“Shame on thee, my son,” said the wail, “who art not ashamed to speak thus of the mother that bore thee.” “Ay,” echoed Dirk, in the stillness that followed, “shame on thee! Once thou wast warned, but now I warn no more.” Then he stepped to the door, opened it, and called, “Martin, come hither.” Presently, still in that heavy silence, which was broken only by the quick breath of Adrian panting like some wild beast in a net, was heard the sound of heavy feet shuffling down the passage. Then Martin entered the room, and stood there gazing about him with his large blue eyes, that were like the eyes of a wondering child. “Your pleasure, master,” he said at length. “Martin Roos,” replied Dirk, waving back Arentz who rose to speak, “take that young man, my stepson, the Heer Adrian, and lead him from my house—without violence if possible. My order is that henceforth you are not to suffer him to set foot within its threshold; see that it is not disobeyed. Go, Adrian, to-morrow your possessions shall be sent to you, and with them such money as shall suffice to start you in the world.” Without comment or any expression of surprise, the huge Martin shuffled forward towards Adrian, his hand outstretched as though to take him by the arm. “What!” exclaimed Adrian, as Martin advanced down the room, “you set your mastiff on me, do you? Then I will show you how a gentleman treats dogs,” and suddenly, a naked dagger shining in his hand, he leaped straight at the Frisian’s throat. So quick and fierce was the onslaught that only one issue to it seemed possible. Elsa gasped and closed her eyes, thinking when she opened them to see that knife plunged to the hilt in Martin’s breast, and Foy sprang forward. Yet in this twinkling of an eye the danger was done with, for by some movement too quick to follow, Martin had dealt his assailant such a blow upon the arm that the poniard, jarred from his grasp, flew flashing across the room to fall in Lysbeth’s lap. Another second and the iron grip had closed upon Adrian’s shoulder, and although he was strong and struggled furiously, yet he could not loose the hold of that single hand. “Please cease fighting, Mynheer Adrian, for it is quite useless,” said Martin to his captive in a voice as calm as though nothing unusual had happened. Then he turned and walked with him towards the door. On the threshold Martin stopped, and looking over his shoulder said, “Master, I think that the Heer is dead, do you still wish me to put him into the street?” They crowded round and stared. It was true, Adrian seemed to be dead; at least his face was like that of a corpse, while from the corner of his mouth blood trickled in a thin stream. CHAPTER XII THE SUMMONS “Wretched man!” said Lysbeth wringing her hands, and with a shudder shaking the dagger from her lap as though it had been a serpent, “you have killed my son.”