“And you, too!”
“Save yourself!” Oliver’s eyes have an agony in them that is not all the agony of death. “Save yourself to save my love. Swear to me, Guido, my friend, to save her!”
“That was done already,” whispers Guy hurriedly; “What else?”
“Only—but you are—not an—artist. Ehu! I would have liked—to have finished my—altar piece. I see—real—angels—now—”
The last word is breathed upon the air in dying sigh, as Antony Oliver turns his blue eyes to heaven and his patriot soul goes where there are real angels and the true Madonna.
Then Chester raises his bloodshot eyes to find his strait almost as desperate as the dead man’s. The Spaniards are charging them both front and rear. The Dutch bateaux have all been driven half a mile away; on the Y side Spanish vessels intervene and cut off all retreat.
Guy gives one quick glance seeking chance of life, and finds it on the Diemer Lake. Some fifty yards from shore is a small shallop that, belonging to the Spanish patrol surprised at the place, has been cut from its moorings during the fight; it is the only boat on the Diemer side.
With the instinct of emergency he springs beside Haring, crying: “There’s our only chance!”
Together they make one quick, dashing onslaught on the Spaniards to gain time for the plunge, then spring into the Diemer. As they disappear a shout of rage goes up from Alva’s mercenaries, and Spanish arquebus balls splash the water all about them. But [[189]]rising from their dive side by side and stroke by stroke, they make the boat, and assisting each other, clamber in, and taking oars, are soon out of shot.
Then chancing to gaze at the dyke Guy shudders and turns away his head.