“I think there is a great deal to explain,” went on Martha, “for you cannot fool me with pretty words. But now, hark you, Foy van Goorl, what is to be done? We have striven hard to save that treasure, all of us; is it to be lost at the last?” “Aye,” echoed Martin, growing very serious, “is it to be lost at the last? Remember what the worshipful Hendrik Brant said to us yonder on that night at The Hague—that he believed that in a day to come thousands and tens of thousands of our people would bless the gold he entrusted to us.” “I remember it all,” answered Foy, “and other things too; his will, for instance,” and he thought of his father and of those hours which Martin and he had spent in the Gevangenhuis. Then he looked up at Martha and said briefly: “Mother, though they call you mad, you are the wisest among us; what is your counsel?” She pondered awhile and answered: “This is certain, that so soon as Ramiro finds that we have escaped, having the key to it, he will take boat and sail to the place where the barrels are buried, knowing well that otherwise we shall be off with them. Yes, I tell you that by dawn, or within an hour of it, he will be there,” and she stopped. “You mean,” said Foy, “that we ought to be there before him.” Martha nodded and answered, “If we can, but I think that at best there must be a fight for it.” “Yes,” said Martin, “a fight. Well, I should like another fight with Ramiro. That fork-tongued adder has got my sword, and I want to get it back again.” “Oh!” broke in Elsa, “is there to be more fighting? I hoped that at last we were safe, and going straight to Leyden, where the Prince is. I hate this bloodshed; I tell you, Foy, it frightens me to death; I believe that I shall die of it.” “You hear what she says?” asked Foy. “We hear,” answered Martha. “Take no heed of her, the child has suffered much, she is weak and squeamish. Now I, although I believe that my death lies before me, I say, go on and fear not.” “But I do take heed,” said Foy. “Not for all the treasures in the world shall Elsa be put in danger again if she does not wish it; she shall decide, and she alone.” “How good you are to me,” she murmured, then she mused a moment. “Foy,” she said, “will you promise something to me?” “After your experience of Ramiro’s oaths I wonder that you ask,” he answered, trying to be cheerful. “Will you promise,” she went on, taking no note, “that if I say yes and we go, not to Leyden, but to seek the treasure, and live through it, that you will take me away from this land of bloodshed and murder and torments, to some country where folk may live at peace, and see no one killed, except it be now and again an evil-doer? It is much to ask, but oh! Foy, will you promise?” “Yes, I promise,” said Foy, for he, too, was weary of this daily terror. Who would not have been that had passed through the siege of Haarlem?