Brant shook his head. “I have thought of that,” he said, “as I have thought of everything, but it cannot now be done; also there is no time to make fresh plans.”
“Because day and night men are watching the boats which are known to belong to me, although they are registered in other names, and only this evening an order was signed that they must be searched within an hour of dawn. My information is good, as it should be since I pay for it dearly.”
“Then,” said Foy, “there is nothing more to be said. We will try to get to the boat and try to get her away; and if we can get her away we will try to hide the treasure, and if we can’t we will try to blow her up as you direct and try to escape ourselves. Or—” and he shrugged his shoulders.
Martin said nothing, only he shook his great red head, nor did the silent pilot at the table speak at all.
Hendrik Brant looked at them, and his pale, careworn face began to work. “Have I the right?” he muttered to himself, and for an instant or two bent his head as though in prayer. When he lifted it again his mind seemed to be made up.
“Foy van Goorl,” he said, “listen to me, and tell your father, my cousin and executor, what I say, since I have no time to write it; tell him word for word. You are wondering why I do not let this pelf take its chance without risking the lives of men to save it. It is because something in my heart pushes me to another path. It may be imagination, but I am a man standing on the edge of the grave, and to such I have known it given to see the future. I think that you will win through with the treasure, Foy, and that it will be the means of bringing some wicked ones to their doom. Yes, and more, much more, but what it is I cannot altogether see. Yet I am quite certain that thousands and tens of thousands of our folk will live to bless the gold of Hendrik Brant, and that is why I work so hard to save it from the Spaniards. Also that is why I ask you to risk your lives to-night; not for the wealth’s sake, for wealth is dross, but for what the wealth will buy in days to come.”
He paused a while, then went on: “I think also, cousin, that being, they tell me, unaffianced, you will learn to love, and not in vain, that dear child of mine, whom I leave in your father’s keeping and in yours. More, since time is short and we shall never meet again, I say to you plainly, that the thought is pleasing to me, young cousin Foy, for I have a good report of you and like your blood and looks. Remember always, however dark may be your sky, that before he passed to doom Hendrik Brant had this vision concerning you and the daughter whom he loves, and whom you will learn to love as do all who know her. Remember also that priceless things are not lightly won, and do not woo her for her fortune, since, I tell you, this belongs not to her but to our people and our cause, and when the hour comes, for them it must be used.”