"For the love of Christ, gentle lady," murmured the voice softly.
Gilda stopped, ready with the kreutzers in her hand. But it was very dark just here and the snow appeared too deep to traverse; she could not see the melancholy speaker, though she knew of course that it was a woman.
"Bring the lanthorn a little nearer, Jakob," she said.
"Do not stop, mejuffrouw, to parley with any of these scamps," said Maria as she clung fearsomely to her mistress's cloak.
"For the love of Christ, gentle lady!" sighed the pitiable voice out of the darkness again.
Jakob brought the lanthorn nearer.
Some half a dozen steps up the passage a pathetic little figure appeared to view, the figure of a woman—a mere girl—with ragged shift and bare legs half buried in the depths of the snow.
Gilda without hesitation went up to her, money in hand, her own feet sinking in ankle deep into the cold, white carpet below. The girl retreated as the kind lady advanced, apparently scared by the two men who had paused one at each corner of the passage holding their lanthorns well above their heads.
"Don't be frightened, girl," said Gilda Beresteyn gently, "here's a little money. You look so cold, poor child!"
The next moment a double cry behind her caused her to turn in a trice: she had only just time to take in the terrifying fact that Piet and Jakob had dropped their lanthorns to the ground even as thick dark cloths were thrown over their heads—before she found herself firmly seized round the waist by a powerful arm whilst some kind of scarf was wound quickly round her face.