“Yes,” Adrian answered quietly. “Of course you may not escape, but if you stop here what chance have you? Ramiro, my father, will be back presently and then——”
“It is madness to trust ourselves to you,” interrupted Martin, and Adrian seemed to wince at the contempt in his voice.
“I knew that you would think that,” he answered humbly, “but what else is to be done? I can pass you out of the city, I have made a boat ready for you to escape in, all at the risk of my own life; what more can I do? Why do you hesitate?”
“Because we do not believe you,” said Foy; “besides, there is Elsa. I will not go without Elsa.”
“I have thought of that,” answered Adrian. “Elsa is here. Come, Elsa, show yourself.”
Then from the stairs Elsa crept into the cellar, a new Elsa, for she, too, had been fed, and in her eyes there shone a light of hope. A wild jealousy filled Foy’s heart. Why did she look thus? But she, she ran to him, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him, and Adrian did nothing, he only turned his head aside.
“Foy,” she gasped, “he is honest after all; he has only been unfortunate. Come quickly, there is a chance for us; come before that devil returns. Now he is at a council of the officers settling with Don Frederic who are to be killed, but soon he will be back, and then——”
So they hesitated no more, but went.
They passed out of the house, none stopping them—the guard had gone to the sack. At the gate by the ruined Ravelin there stood a sentry, but the man was careless, or drunken, or bribed, who knows? At least, Adrian gave him a pass-word, and, nodding his head, he let them by. A few minutes later they were at the Mere side, and there among some reeds lay the boat.
“Enter and be gone,” said Adrian.