“They murdered your father, why do you not kill them also? You are small and weak and timid, and could not run by night and use the knife as I do, but there is poison. I can brew it and bring it to you, made from marsh herbs, white as water and deadly as Death itself. What! You shrink from such things? Well, girl, once I was beautiful as you and as loving and beloved, and I can do them for my love’s sake—for my love’s sake. Nay, _I_ do not do them, they are done through me. The Sword am I, the Sword! And you too are a sword, though you know it not, though you see it not, you, maiden, so soft and white and sweet, are a Sword of Vengeance working the death of men; I, in my way, you in yours, paying back, back, back, full measure pressed down and running over to those appointed to die. The treasure of Hendrik Brant, your treasure, it is red with blood, every piece of it. I tell you that the deaths that I have done are but as a grain of sand to a bowlful compared to those which your treasure shall do. There, maid, I fright you. Have no fear, it is but Mad Martha, who, when she sees, must speak, and through the flames in the kirk to-night I saw visions such as I have not seen for years.” “Tell me more of Foy and Martin,” said Elsa, who was frightened and bewildered. At her words a change seemed to come over this woman, at once an object of pity and of terror, for the scream went out of her voice and she answered quietly, “They reached me safe enough five days ago, Red Martin carrying Foy upon his back. From afar I saw him, a naked man with a named sword, and knew him by his size and beard. And oh! when I heard his tale I laughed as I have not laughed since I was young.” “Tell it me,” said Elsa. And she told it while the girl listened with clasped hands. “Oh! it was brave, brave,” she murmured. “Red Martin forcing to the door and Foy, weak and wounded, slaying the warder. Was there ever such a story?” “Men are brave and desperate with the torture pit behind them,” answered Martha grimly; “but they did well, and now they are safe with me where no Spaniard can find them unless they hunt in great companies after the ice forms and the reeds are dead.” “Would that I could be there also,” said Elsa, “but I tend his mother who is very sick, so sick that I do not know whether she will live or die.” “Nay, you are best here among your people,” answered Martha. “And now that the Spaniards are driven out, here Foy shall return also so soon as it is safe for him to travel; but as yet he cannot stir, and Red Martin stays to watch him. Before long, however, he must move, for I have tidings that the Spaniards are about to besiege Haarlem with a great army, and then the Mere will be no longer safe for us, and I shall leave it to fight with the Haarlem folk.” “And Foy and Martin will return?” “I think so, if they are not stopped.” “Stopped?”—and she put her hand upon her heart.