helter of the prison gate. When at
length Ramiro, growing weary of waiting, came out from an inner chamber
beyond the court-room, where he had been writing, to find the Professor
and the porter dead in the passage, and the yelling guard locked in his
own torture-chamber, why, then those sentries declared that they had
seen nothing at all of prisoners clothed or naked.

For a while he believed them, and mighty was the hunt from the
clock-tower of the Gevangenhuis down to the lowest stone of its cellars,
yes, and even in the waters of the moat. But when the Governor found out
the truth it went very ill with those soldiers, and still worse with the
guard from whom Martin had escaped in the torture-room like an eel out
of the hand of a fish-wife. For by this time Ramiro's temper was roused,
and he began to think that he had done ill to return to Leyden.

But he had still a card to play. In a certain room in the Gevangenhuis
sat another victim. Compared to the dreadful dens where Foy and Martin
had been confined this was quite a pleasant chamber upon the first
floor, being reserved, indeed, for political prisoners of rank, or
officers captured upon the field who were held to ransom. Thus it had
a real window, secured, however, by a double set of iron bars, which
overlooked the little inner courtyard and the gaol kitchen. Also it was
furnished after a fashion, and was more or less clean. This prisoner
was none other than Dirk van Goorl, who had been neatly captured as he
returned towards his house after making certain arrangements for the
flight of his family, and hurried away to the gaol. On that morning Dirk
also had been put upon his trial before the squeaky-voiced and agitated
ex-tailor. He also had been condemned to death, the method of his
end, as in the case of Foy and Martin, being left in the hands of the
Governor. Then they led him back to his room, and shot the bolts upon
him there.

Some hours later a man entered his cell, to the door of which he was
escorted by soldiers, bringing him food and drink. He was one of the
cooks and, as it chanced, a talkative fellow.

"What passes in this prison, friend?" asked Dirk looking up, "that I see
people running to and fro across the courtyard, and hear trampling and
shouts in the passages? Is the Prince of Orange coming, perchance, to
set all of us poor prisoners free?" and he smiled sadly.

"Umph!" grunted the man, "we have prisoners here who set themselves
free withou