hich
he had walked. So the secret was in their hands, and as they were still
alive very possibly means could be found to induce them to reveal its
hiding-place. There was still hope; indeed, now that he came to weigh
things, they were not so bad.

To begin with, almost all the shareholders in the affair had perished
by the stern decree of Providence, and he was the natural heir of
their interests. In other words, the treasure, if it was recovered, was
henceforth his property. Further, when they came to hear the story, the
Government would set down Brant's fortune as hopelessly lost, so that
the galling competition from which he had suffered so much was at an
end.

Under these circumstances what was to be done? Very soon, as he sailed
away over the lake in the sweet air of the morning, the Senor Ramiro
found an answer to the question.

The treasure had left The Hague, he must leave The Hague. The secret of
its disposal was at Leyden, henceforth he must live at Leyden. Why not?
He knew Leyden well. It was a pleasant place, but, of course, he might
be recognised there; though, after so long, this was scarcely probable,
for was not the Count de Montalvo notoriously dead and buried? Time and
accident had changed him; moreover, he could bring art to the assistance
of nature. In Leyden, too, he had confederates--Black Meg to wit, for
one; also he had funds, for was he not the treasurer of the company
that this very morning had achieved so remarkable and unsought-for an
ascension?

There was only one thing against the scheme. In Leyden lived Lysbeth van
Goorl and her husband, and with them a certain young man whose parentage
he could guess. More, her son Foy knew the hiding-place of Brant's
hoard, and from him or his servant Martin that secret must be won.
So once again he was destined to match himself against Lysbeth--the
wronged, the dreaded, the victorious Lysbeth, whose voice of
denunciation still rang in his ear, whose eyes of fire still scorched
his soul, the woman whom he feared above everything on earth. He fought
her once for money, and, although he won the money, it had done him
little good, for in the end she worsted him. Now, if he went to Leyden,
he must fight her again for money, and what would be the issue of that
war? Was it worth while to take the risk? Would not history repeat
itself? If he hurt her, would she not crush him? But the treasure, that
mighty treasure, which could give him so much, and, above