The assassins were, of course, protected from prosecution, and duly recompensed.  Miguel Bosque, the country boy, received one hundred crowns in gold, paid by a clerk of Perez.  Mesa, one of the bravos, was rewarded with a gold chain, fifty doubloons of eight, and a silver cup, besides receiving from the fair hand of Princess Eboli herself a certificate as under-steward upon her estates.  The second bravo, Insausti, who had done the deed, the page Enriquez, and the scullion, were all appointed ensigns in his Majesty’s army, with twenty gold crowns of annual pension besides.  Their commissions were signed by Philip on the 19th of April, 1578.  Such were the wages of murder at that day in Spain; gold chains, silver cups, doubloons, annuities, and commissions in the army!  The reward of fidelity, as in poor Escovedo’s case, was oftener the stiletto.  Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?

With the subsequent career of Antonio Perez—­his famous process, his banishment, his intrigues, his innuendos, his long exile, and his miserable death, this history has no concern.  We return from our brief digression.

Before narrating the issue of the plot against Antwerp citadel, it is necessary to recur for a moment to the Prince of Orange.  In the deeds and the written words of that one man are comprised nearly all the history of the Reformation in the Netherlands—­nearly the whole progress of the infant Republic.  The rest, during this period, is made up of the plottings and counter-plottings, the mutual wranglings and recriminations of Don John and the estates.

In the brief breathing-space now afforded them, the inhabitants of Holland and Zealand had been employing themselves in the extensive repairs of their vast system of dykes.  These barriers, which protected their country against the ocean, but which their own hands had destroyed to preserve themselves against tyranny, were now thoroughly reconstructed, at a great expense, the Prince everywhere encouraging the people with his presence, directing them by his experience, inspiring them with his energy.  The task accomplished was stupendous and worthy, says a contemporary, of eternal memory.

At the popular request, the Prince afterwards made a tour through the little provinces, honoring every city with a brief visit.  The spontaneous homage which went up to him from every heart was pathetic and simple.  There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, no banners, no theatrical pageantry nothing but the choral anthem from thousands of grateful hearts.  “Father William has come!  Father William has come!” cried men, women, and children to each other, when the news of his arrival in town or village was announced.  He was a patriarch visiting his children, not a conqueror, nor a vulgar potentate displaying himself to his admirers.  Happy were they who heard his voice, happier they who touched his hands, for his words were full of tenderness, his