He would take his chance; he would go to Leyden.  Had he weighed the matter in the gloom of night, or even in a dull and stormy hour, perhaps—­nay probably—­he would have decided otherwise.  But this morning the sun shone brightly, the wind made a merry music in the reeds; on the rippling surface of the lake the marsh-birds sang, and from the shore came a cheerful lowing of kine.  In such surroundings his fears and superstitions vanished.  He was master of himself, and he knew that all depended upon himself, the rest was dream and nonsense.  Behind him lay the buried gold; before him rose the towers of Leyden, where he could find its key.  A God! that haunting legend of a God of vengeance, in which priests and others affected to believe?  Now that he came to think of it, what rubbish was here, for as any agent of the Inquisition knew well, the vengeance always fell upon those who trusted in this same God; a hundred torture dens, a thousand smoking fires bore witness to the fact.  And if there was a God, why, recognising his personal merits, only this morning He had selected him out of many to live on and be the inheritor of the wealth of Hendrik Brant.  Yes, he would go to Leyden and fight the battle out.

At the entry of the gut the Senor Ramiro landed from his boat.  At first he had thought of killing his companion, so that he might remain the sole survivor of the catastrophe, but on reflection he abandoned this idea, as the man was a faithful creature of his own who might be useful.  So he bade him return to The Hague to tell the story of the destruction of the ship Swallow with the treasure, her attackers and her crew, whoever they might have been.  He was to add, moreover, that so far as he knew the Captain Ramiro had perished also, as he, the steersman, was left alone in charge of the boat when the vessel blew up.  Then he was to come to Leyden, bringing with him certain goods and papers belonging to him, Ramiro.

This plan seemed to have advantages.  No one would continue to hunt for the treasure.  No one except himself and perhaps Black Meg would know that Foy van Goorl and Martin had been on board the Swallow and escaped; indeed as yet he was not quite sure of it himself.  For the rest he could either lie hidden, or if it proved desirable, announce that he still lived.  Even if his messenger should prove faithless and tell the truth, it would not greatly matter, seeing that he knew nothing which could be of service to anybody.

And so the steersman sailed away, while Ramiro, filled with memories, reflections, and hopes, walked quietly through the Morsch Poort into the good city of Leyden.

That evening, but not until dark had fallen, two other travellers entered Leyden, namely, Foy and Martin.  Passing unobserved through the quiet streets, they reached the side door of the house in the Bree Straat.  It was opened by a serving-woman, who told Foy that his mother was in Adrian’s room, also that Adrian was very much better.  So thither, followed more slowly by Martin, went Foy, running upstairs three steps at a time, for had he not a great story to tell!