“I have thought of that,” answered Adrian.  “Elsa is here.  Come, Elsa, show yourself.”

Then from the stairs Elsa crept into the cellar, a new Elsa, for she, too, had been fed, and in her eyes there shone a light of hope.  A wild jealousy filled Foy’s heart.  Why did she look thus?  But she, she ran to him, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him, and Adrian did nothing, he only turned his head aside.

“Foy,” she gasped, “he is honest after all; he has only been unfortunate.  Come quickly, there is a chance for us; come before that devil returns.  Now he is at a council of the officers settling with Don Frederic who are to be killed, but soon he will be back, and then——­”

So they hesitated no more, but went.

They passed out of the house, none stopping them—­the guard had gone to the sack.  At the gate by the ruined Ravelin there stood a sentry, but the man was careless, or drunken, or bribed, who knows?  At least, Adrian gave him a pass-word, and, nodding his head, he let them by.  A few minutes later they were at the Mere side, and there among some reeds lay the boat.

“Enter and be gone,” said Adrian.

They scrambled into the boat and took the oars, while Martha began to push off.

“Adrian,” said Elsa, “what is to become of you?”

“Why do you trouble about that?” he asked with a bitter laugh.  “I go back to my death, my blood is the price of your freedom.  Well, I owe it to you.”

“Oh! no,” she cried, “come with us.”

“Yes,” echoed Foy, although again that bitter pang of jealousy gripped his heart, “come with us—­brother.”

“Do you really mean it?” Adrian asked, hesitating.  “Think, I might betray you.”

“If so, young man, why did you not do it before?” growled Martin, and stretching out his great, bony arm he gripped him by the collar and dragged him into the boat.

Then they rowed away.

“Where are we going?” asked Martin.

“To Leyden, I suppose,” said Foy, “if we can get there, which, without a sail or weapons, seems unlikely.”

“I have put some arms in the boat,” interrupted Adrian, “the best I could get,” and from a locker he drew out a common heavy axe, a couple of Spanish swords, a knife, a smaller axe, a cross-bow and some bolts.

“Not so bad,” said Martin, rowing with his left hand as he handled the big axe with his right, “but I wish that I had my sword Silence, which that accursed Ramiro took from me and hung about his neck.  I wonder why he troubled himself with the thing?  It is too long for a man of his inches.”

“I don’t know,” said Adrian, “but when last I saw him he was working at its hilt with a chisel, which seemed strange.  He always wanted that sword.  During the siege he offered a large reward to any soldier who could kill you and bring it to him.”

“Working at the hilt with a chisel?” gasped Martin.  “By Heaven, I had forgotten!  The map, the map!  Some wicked villain must have told him that the map of the treasure was there—­that is why he wanted the sword.”