“Son,” went on Ramiro, “be wise and hold your hand before you do that for which all hell itself would cry shame upon you.  You think that I have been your enemy, but it is not so; all this while I have striven to work you good, but how can I talk lying thus like a calf before its butcher?  Take the swords, both of them, and let me sit up, and I will tell you all my plans for the advantage of us both.  Or if you wish it, thrust on and make an end.  I will not plead for my life with you; it is not worthy of an hidalgo of Spain.  Moreover, what is life to me who have known so many sorrows that I should seek to cling to it?  Oh!  God, who seest all, receive my soul, and I pray Thee pardon this youth his horrible crime, for he is mad and foolish, and will live to sorrow for the deed.”

Since it was no further use to him, Ramiro had let the sword fall from his hand.  Drawing it towards him with the point of his own weapon, Adrian stooped and picked it up.

“Rise,” he said, lifting his foot, “I can kill you afterwards if I wish.”

Could he have looked into the heart of his new-found parent as stiff and aching he staggered to his feet, the execution would not have been long delayed.

“Oh! my young friend, you have given me a nasty fright,” thought Ramiro to himself, “but it is over now, and if I don’t pay you out before I have done with you, my sweet boy, your name is not Adrian.”

Ramiro rose, dusted his garments, seated himself deliberately, and began to talk with great earnestness.  It will be sufficient to summarise his arguments.  First of all, with the most convincing sincerity, he explained that when he had made use of him, Adrian, he had no idea that he was his son.  Of course this was a statement that will not bear a moment’s examination, but Ramiro’s object was to gain time, and Adrian let it pass.  Then he explained that it was only after his mother had, not by his wish, but accidentally, seen the written evidence upon which her husband was convicted, that he found out that Adrian van Goorl was her child and his own.  However, as he hurried to point out, all these things were now ancient history that had no bearing on the present.  Owing to the turbulent violence of the mob, which had driven him from his post and fortress, he, Ramiro, was in temporary difficulties, and owing to other circumstances, he, Adrian, was, so far as his own party and people were concerned, an absolutely dishonoured person.  In this state of affairs he had a suggestion to make.  Let them join forces; let the natural relationship that existed between them, and which had been so nearly severed by a sword thrust that both must have regretted, become real and tender.  He, the father, had rank, although it suited him to sink it; he had wide experience, friends, intelligence, and the prospect of enormous wealth, which, of course, he could not expect to enjoy for ever.  On the other side, he, the son, had youth, great beauty of person, agreeable and distinguished manners, a high heart, the education of a young man of the world, ambition and powers of mind that would carry him far, and for the immediate future an object to gain, the affection of a lady whom all acknowledged to be as good as she was charming, and as charming as she was personally attractive.