They both speak this same word at once, and each one’s lips prevent the other’s uttering more. It is their last lingering, torturing, farewell embrace. Then, with the decision of the man of war and the man of affairs, Chester throws open the door and Niklaas enters, followed by Juffrouw Wilhelmina, who is in piteous plight and dressed hastily as daughter of a middle-class burgher, with none of her old-time finery about her. There are traces of tears upon her cheeks that have grown very pale, but her eyes flash with nervous terror and excitement that give a strange, pathetic beauty to her face. “Hurry! there’s a carriage at the door for you,” mutters the Burgomaster. “I’ve sent what little luggage could be gathered up in haste to the vessel. A maid servant goes with you.” But this is broken in upon by Mina. She strides up to Hermoine de Alva, who is gazing at her sadly, and mutters brokenly: “Tell me of him!” “Him—whom?” “My Oliver. Is he safe?” “For the present, yes.” “Thank God!” “Yes, the traitor Oliver fled from Brussels late last night. This morning word was brought us that with eight men he had captured Mons.” “Eight men! Ah! That was a gallant deed. Eight men capture a garrison. But Louis of Nassau is doubtless hurrying in his men-at-arms from France into the city. Your hero is safe now, little Mina!” cries Guy, forgetting his rôle of Spanish officer, in enthusiasm for his friend’s valor and glory. “Yes, he’s safe, for the present,” murmurs Hermoine. “He is a gallant man and a great painter. I will look after his altar piece. But, oh misericordia!” she puts her eyes up to heaven and says piteously: “I pray God my father may never capture him alive.” Then turning to Mina she says very solemnly: “If you ever have word with your lover again, pray him as he fears the pangs of Hades, not to be captured alive! It is a pity so gallant a spirit ate my father’s bread and yet betrayed him. Still, Major Guido Amati, I charge you, by your word of honor as a gentleman, to save this poor girl from my father’s wrath.” “Quick, put her in the carriage,” mutters Guy to Bodé Volcker. And the Burgomaster, taking his daughter out, Hermoine de Alva whispers: “See, I have faith in you. How little I believe that you are libertine and roué. This girl is beautiful. I have placed her in your hands, for I believe in you as maiden did in knight of old.” “By Saint George and the Dragon! you may trust me.” Then Chester, bending his knee, puts his lips upon the lips held up to him, for he hears Bodé Volcker’s crying: “Haste!” Passing out, the last look that Chester receives from the beautiful eyes of the lady of his heart is one of ineffable trust, and he knows that through good report and evil report Hermoine de Alva will believe in Major Guido Amati de Medina, of Romero’s foot, as her knight and champion.