fire; now and again a
fragment of shattered stonework fell with an echoing crash, and the cold
wind of the coming winter sighed through the gaping windows. The deed
was done, the revenge of a tortured multitude had set its seal upon
the ancient fane in which their forefathers worshipped for a score of
generations, and once more quiet brooded upon the place, and the shafts
of the sweet moonlight pierced its desecrated solitudes.

One by one, like ghosts arising at a summons of the Spirit, the
fugitives crept from the shelter of the tomb, crept across the transepts
to the little door of the baptistery, and with infinite peeping and
precaution, out into the night, to vanish this way and that, hugging
their hearts as though to feel whether they still beat safely in their
bosoms.

As he passed the Rood Adrian looked up, and there, above the broken
carvings and the shattered statue of the Virgin, hung the calm face of
the Saviour crowned with thorns. There, too, not far from it, looking
small and infinitely piteous at that great height, and revolving slowly
in the sharp draught from the broken windows, hung another dead face,
the horrid face of the Abbe Dominic, lately the envied, prosperous
dignitary and pluralist, who not four hours since had baptised him into
the bosom of the Church, and who now himself had been born again into
the bosom of whatever world awaited him beyond the Gates. It terrified
Adrian; no ghost could have frightened him more, but he set his teeth
and staggered on, guided by the light gleaming faintly on the sword of
Ramiro--to whatever haven that sword should lead him.

Before dawn broke it had led him out of Leyden.

It was after ten o'clock that night when a woman, wrapped in a rough
frieze coat, knocked at the door of the house in the Bree Straat and
asked for the Vrouw van Goorl.

"My mistress lies between life and death with the plague," answered the
servant. "Get you gone from this pest-house, whoever you are."

"I do not fear the plague," said the visitor. "Is the Jufvrouw Elsa
Brant still up? Then tell her that Martha, called the Mare, would speak
with her."

"She can see none at such an hour," answered the servant.

"Tell her I come from Foy van Goorl."

"Enter," said the servant wondering, and shut the door behind her.

A minute later Elsa, pale-faced, worn, but still beautiful, rushed into
the room, gasping, "What news? Does he live? Is he well?"

"He lives, lady, but he is n