"Faith!" he retorted, "and dost thou speak to me of faith? Did not a council of our church, more than two hundred years ago, declare that _no faith should be kept with heretics_?" A cloud came over the faces of the Counts of Carlstein and Kœningheim. "Generalissimo," said the former, "what is this you would do? Assassinate a poor soldier because he will not betray his comrades? What! is the cause of the Empire and of Catholicism fallen so low, that we must become bravoes and murderers?" "Darest thou to dictate?" cried the little man grasping his baton tighter, while a dark gleam shot from his fiery eyes; "dost think that I who have never shown mercy to the Flemish and German followers of Luther and Calvin, will mince matters with this Presbyterian spawn of their worthy colleague, Knox? No--nor will I now, so help me God; and, by my part of paradise! may the boom of our cannon sound every where as the funeral knell of those accursed Protestants--this unshriven spawn of Scotland, of Denmark, and the devil. They are your countrymen, count--true, but remember that on the brows and on the banner of your nation are written the curse of heresy, and the crime of sacred blood--the blood of a cardinal-priest, and that blood is yet unrevenged!" "Lord hae a care o' us! what a deevil o' a body--what a bull o' Bashan!" muttered Dandy, as Tilly spurted out his fury in crackjaw German, though he usually swore in Spanish. "Will this fellow obey my orders, if _you_ will not?" he asked, with increasing wrath. "He treats your offer with the scorn that it merits," said I. "Maldicion de Dios! then stab him to the heart, Bandolo!" cried the merciless Tilly. The unfortunate Dreghorn seemed to comprehend this terrible order; for, as the unscrupulous rascal raised his poniard, Dandy wrung my hand, and then in the old Scottish fashion mantled his head in his plaid, even as Caesar veiled his in his toga, to hide the death-stroke and its agony. At that moment poor Dandy Dreghorn, the humble ploughman--the private soldier--was sublime! He was the grandest figure amid that stately group; but I caught the descending arm of Bandolo with one hand, and dashed him to the earth with the other. "Do yer warst, ye dour auld walydraigel!" cried Dandy, shaking his fettered hands in Tilly's startled face; "I maun een dree my weird, syne ye gar me thole't!" "Lead them both forward to the bridge," said Tilly, who was literally choking with passion. "To thee, Bandolo, I entrust them; six Croats will follow you; blow out their brains, if they refuse to _reply_ that _friends_ are approaching. The report of your pistols will be the signal for crossing and making a general assault. The regiments of Camargo and Merodé will lead the van; for, as Wallenstein says, God always helps the strongest brigade--forward!"