"With your permission I will explain," rejoined the other. "I propose that anon in the early morning a certain number of you seek out the Duke of Alva in Het Spanjaard’s Kasteel and tell him that the Prince of Orange--aided by his humble watchdog--did succeed in evading once again the trap which had been set for him; but," he continued with slow and deliberate emphasis, "that you are prepared to deliver into his hands the person of the man Leatherface, since you happen to know his whereabouts in the city." For a moment he could not continue, loud and vehement protestations against this monstrous proposal arose from every side. "I entreat you, seigniors, to remember," he continued with deep earnestness as soon as the tumult had subsided, "that a certain amount of mystery hath hung--not through mine own seeking, believe me--around my person. Next to our Prince himself, there are few in this unfortunate country whose death would be more welcome to our Spanish tyrants than that of the miscreant Leatherface; and my belief is that if you offered to give him up to the Lieutenant-Governor you might obtain from that cruel despot a small measure of mercy for our city." He had long since finished speaking, but now there were no longer any protestations or murmurs; an awesome silence hung about the vaulted room. No one had stirred; no one spoke; not one man dared to look his neighbour in the face. Every man stared straight before him at that slim figure, which suddenly appeared to them all, to be unearthly as it stood there, beneath the canopy, like the very personification of simple self-sacrifice, offering up his life so willingly, and above all, so cheerfully to save his fellow-men. In these days of cruel oppression and of sublime virtues, such an act of abnegation was probably not rare; men were accustomed to suffer death and worse for an ideal, and for the sake of others who were weaker than themselves; but there was something so engaging, so light-hearted in that stranger there that every man who heard him felt that by sacrificing such a man he would be sending a brother, a son, or dear friend to the gallows. "Well, seigniors," said Leatherface, "I still await your decision." "You speak glibly, friend," murmured the Procurator-General sombrely, "but if the tyrant hath you in his power, it will not only mean death for you, remember, it will not mean the axe or the gallows, it will mean the torture-chamber of the Inquisition first and the stake afterwards."