which
they have been fighting. The one man has given the signal for the run.
Everything now is thrown aside, there is no thought save for flight.

A splashing of the mud, a general shout, a scramble, a clatter--they
run--they run--crying to those who are behind to follow and run too.

In five minutes the dark basement is clear of noise--a litter of broken
arms lies in one heap close by, others are scattered all over the ground
in the mud, together with torn clothing, rags of leather and of cloth
and great red pools that mingle with the melted ice.

The mist surrounds it all, this abandoned battle field wherein fear was
the victor over man. The swiftly flying figures are soon swallowed up by
the grey wall which lies dense and heavy over the lowland around; for a
time they appear like ghosts with blurred outlines of torn doublets and
scraps of felt hats placed awry; then the outline gets more dim as they
run, and the kindly mist hides them from view.

Under the molens all is silent now. Jan and Piet the Red guard the
prisoner alone. The gallows are ready or nearly so, but there is no one
to send to the Lord of Stoutenburg to tell him this--as he hath
commanded--so that he may see this man hang whom he hates. And it would
not be safe to leave the prisoner unguarded. Only from time to time Jan
looks to see that the ropes s