“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 about to besiege Haarlem with a great army, and then the Mere will be no longer safe for us, and I shall leave it to fight with the Haarlem folk.”
“And Foy and Martin will return?”
“I think so, if they are not stopped.”
“Stopped?”—and she put her hand upon her heart.
“The times are rough, Jufvrouw Elsa. Who that breathes the air one morning can know what breath will pass his nostrils at the nightfall? The times are rough, and Death is king of them. The hoard of Hendrik Brant is not forgotten, nor those who have its key. Ramiro slipped through my hands to-night, and doubtless by now is far away from Leyden seeking the treasure.”
“The treasure! Oh! that thrice accursed treasure!” broke in Elsa, shivering as though beneath an icy wind; “would that we were rid of it.”
“That you cannot be until it is appointed, for is this not the heritage which your father died to save? Listen. Do you know, lady, where it lies hid?” and she dropped her voice to a whisper.
Elsa shook her head, saying:
“I neither know nor wish to know.”
“Still it is best that you should be told, for we three who have the secret may be killed, every one of us—no, not the place, but where to seek a clue to the place.”