No! Gilda Beresteyn refused to believe that God—who had helped the armies of the Netherlands throughout their struggle against the might of Spain—would allow a rogue to have so much power. After all, she was not going to be shut up in prison! she was going to the house of ordinary, respectable burghers; true, they were of alien and of despised faith, but they were well-to-do, had a family, serving women and men.
Surely among these there would be one who—amenable to cajoleries or to promises—would prove to be the instrument sent by God to save the Stadtholder from an assassin's dagger!
Gilda Beresteyn, wrapped in this new train of thought, lost count of time, of distance and of cold: she lived during one whole hour in the happiness of this newly-risen hope, making plans, conjecturing, rehearsing over in her mind what she would say, how she would probe the loyalty, the kindness of those who would be around her to-night.
Delft was so near! and after all even Maria might be bribed to forget her fears and her grievances and to become that priceless instrument of salvation of which Gilda dreamed as the sledge flew swiftly along through the night.
It was Maria who roused her suddenly out of these happy fancies. Maria who said plaintively:
"Shall we never get to that verdommte house. The Jew said that it was only situate half a league from Rotterdam."
"We must be close to it," murmured Gilda.
"Close to it!" retorted Maria, "we seem to be burning the ground under the horses' hoofs—we have left Rotterdam behind us this hour past.... It is the longest half league that I have ever known."
"Peep out under the hood, Maria. Cannot you see where we are?"
Maria peeped out as she was bid.