“Speak on,” said Foy.

So Adrian began from the beginning, and told them all his tale.  He told them how at the first he had been led astray by superstitions, vanity, and love; how his foolish confidences had been written down by spies; how he had been startled and terrified into signing them with results of which they knew.  Then he told them how he was hunted like a mad dog through the streets of Leyden after his mother had turned him from her door; how he took refuge in the den of Hague Simon, and there had fought with Ramiro and been conquered by the man’s address and his own horror of shedding a father’s blood.  He told them of his admission into the Roman faith, of the dreadful scene in the church when Martha had denounced him, of their flight to the Red Mill.  He told them of the kidnapping of Elsa, and how he had been quite innocent of it although he loved her dearly; of how at last he was driven into marrying her, meaning her no harm, to save her from the grip of Ramiro, and knowing at heart that it was no marriage; of how, when the flood burst upon them, he had been hustled from the mill where, since she could no longer be of service to him and might work him injury, as he discovered afterwards, Ramiro had left Elsa to her fate.  Lastly, in a broken voice, he told them of his life during the long siege which, so he said, was as the life of a damned spirit, and of how, when death thinned the ranks of the Spaniards, he had been made an officer among them, and by the special malice of Ramiro forced to conduct the executions and murders of such Hollanders as they took.

Then at last his chance had come.  Ramiro, thinking that now he could never turn against him, had given him Elsa, and left him with her while he went about his duties and to secure a share of the plunder, meaning to deal with his prisoners on the morrow.  So he, Adrian, a man in authority, had provided the boat and freed them.  That was all he had to say, except to renounce any claim upon her who was called his wife, and to beg their forgiveness.

Foy listened to the end.  Then, dropping his oar for a moment, he put his arm about Adrian’s waist and hugged him, saying in his old cheery voice: 

“I was right after all.  You know, Adrian, I always stood up for you, notwithstanding your temper and queer ways.  No, I never would believe that you were a villain, but neither could I ever have believed that you were quite such an ass.”

To this outspoken estimate of his character, so fallen and crushed was he, his brother had not the spirit to reply.  He could merely tug at his oar and groan, while the tears of shame and repentance ran down his pale and handsome face.

“Never mind, old fellow,” said Foy consolingly.  “It all went wrong, thanks to you, and thanks to you I believe that it will all come right again.  So we will cry quits and forget the rest.”

Poor Adrian glanced up at Foy and at Elsa sitting on the thwart of the boat by his side.