made from
marsh herbs, white as water and deadly as Death itself. What! You shrink
from such things? Well, girl, once I was beautiful as you and as loving
and beloved, and I can do them for my love's sake--for my love's sake.
Nay, _I_ do not do them, they are done through me. The Sword am I, the
Sword! And you too are a sword, though you know it not, though you
see it not, you, maiden, so soft and white and sweet, are a Sword of
Vengeance working the death of men; I, in my way, you in yours, paying
back, back, back, full measure pressed down and running over to those
appointed to die. The treasure of Hendrik Brant, your treasure, it is
red with blood, every piece of it. I tell you that the deaths that I
have done are but as a grain of sand to a bowlful compared to those
which your treasure shall do. There, maid, I fright you. Have no fear,
it is but Mad Martha, who, when she sees, must speak, and through the
flames in the kirk to-night I saw visions such as I have not seen for
years."

"Tell me more of Foy and Martin," said Elsa, who was frightened and
bewildered.

At her words a change seemed to come over this woman, at once an object
of pity and of terror, for the scream went out of her voice and she
answered quietly,

"They reached me safe enough five days ago, Red Martin carrying Foy upon
his back. From afar I saw him, a naked man with a named sword, and knew
him by his size and beard. And oh! when I heard his tale I laughed as I
have not laughed since I was young."

"Tell it me," said Elsa.

And she told it while the girl listened with clasped hands.

"Oh! it was brave, brave," she murmured. "Red Martin forcing to the door
and Foy, weak and wounded, slaying the warder. Was there ever such a
story?"

"Men are brave and desperate with the torture pit behind them," answered
Martha grimly; "but they did well, and now they are safe with me where
no Spaniard can find them unless they hunt in great companies after the
ice forms and the reeds are dead."

"Would that I could be there also," said Elsa, "but I tend his mother
who is very sick, so sick that I do not know whether she will live or
die."

"Nay, you are best here among your people," answered Martha. "And now
that the Spaniards are driven out, here Foy shall return also so soon as
it is safe for him to travel; but as yet he cannot stir, and Red Martin
stays to watch him. Before long, however, he must move, for I have
tidings that the Spaniards are abou