The instinct of comradeship born in Antwerp is in Guy’s heart, and his right arm knocks up two pikes that lunge at the little ensign, he crying to him: “Surrender to me; surrender to me, fool!” For the little Spaniard, with drawn sword, is striving to do his best for himself. But just at this moment, taking lounge en tierce, the poor little fellow’s legs fly under him and his head goes down with a tremendous crack upon the ice that would stun him were it not for his steel head-piece. “He’s mine!” says Guy, beating back the swords; “He is my prisoner. Surrender, you idiot Busaco!” “I yield,” says De Busaco, sullenly. Then he suddenly smiles and cries: “Mon Dieu! Captain Guido Amati! Yes, I surrender to you. What ransom shall I pay to save my life? You’re not going to kill me, are you?” “No, Busaco, you are safe. Twice you saved my life, and didn’t know it. Now I save yours.” “Yes,” says the other; “that was curious, wasn’t it? Captain Guido Amati! From the flag flying at your masthead you are now called the First of the English?” It is a foolish speech and nearly costs him dear, for the Englishman knows that this recognition, if reported at Spanish headquarters, means no more chance of Guido Amati’s interviews with Alva’s daughter. He says: “Yes, the First of the English, but no ransom from you.” “No ransom,” mutters De Busaco, “I suppose you are going to kill me because I know your secret?” “No! Swear to me by everything upon this earth you will never recognize me as the First of the English, were I to stand in Alva’s own hall before you. There’s five thousand crowns upon my head; but swear you’ll never know me as First of the English, only as Guido Amati.” “I swear it by this cross my mother gave me,” says the little Ensign, putting crucifix to his lips. Then he laughs and adds: “The oath wasn’t necessary. I had known this before.” “When—how long!” “Ever since three weeks ago I met the real Colonel Guido Amati. You’ve been promoted, you know.” “And you never mentioned this, even to Amati himself?” “No—to no living soul!” “Why not?” “Santos! it involved the secret of a lady.” “God bless you,” says Guy, hugging his prisoner to his heart. “It did, perchance, involve the good name, but not the honor, of a lady.” “Oh, every one knows that Doña de Alva is a saint. Funny, she should love you. Curious—” But they have no time to discuss it further. Chester seizes the young man by the hand, drags him over the ice, and to ensure his safety goes with him almost to Amsterdam. In this, Guy almost endangers his own life, for Spanish troops come out to meet them; so he leaves his charge with a squeeze of the hand and a “God bless you. Remember!” “Don’t doubt me. I’ve seen her look at you. I know she loves you, and no one would injure her heart—but look out, my men are coming!” cries De Busaco.