ot well, for the wound in his thigh has
festered and he cannot walk, or even stand. Nay, have no fear, time and
clean dressing will heal him, and he lies in a safe place."

In the rapture of her relief Elsa seized the woman's hand, and would
have kissed it.

"Touch it not, it is bloodstained," said Martha, drawing her hand away.

"Blood? Whose blood is on it?" asked Elsa, shrinking back.

"Whose blood?" answered Martha with a hollow laugh; "why that of many
a Spanish man. Where, think you, lady, that the Mare gallops of nights?
Ask it of the Spaniards who travel by the Haarlemer Meer. Aye, and now
Red Martin is with me and we run together, taking our tithe where we can
gather it."

"Oh! tell me no more," said Elsa. "From day to day it is ever the same
tale, a tale of death. Nay, I know your wrongs have driven you mad, but
that a woman should slay----"

"A woman! I am no woman; my womanhood died with my husband and my
son. Girl, I tell you that I am no woman; I am a Sword of God myself
appointed to the sword. And so to the end I kill, and kill and kill till
the hour when I am killed. Go, look in the church yonder, and see who
hangs to the high arm of the Rood--the fat Abbe Dominic. Well, I sent
him there to-night; to-morrow you will hear how I turned parson and
preached a sermon--aye, and Ramiro and Adrian called van Goorl, and
Simon the spy, should have joined him there, only I could not find
them because their hour has not come. But the idols are down and the
paintings burnt, and the gold and silver and jewels are cast upon the
dung-heap. Swept and garnished is the temple, made clean and fit for the
Lord to dwell in."

"Made clean with the blood of murdered priests, and fit by the smoke of
sacrilege?" broke in Elsa. "Oh! woman, how can you do such wicked things
and not be afraid?"

"Afraid?" she answered. "Those who have passed through hell have no more
fear; death I seek, and when judgment comes I will say to the Lord: What
have I done that the Voice which speaks to me at night did not tell me
to do? Look down, the blood of my husband and my son still smokes upon
the ground. Hearken, Lord God, it cries to Thee for vengeance!" and as
she spoke she lifted her blackened hands and shook them. Then she went
on.

"They murdered your father, why do you not kill them also? You are small
and weak and timid, and could not run by night and use the knife as I
do, but there is poison. I can brew it and bring it to you,