Martin standing also but a little to one side and
behind, the light of the morning playing upon his great red beard; his
round, pale eyes glittering as was their fashion when wrathful, and
himself, Foy, leaning forward to listen, every nerve in his body strung
tight with excitement, love, and fear.

Oh! he never forgot it, which is not strange, for so great was the
strain upon him, so well did he know that this scene was but the prelude
to terrible events, that for a moment, only for a moment, his steady
reason was shaken and he saw a vision. Martin, the huge, patient,
ox-like Martin, was changed into a red Vengeance; he saw him, great
sword aloft, he heard the roar of his battle cry, and lo! before him
men went down to death, and about him the floor seemed purple with their
blood. His father and his mother, too; they were no longer human, they
were saints--see the glory which shone over them, and look, too, the
dead Hendrik Brant was whispering in their ears. And he, Foy, he was
beside Martin playing his part in those red frays as best he might, and
playing it not in vain.

Then all passed, and a wave of peace rolled over him, a great sense of
duty done, of honour satisfied, of reward attained. Lo! the play was
finished, and its ultimate meaning clear, but before he could read and
understand--it had gone.

He gasped and shook himself, gripping his hands together.

"What have you seen, son?" asked Lysbeth, watching his face.

"Strange things, mother," Foy answered. "A vision of war for Martin and
me, of glory for my father and you, and of eternal peace for us all."

"It is a good omen, Foy," she said. "Fight your fight and leave us to
fight ours. 'Through much tribulation we must enter into the Kingdom of
God,' where at last there is a rest remaining for us all. It is a good
omen. Your father was right and I was wrong. Now I have no more to fear;
I am satisfied."

None of them seemed to be amazed or to find these words wonderful and
out of the common. For them the hand of approaching Doom had opened the
gates of Distance, and they knew everyone that through these some light
had broken on their souls, a faint flicker of dawn from beyond the
clouds. They accepted it in thankfulness.

"I think that is all I have to say," said Dirk in his usual voice. "No,
it is not all," and he told them of his plan for flight. They listened
and agreed to it, yet to them it seemed a thing far off and unreal. None
of them believed