“Why,” said I, “’twas rumoured in England that the Spaniards had descended on Ireland to take it, and so strike across it at the Queen.”
He laughed.
“May your Queen ne’er have sturdier foes, Humphrey. Come and see them.”
As we turned the corner of the hill, we came suddenly on three men, standing with their faces seaward and engaged in earnest talk. The oldest of them was white-haired and slight of build. But the nobleman shone through his ragged raiment and battered breastplate, and I knew him in a moment to be Don Alonzo da Leyva himself.
He greeted Ludar kindly, and looked enquiringly at me.
“Do the spirits of English printers walk on earth?” asked he.
“No, Sir Don, not till their bodies be dead,” said I, saluting; “I am here to warn your Excellency that the English soldiers are drawing a cord around this place, and will fall speedily upon you in force.”
“’Tis well they come only to slay and not to eat us,” said he, with a grim smile.
And I perceived that both he and his companions were half-starved.
“Yet they should not delay, for if they haste not, they will find us gone. Sir Ludar, the Gerona,”—here he pointed to a large galliass that lay at anchor in the bay—“is ready, and sails to-night for the Scotch coast. I claim your services yet, as you claim those of your squire.”