"Forgive me, noble sir," – again began the unfortunate maiden.
"Not noble, nor sir neither," said the Syndic; "a plain burgher of Liege, that pays bills of exchange in ready guilders. – But that is nothing to the purpose. – Well, say you be a countess, I will protect you nevertheless."
"You are bound to protect her, were she a duchess," said Peter, "having once passed your word."
"Right, Peter, very right," said the Syndic; "it is our old Low Dutch fashion, ein wort, ein man; and now let us to this gear. – We must take leave of this William de la Marck; and yet I know not, my mind misgives me when I think of him; and were it a ceremony which could be waved, I have no stomach to go through it."
"Were you not better, since you have a force together, make for the gate and force the guard?" said Quentin.
But with united voice, Pavillon and his adviser exclaimed against the propriety of such an attack upon their ally's soldiers, with some hints concerning its rashness, which satisfied Quentin that it was not a risk to be hazarded with such associates. They resolved, therefore, to repair boldly to the great hall of the castle, where, as they understood, the Wild Boar of Ardennes held his feast, and demand free egress for the Syndic of Liege and his company, a request too reasonable, as it seemed, to be denied. Still the good Burgomaster groaned when he looked on his companions, and exclaimed to his faithful Peter, – "See what it is to have too bold and too tender a heart! Alas! Perkin, how much have courage and humanity cost me! and how much may I yet have to pay for my virtues, before Heaven makes us free of this damned Castle of Schonwaldt!"
As they crossed the courts, still strewed with the dying and dead, Quentin, while he supported Isabelle through the scene of horrors, whispered to her courage and comfort, and reminded her that her safety depended entirely on her firmness and presence of mind.
"Not on mine – not on mine," she said, "but on yours – on yours only. – O, if I but escape this fearful night, never shall I forget him who saved me! One favour more only, let me implore at your hand, and I conjure you to grant it, by your mother's fame and your father's honour!"
"What is it you can ask that I could refuse?" said Quentin, in a whisper.
"Plunge your dagger in my heart," said she, "rather than leave me captive in the hands of these monsters."