“Best make sure of these,” said Martin. “Help me, master,” and between them one by one they rolled them to the water’s edge, and with great efforts, Elsa aiding them, lifted them into the boat. As they approached with the third cask they found her staring white-faced over the tops of the feathery reeds. “What is it, sweet?” asked Foy. “The sail, the following sail,” she answered. They rested the barrel of gold upon the gunwale and looked back across the little island. Yes, there it came, sure enough, a tall, white sail not eight hundred yards away and bearing down straight upon the place. Martin rolled the barrel into position. “I hoped that they would not find it,” he said, “but Martha draws maps well, too well. Once, before she married, she painted pictures, and that is why.” “What is to be done?” asked Elsa. “I don’t know,” he answered, and as he spoke Martha ran up, for she also had seen the boat. “You see,” he went on, “if we try to escape they will catch us, for oars can’t race a sail.” “Oh!” said Elsa, “must we be taken after all?” “I hope not, girl,” said Martha, “but it is as God wills. Listen, Martin,” and she whispered in his ear. “Good,” he said, “if it can be done, but you must watch your chance. Come, now, there is no time to lose. And you, lady, come also, for you can help to roll the last two barrels.” Then they ran back to the hole, whence Foy and Adrian, with great toil, had just dragged the last of the tubs. For they, too, had seen the sail, and knew that time was short. “Heer Adrian,” said Martin, “you have the cross-bow and the bolts, and you used to be the best shot of all three of us; will you help me to hold the causeway?” Now Adrian knew that Martin said this, not because he was a good shot with the cross-bow, but because he did not trust him, and wished to have him close to his hand, but he answered: “With all my heart, as well as I am able.” “Very good,” said Martin. “Now let the rest of you get those two casks into the boat, leaving the Jufvrouw hidden in the reeds to watch by it, while you, Foy and Martha, come back to help us. Lady, if they sail round the island, call and let us know.” So Martin and Adrian went down to the end of the little gravelly tongue and crouched among the tall meadow-sweet and grasses, while the others, working furiously, rolled the two barrels to the water-edge and shipped them, throwing rushes over them that they might not catch the eye of the Spaniards. The sailing boat drew on. In the stern-sheets of it sat Ramiro, an open paper, which he was studying, upon his knee, and still slung about his body the great sword Silence. “Before I am half an hour older,” reflected Martin, for even now he did not like to trust his thoughts to Adrian, “either I will have that sword back again, or I shall be a dead man. But the odds are great, eleven of them, all tough fellows, and we but three and two women.” Just then Ramiro’s voice reached them across the stillness of the water.