soldiers, small men, like most Spaniards, by the napes of their
necks, one in either hand, and was grinding their faces together. This,
indeed, was evident, for his great shoulders worked visibly and their
breastplates clicked as they touched. But the men themselves made no
sound at all. Then Martin seemed to catch them round the middle, and
behold! in another second the pair of them had gone headlong into the
canal, which ran down the centre of the street.

"My God! he has killed them," muttered Dirk.

"And a good job, too, father," said Foy, "only I wish that I had shared
in it."

Martin's great form loomed in the doorway. "The Vrouw Jansen has fled
away," he said, "and the street is quite quiet now, so I think that we
had better be moving before any see us, my masters."

Some days later the bodies of these Spanish soldiers were found with
their faces smashed flat. It was suggested in explanation of this
plight, that they had got drunk and while fighting together had fallen
from the bridge on to the stonework of a pier. This version of their end
found a ready acceptance, as it consorted well with the reputations of
the men. So there was no search or inquiry.

"I had to finish the dogs," Martin explained apologetically--"may the
Lord Jesus forgive me--because I was afraid that they might know me
again by my beard."

"Alas! alas!" groaned Dirk, "what times are these. Say nothing of this
dreadful matter to your mother, son, or to Adrian either." But Foy
nudged Martin in the ribs and muttered, "Well done, old fellow, well
done!"

After this experience, which the reader must remember was nothing
extraordinary in those dark and dreadful days when neither the lives of
men nor the safety of women--especially Protestant men and women--were
things of much account, the three of them reached home without further
incident, and quite unobserved. Arriving at the house, they entered it
near the Watergate by a back door that led into the stableyard. It was
opened by a woman whom they followed into a little room where a light
burned. Here she turned and kissed two of them, Dirk first and then Foy.

"Thank God that I see you safe," she said. "Whenever you go to the
Meeting-place I tremble until I hear your footsteps at the door."

"What's the use of that, mother?" said Foy. "Your fretting yourself
won't make things better or worse."

"Ah! dear, how can I help it?" she replied softly; "we cannot all be
young and cheerful, you