“Do you mean the goldsmith and banker who was said to be the richest man in the Netherlands?”
“Yes, sir, the man whose treasure was lost.”
“I remember—whose treasure was lost—though it was reported that some of our own people got away with it,” and his eyes wandered wonderingly to the sail which hid the burden on the cart.
“Sir,” went on Foy, “you heard right; Red Martin and I, with a pilot man who was killed, were they who got away with it, and by the help of the waterwife, who now is dead, and who was known as Mother Martha, or the Mare, we hid it in Haarlemer Meer, whence we recovered it after we escaped from Haarlem. If you care to know how, I will tell you later, but the tale is long and strange. Elsa Brant was with us at the time——”
“She is Hendrik Brant’s only child, and therefore the owner of his wealth, I believe?” interrupted the Prince.
“Yes, sir, and my affianced wife.”
“I have heard of the young lady, and I congratulate you. Is she in Leyden?”
“No, sir, her strength and mind were much broken by the horrors which she passed through in the siege of Haarlem, and by other events more personal to her. Therefore, when the Spaniards threatened their first leaguer of this place, I sent her and my mother to Norwich in England, where they may sleep in peace.”
“You were wise indeed, Heer van Goorl,” replied the Prince with a sigh, “but it seems that you stopped behind?”
“Yes, sir, Martin and I thought it our duty to see this war out. When Leyden is safe from the Spaniards, then we go to England, not before.”