were happy days thereafter in Breuthe town, when we walked together on the walls, in the burgomaster's garden, sometimes as far as I dared go into the country. And yet 'twas alloyed for me—oh yes, young mistress, I see your pretty face frown; and indeed, lad, I have blood in my veins like you—I say 'twas alloyed for me with the thought of Alkmaar. I hate to fail; and worst of all I hate to fail by my own fault. But for my own folly it would have been a man with less to regret who won Gabrielle's love. She would not suffer me to speak of it, laughed at it for pride, and that was some comfort; but the knowledge that Alva's three thousand might have been crushed still lay in my mind and rankled. I have heard Gaspar—he was a man of learning before he took to the sword and the saddle—I have heard Gaspar talk of an old Greek who said that the worst of woes was to see things wrong and have no power to right them. He was a wise man; but I think it cuts deeper to know you might have righted them when you have thrown the chance away.
Well, the days went by and we had little news from Alkmaar. It held out still, there was comfort in that, but Alva loved the waiting game, and that could only have one end. The lines round Breuthe we had broken, but who would dare to lead such a force as we could bring against the sixteen thousand Spaniards who lay before Alkmaar? The Prince went back to Delft to meet Diedrich Sonoy, Governor of North Holland, and left the secretary Cornput in St. Treod's place at Breuthe.
It was towards the middle of September—oh, I have cause to remember the time!—there came to the gates of Breuthe a swarthy, lean fellow, wearing a dress not unlike that of Alva's men. He dismounted and walked coolly, leading his horse, to the burghers who were on guard.
"Is a man called Newstead in the town?" he asked in bad Flemish.
"What have you to do with him?" said they.
"And what is that to you?" quoth he.
"Where did you learn your manners?" cried one.
"Faith, not in Breuthe," cried he.
"Perhaps it was in Spain?"
"Perhaps it was," cries my gentleman.
"What?" howled the burghers at once, laying hold of him.
"Nay, then, do my errand yourselves," he said coolly, twisting out of their grasp and flinging a bag at their feet. The fools looked to the bag instead of him, and he sprang to his horse and was gone.
Those wise burghers looked at one another, and:
"This must to the Governor," they said; so they brought the bag to that great man Jan van Cornput.
As Gaspar and I sat in the burgomaster's house that evening talking of Alkmaar—we always were talking of Alkmaar in those days—a message came for Gaspar bidding him go to the Governor at once.
"Plague on the man," grunted Gaspar; "why must St. Trond give up his place? St. Trond was a fool, but he let a man be, while this fool—umph!" and the sentence died away in a throaty German oath. Later still two men came to summon me, and as I went out I met Vermeil, for we were all living with the burgomaster.
"Ah! guard of honour, captain?" said he with a smile.
Now, I knew nothing of the bag that had come to the gate, and I was somewhat startled to find Jan van Cornput with the burgomaster and Gaspar and two of the town's aldermen in solemn conclave. Gaspar would not look at me, but Cornput gave me a sneering smile, and then close on my heels St. Trond entered.
"Why am I summoned?" he asked.
"To try our worthy friend here," quoth Cornput.
"To try me?" I cried, and Cornput smiled again.
St. Trond drew himself up in a stately fashion.
"I have sat in judgment on Master Newstead more than once," said he, "and each time my judgment was wrong."
"There will be little chance of mistake now," quoth Cornput.
"Have you judged me already?" I asked quietly.
"I have found him a true man and a good soldier," said St. Trond, "and I warn you. The evidence should be weighty on which you condemn him. I will be no judge of his."
"Ah! well, we will judge of the evidence, then, even without the aid of the Seigneur de St. Trond. You may go," quoth Cornput, and waved his hand.
St. Trond turned to go, but at the door he paused:
"And I bid you remember, Jan van Cornput, there is a higher judge than you," he said solemnly.
"Even more than one," I murmured; and Cornput frowned, and his little eyes twinkled maliciously.
"Perhaps I shall serve your turn," he said. "Here is our evidence—not very light after all."
He began to read from a paper in his hand, a strange composition in Spanish.