These words rang in his ears, not as the feeble plaint of a suffering woman, but as a prophecy of victory.
“Colonel Van Straalen, we must hasten,” said his companion. “ You are in great danger of being recognized, and if so, your arrest would speedily follow.”
“How does it happen that you know me?” said Reynold.
“I am Conrad Chenoweth!” was the whispered reply. “Let us talk no more until we are safely in my quarters,”
They threaded the streets of Brussels in silence, until they came to the part inhabited by the poorer classes. They entered a long, dark alley, which had many crooked turns, and paused before one of the poorest houses. The advocate knocked gently three times. The door was opened cautiously by a stout Flemish woman. On seeing Conrad she bade him enter. They both went inside and the door was securely bolted.
“Gretchen,” said Conrad, “I have brought a dear friend, who, like myself, is a fugitive. Can you give him shelter? He is a Protestant.”
“Yes, Heer Chenoweth. I will gladly shelter any of the persecuted followers of the reformed faith, and any of your friends are thrice welcome. I have not forgotten when we lived in Antwerp how your good father took care of us in our sick-
