oach of the effigy of the White Christ standing with uplifted hand
above the altar, hanging thorn-crowned upon the Rood, kneeling agonised
within the Garden, seated at the Holy Supper, on His lips the New
Commandment, "As I have loved you, so ye also love one another," their
passions flickered down and their wrath slept.

"They are not here, let us be going," said a voice.

"They are here," answered another voice, a woman's voice with a note
of vengeance in it. "I tracked them to the doors, the Spanish murderer
Ramiro, the spy Hague Simon, the traitor Adrian, called van Goorl, and
the priests, the priests, the priests who butcher us."

"Let God deal with them," said the first voice, which to Adrian sounded
familiar. "We have done enough. Go home in peace."

Now muttering, "The pastor is right. Obey the Pastor Arentz," the more
orderly of the multitude turned to depart, when suddenly, from the far
end of the transept, arose a cry.

"Here's one of them. Catch him! catch him!" A minute more and into the
circle of the torchlight rushed the Abbe Dominic, his eyes starting from
his head with terror, his rent robe flapping on the ground. Exhausted
and bewildered he cast himself down, and grasping the pedestal of an
image began to cry for mercy, till a dozen fierce hands dragged him to
his feet again.

"Let him go," said the voice of the Pastor Arentz. "We fight the Church,
not its ministers."

"Hear me first," she answered who had spoken before, and men turned
to see standing above them in the great pulpit of the church, a
fierce-eyed, yellow-toothed hag, grey-haired, skinny-armed, long-faced
like a horse, and behind her two other women, each of whom held a torch
in her right hand.

"It is the Mare," roared the multitude. "It is Martha of the Mere.
Preach on, Martha. What's your text?"

"Whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed," she
answered in a ringing, solemn voice, and instantly a deep silence fell
upon the place.

"You call me the Mare," she went on. "Do you know how I got that name?
They gave it me after they had shrivelled up my lips and marred the
beauty of my face with irons. And do you know what they made me do? They
made me carry my husband to the stake upon my back because they said
that a horse must be ridden. And do you know who said this? _That priest
who stands before you._"

As the words left her lips a yell of rage beat against the roof. Martha
held up her thin hand, and again