om the walls and seen to its shaft and point; he had stirred
the fires beneath the leaden bars till they roared in the sharp draught.

"Is there nothing more to do?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Martin, "we might say our prayers; they will be the
last," and suiting his action to the word, the great man knelt down, an
example which Foy followed.

"Do you speak," said Foy, "I can't think of anything."

So Martin began a prayer which is perhaps worthy of record:--

"O Lord," he said, "forgive me all my sins, which are too many to count,
or at least I haven't the time to try, and especially for cutting off
the head of the executioner with his own sword, although I had no death
quarrel with him, and for killing a Spaniard in a boxing match. O Lord,
I thank you very much because you have arranged for us to die fighting
instead of being tortured and burnt in the gaol, and I pray that we
may be able to kill enough Spaniards first to make them remember us for
years to come. O Lord, protect my dear master and mistress, and let the
former learn that we have made an end of which he would approve, but if
may be, hide it from the Paster Arentz, who might think that we ought to
surrender. That is all I have to say. Amen."

Then Foy did his own praying, and it was hearty enough, but we need
scarcely stop to set down its substance.

Meanwhile the Spaniards had found a blacksmith, who was getting to work
upon the gate, for they could see him through the open upper bars.

"Why don't you shoot?" asked Foy. "You might catch him with a bolt."

"Because he is a poor Dutchman whom they have pressed for the job, while
they stand upon one side. We must wait till they break down the gate.
Also we must fight well when the time comes, Master Foy, for, see, folk
are watching us, and they will expect it," and he pointed upwards.

Foy looked. The foundry courtyard was surrounded by tall gabled houses,
and of these the windows and balconies were already crowded with
spectators. Word had gone round that the Inquisition had sent soldiers
to seize one of the young Van Goorls and Red Martin--that they were
battering at the gates of the factory. Therefore the citizens, some of
them their own workmen, gathered there, for they did not think that Red
Martin and Foy van Goorl would be taken easily.

The hammering at the gate went on, but it was very stout and would not
give.

"Martin," said Foy presently, "I am frightened. I feel quite sick. I
know th