had upon his person even now. He and Heemskerk had
themselves collected them in the weighing-room of the molens after Lucas
of Sparendam had brought his terrible news.

"Then--why not?"

He rose briskly from his chair. The outer door of the hut was locked--he
crossed to the inner door. That was just on the latch and he threw it
open. Before him now was the broken window frame through which peeped
the dull grey light of this misty winter's morning. Out in the open
through the filmy veil of the fog he could see the final phases of an
unequal fight. Stoutenburg and Heemskerk were both disarmed and Jan had
just appeared upon the scene. More far-seeing than were the Lord of
Stoutenburg and Mynheer Heemskerk, he had very quickly realized that
sword in hand no one was a match for this foreigner and his invincible
blade. When the fighting was transferred from the doorway of the hut to
the open road-way in the rear, he had at first followed in the wake of
his chief, then he had doubled back, swiftly running to the molens, and
in the basement from out the scattered litter of arms hastily thrown
down, he had quickly picked up a couple of pistols, found some
ammunition, quietly loaded the weapons and with them in his hand started
to run back to the hut.

All this had taken some few minutes while Pythagoras had borne the brunt
of a vigorous attack from the Lord of Stoutenburg and Mynheer Heemskerk,
whilst Diogenes parleyed with Beresteyn inside the hut.

Beresteyn saw the whole picture before him. He had thrown open the door,
and looked through the broken window at the precise moment when the Lord
of Stoutenburg's sword flew out of his hand. Then it was that Jan came
running along, shouting to my lord. Stoutenburg turned quickly, saw his
faithful lieutenant and caught sight of the pistols which he held. The
next second he had snatched one out of Jan's hand, and the pale ray of a
wintry sun penetrating through the mist found its reflection in a couple
of steel barrels pointed straight at a laughing philosopher.

Beresteyn from within felt indeed as if his heart stood still for that
one brief, palpitating second. Was Fate after all taking the decision
for the future--Gilda's and his--out of his hands into her own? Would a
bullet end that vigorous life and still that merry laugh and that biting
tongue for ever, and leave Nicolaes to be swayed once more by the dark
schemes and arbitrary will of his friend Stoutenburg?

Fate was r