Since Foy was gone upon his mission, Adrian had been treated with the consideration which he felt to be his due.  Even his stepfather had taken the opportunity to mumble some words of regret for what had happened, and to express a hope that nothing more would be said about the matter, while his mother was sympathetic and Elsa most charming and attentive.  Now, as he knew well, all this would be changed.  Foy, the exuberant, unrefined, plain-spoken, nerve-shaking Foy, would become the centre of attention, and overwhelm them with long stories of very dull exploits, while Martin, that brutal bull of a man who was only fit to draw a cart, would stand behind and play the part of chorus, saying “Ja” and “Neen” at proper intervals.  Well, he supposed that he must put up with it, but oh! what a weariness it was.

Another minute, and Foy was wringing him by the hand, saying in his loud voice, “How are you, old fellow?  You look as well as possible, what are you lying in this bed for and being fed with pap by the women?”

“For the love of Heaven, Foy,” interrupted Adrian, “stop crushing my fingers and shaking me as though I were a rat.  You mean it kindly, I know, but—­” and Adrian dropped back upon the pillow, coughed and looked hectic and interesting.

Then both the women fell upon Foy, upbraiding him for his roughness, begging him to remember that if he were not careful he might kill his brother, whose arteries were understood to be in a most precarious condition, till the poor man covered his ears with his hands and waited till he saw their lips stop moving.

“I apologise,” he said.  “I won’t touch him, I won’t speak loud near him.  Adrian, do you hear?”

“Who could help it?” moaned the prostrate Adrian.

“Cousin Foy,” interrupted Elsa, clasping her hands and looking up into his face with her big brown eyes, “forgive me, but I can wait no longer.  Tell me, did you see or hear anything of my father yonder at The Hague?”

“Yes, cousin, I saw him,” answered Foy presently.

“And how was he—­oh! and all the rest of them?”

“He was well.”

“And free and in no danger?”

“And free, but I cannot say in no danger.  We are all of us in danger nowadays, cousin,” replied Foy in the same quiet voice.

“Oh! thank God for that,” said Elsa.

“Little enough to thank God for,” muttered Martin, who had entered the room and was standing behind Foy looking like a giant at a show.  Elsa had turned her face away, so Foy struck backwards with all his force, hitting Martin in the pit of the stomach with the point of his elbow.  Martin doubled himself up, recoiled a step and took the hint.

“Well, son, what news?” said Dirk, speaking for the first time.

“News!” answered Foy, escaping joyfully from this treacherous ground.  “Oh! lots of it.  Look here,” and plunging his hands into his pockets he produced first the half of the broken dagger and secondly a long skinny finger of unwholesome hue with a gold ring on it.