Solitary as she was--for Maria and her eternal grumblings were poor company--she fell to thinking again over the future, as she had done not only last night but through the past few interminable days; it almost seemed as if she had never, never thought of anything else, as if those same few days stretched out far away behind her into dim and nebulous infinity. During those days she had alternately hoped and feared and been disappointed only to hope again: but the disappointment of last night was undoubtedly the most bitter that she had yet experienced. So bitter had it been that for a time--after its intense poignancy had gone--her faculties and power of thinking had become numbed, and now--very gradually, unknown at first even to herself, hope shook itself free from the grip of disappointment and peeped up at her out of the abyss of her despair. Did that unscrupulous knave really have the last word in the matter? had his caprice the power to order the destiny of this land and the welfare of its faith? Bah! the very thought was monstrous and impossible. Was the life of the Prince of Orange to be sacrificed because a rascal would not help her to give him that word of warning which might save him even now at the eleventh hour? 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.