"Silence."

"Well, then, I dropped the sword 'Silence' for the same reason. I hope
it hasn't hurt you much, but if it did I can't help it."

Foy wheeled round. "What do you mean, Martin?"

"I mean," answered the great man with energy, "that you have no right to
tell what became of that paper which Mother Martha gave us."

"Why not? I have faith in my brother."

"Very likely, master, but that isn't the point. We carry a great secret,
and this secret is a trust, a dangerous trust; it would be wrong to lay
its burden upon the shoulders of other folk. What people don't know they
can't tell, master."

Foy still stared at him, half in question, half in anger, but Martin
made no further reply in words. Only he went through certain curious
motions, motions as of a man winding slowly and laboriously at something
like a pump wheel. Foy's lips turned pale.

"The rack?" he whispered. Martin nodded, and answered beneath his
breath,

"They may all of them be on it yet. You let the man in the boat escape,
and that man was the Spanish spy, Ramiro; I am sure of it. If they don't
know they can't tell, and though we know we shan't tell; we shall die
first, master."

Now Foy trembled and leaned against the wall. "What would betray us?" he
asked.

"Who knows, master? A woman's torment, a man's--" and he put a strange
meaning into his voice, "a man's--jealousy, or pride, or vengeance. Oh!
bridle your tongue and trust no one, no, not your father or mother,
or sweetheart, or--" and again that strange meaning came into Martin's
voice, "or brother."

"Or you?" queried Foy, looking up.

"I am not sure. Yes, I think you may trust me, though there is no
knowing how the rack might change a man's mind."

"If all this be so," said Foy, with a flush of sudden passion, "I have
said too much already."

"A great deal too much, master. If I could have managed it I should have
dropped the sword Silence on your toe long before. But I couldn't, for
the Heer Adrian was watching me, and I had to wait till he closed his
eyes, which he did to hear the better without seeming to listen."

"You are unjust to Adrian, Martin, as you always have been, and I am
angry with you. Say, what is to be done now?"

"Now, master," replied Martin cheerfully, "you must forget the teaching
of the Pastor Arentz, and tell a lie. You must take up your tale where
you left it off, and say that we made a map of the hiding-place, but
that--I--being a fool--managed