They scrambled into the boat and took the oars, while Martha began to push off.
“Adrian,” said Elsa, “what is to become of you?”
“Why do you trouble about that?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “I go back to my death, my blood is the price of your freedom. Well, I owe it to you.”
“Oh! no,” she cried, “come with us.”
“Yes,” echoed Foy, although again that bitter pang of jealousy gripped his heart, “come with us—brother.”
“Do you really mean it?” Adrian asked, hesitating. “Think, I might betray you.”
“If so, young man, why did you not do it before?” growled Martin, and stretching out his great, bony arm he gripped him by the collar and dragged him into the boat.
Then they rowed away.
“Where are we going?” asked Martin.
“To Leyden, I suppose,” said Foy, “if we can get there, which, without a sail or weapons, seems unlikely.”