"Everything, except outrage! ... what you propose is a deed worthy only of hell!" "No! no! Balde is right! Magnanimity has had its day! But for this truce to-day who knows? we might have been masters of the Kasteel!" "Will the murdering of helpless prisoners aid your cause, then?" "It will at least satisfy our craving for revenge!" "Right, right, Balde!" they all exclaimed, "do not heed what van Rycke says." "We will fight to-morrow!" "Die to-morrow!" they cried. "And blacken your souls to-day!" retorted Mark. The tumult grew more wild. Dissension had begun to sow its ugly seed among these men whom a common danger, united heroism, and courage had knit so closely together. The grim, silent, majestic determination of a while ago was giving place slowly to rabid, frenzied calls of hatred, to ugly oaths, glowing eyes and faces heated with passion. The presence of the dozen elderly patricians and burghers still bare-headed and shoeless, still with the rope around their necks, helped to fan up the passions which their misfortunes had aroused. For the moment, however, the hot-headed malcontents were still greatly in the minority, but the danger of dissent, of mutiny was there, and the set expression on the faces of the leaders, the stern look in Mark van Rycke’s eyes testified that they were conscious of its presence. IV Then it was that right through this tumult which had spread from the building itself to the precincts and even beyond, a woman’s cry rang out with appalling clearness. It was not a cry of terror, rather one of command, but so piercing was it that for the moment every other cry was stilled: Peter Balde’s adherents were silenced, and suddenly over this vast assembly, wherein but a few seconds ago passions ran riot, there fell a hush--a tension of every nerve, a momentary lull of every heart-beat as with the prescience of something momentous to which that woman’s cry was only the presage. And in the midst of that sudden hush the cry was heard again--more clearly this time and closer to the cathedral porch, so that the words came quite distinctly: "Let me get to him ... take me to your leader ... I must speak with him at once!" And like distant thunder, the clamour rose again: men and women shouted and called; the words: "Spaniard!" and "Spy!" were easily distinguishable: the crowd could be seen to sway, to be moving like a huge wave, all in one direction toward the porch: hundreds of faces showed plainly in the dull grey light as necks were craned to catch a glimpse of the woman who had screamed.