“Fool yourself, you thick-brained Frisian,” broke in Martha angrily, “where did you learn to teach your betters wisdom? I told the Jufvrouw because I knew that we might all of us be swept away, and I thought it well that then she should know where to look for a key to the treasure.”
“A woman’s kind of reason,” answered Martin imperturbably, “and a bad one at that, for if we had been finished off she must have found it difficult to get hold of the sword. But all this is done with. The point is, why did the Jufvrouw tell Ramiro?”
“Because I am a coward,” answered Elsa with a sob. “You know, Foy, I always was a coward, and I never shall be anything else. I told him to save myself.”
“From what?”
“From being married.”
Adrian winced palpably, and Foy, noting it, could not resist pushing the point.
“From being married? But I understand—doubtless Adrian will explain the thing,” he added grimly—“that you were forced through some ceremony.”
“Yes,” answered Elsa feebly, “I—I—was. I tried to buy myself off by telling Ramiro the secret, which will show you all how mad I was with terror at the thought of this hateful marriage”—here a groan burst from the lips of Adrian, and something like a chuckle from those of Red Martin. “Oh! I am so sorry,” went on Elsa in confusion; “I am sure that I did not wish to hurt Adrian’s feelings, especially after he has been so good to us.”
“Never mind Adrian’s feelings and his goodness, but go on with the story,” interrupted Foy.
“There isn’t much more to tell. Ramiro swore before God that if I gave him the clue he would let me go, and then—then, well, then, after I had fallen into the pit and disgraced myself, he said that it was not sufficient, and that the marriage must take place.”