s his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Martin stared about
him. The conveniences of the dungeon were not many; indeed, being built
above the level of the ground, it struck the imagination as even more
terrible than any subterranean vault devoted to the same dreadful
purpose. By good fortune, however, in one corner of it stood an
earthenware basin and a large jug of water.

"I will take the risk of its being poisoned," thought Martin to himself,
as lifting the jug he drank deep of it, for what between fighting, fire
and fury there seemed to be no moisture left in him. Then, his burning
thirst satisfied at last, he went to where Foy lay unconscious and began
to pour water, little by little, into his mouth, which, senseless as he
was, he swallowed mechanically and presently groaned a little. Next,
as well as he could, Martin examined his comrade's wounds, to find that
what had made him insensible was a cut upon the right side of the head,
which, had it not been for his steel-lined cap, must certainly have
killed him, but as it was, beyond the shock and bruise, seemed in no way
serious.

His second hurt was a deep wound in the left thigh, but being on the
outside of the limb, although he bled much it had severed no artery.
Other injuries he had also upon the forearms and legs, also beneath the
chain shirt his body was bruised with the blows of swords and daggers.
But none of these were dangerous.

Martin stripped him as tenderly as he might and washed his wounds. Then
he paused, for both of them were wearing garments of flannel, which is
unsuitable for the dressing of hurts.

"You need linen," said a woman's voice, speaking from the next den.
"Wait awhile and I will give you my smock."

"How can I take your garment, lady, whoever you may be," answered
Martin, "to bind about the limbs of a man even if he is wounded?"

"Take it and welcome," said the unknown in sweet, low tones, "I want it
no more; they are going to execute me to-night."

"Execute you to-night?" muttered Martin.

"Yes," replied the voice, "in the court-room or one of the cellars,
I believe, as they dare not do it outside because of the people. By
beheading--am I not fortunate? Only by beheading."

"Oh! God, where art Thou?" groaned Martin.

"Don't be sorry for me," answered the voice, "I am very glad. There were
three of us, my father, my sister, and I, and--you can guess--well, I
wish to join them. Also it is better to die than to go through wha