rmed
citizens.

"The men from Aalst have come!" echoed from lip to lip.

Curses, wails of grief, yells of savage fury, blended with the thunder
of the artillery and the ringing of the alarm bells.

A fugitive now dashed from the counterscarp towards the Walloons,
shouting:

"They are here, they are here! The blood-hound, Navarrete, is leading
them. They will neither eat nor drink, they say, till they dine in
Paradise or Antwerp. Hark, hark! there they are!"

And they were there, coming nearer and nearer; foremost of all marched
the Eletto, holding the standard in his upraised hand.

Behind him, from a thousand bearded lips, echoed furious, greedy,
terrible cries; "Santiago, Espana, a sangre, a carne, a fuego, a
saco!"--[St. Jago; Spain, blood, murder, fire, pillage]--but Navarrete
was silent, striding onward, erect and haughty, as if he were
proof against the bullets, that whistled around him on all sides.
Consciousness of power and the fierce joy of battle sparkled in his
eyes. Woe betide him, who received a blow from the two-handed sword the
Eletto still held over his shoulder, now with his left hand.

Adam stood with upraised hammer beside the front ranks of the Walloons!
his eyes rested as if spellbound on his approaching son and the standard
in his hand. The face of the guilty woman, who had defrauded him of the
happiness of his life, gazed at him from the banner. He knew not whether
he was awake, or the sport of some bewildering dream.

Now, now his glance met the Eletto's, and unable to restrain himself
longer, he raised his hammer and tried to rush forward, but the Walloons
forced him back.

Yes, yes, he hated his own child, and trembling with rage, burning to
rush upon him, he saw the Eletto spring on the lowest projection of the
wall, to climb up. For a short time he was concealed from his eyes, then
he saw the top of the standard, then the banner itself, and now his son
stood on the highest part of the rampart, shouting: "Espana, Espana!"

At this moment, with a deafening din, a hundred arquebuses were
discharged close beside the smith, a dense cloud of smoke darkened the
air, and when the wind dispersed it, Adam no longer beheld the standard.
It lay on the ground; beside it the Eletto, with his face turned upward,
mute and motionless.

The father groaned aloud and closed his eyes; when he opened them,
hundreds of iron-mailed mutineers had scaled the rampart. Beneath their
feet lay his bleeding