“By the by,” says Guy, “speaking of Spaniards, have you heard anything of our friend, Major Guido Amati?”
“Colonel Guido Amati.”
“The deuce you say—promoted?” [[171]]
“Yes. You’re a step nearer the Viceroy’s daughter,” laughs Antony. “Haven’t you heard? When Mondragon a month ago raised the siege of Tergoes, Major Guido Amati, heading the Spanish infantry, marched at night across the flooded Drowned Lands of South Beveland, where one step from the path meant drowning, where one hour’s delay in making that four hours’ crossing meant death by the rising tide, and so came in the darkness to rise in front of ’t Zeraert’s soldiers as if by magic in the morning, crossing a place we thought passable by only fishes or birds. For that march Mondragon reported Major Guido Amati for promotion. It was immediately granted; it generally takes a year. So you see you have been doing very well. Probably Doña de Alva is very proud of you now.”
“Thank God,” laughs Guy, “my villain namesake has got to fighting again, and I’ll probably behave myself,” then says: “Have you heard of her?”
“No, except she is still as beautiful as ever, but more haughtily cold. Even Noircarmes, it is rumored, scowls and twists his mustachios when Doña de Alva’s name is mentioned. Now tell me of my love.”
On this, Guy, giving an account of his curious morning in Antwerp and how he had taken, by Doña de Alva’s command, Mina Bodé Volcker from torture and disgrace, Oliver, with tears in his eyes, cries out: “God bless her and curse her father. How can so tender a heart have Alva for a father?”
A moment after he adds, somewhat anxiously: “Where did you take my Mina?”
“To Haarlem.”
“Haarlem!” This is a wailing shriek. “Good God, man, why did you do that?”