“I think there is a great deal to explain,” went on Martha, “for you cannot fool me with pretty words. But now, hark you, Foy van Goorl, what is to be done? We have striven hard to save that treasure, all of us; is it to be lost at the last?”
“Aye,” echoed Martin, growing very serious, “is it to be lost at the last? Remember what the worshipful Hendrik Brant said to us yonder on that night at The Hague—that he believed that in a day to come thousands and tens of thousands of our people would bless the gold he entrusted to us.”
“I remember it all,” answered Foy, “and other things too; his will, for instance,” and he thought of his father and of those hours which Martin and he had spent in the Gevangenhuis. Then he looked up at Martha and said briefly: “Mother, though they call you mad, you are the wisest among us; what is your counsel?”
She pondered awhile and answered: “This is certain, that so soon as Ramiro finds that we have escaped, having the key to it, he will take boat and sail to the place where the barrels are buried, knowing well that otherwise we shall be off with them. Yes, I tell you that by dawn, or within an hour of it, he will be there,” and she stopped.
“You mean,” said Foy, “that we ought to be there before him.”
Martha nodded and answered, “If we can, but I think that at best there must be a fight for it.”
“Yes,” said Martin, “a fight. Well, I should like another fight with Ramiro. That fork-tongued adder has got my sword, and I want to get it back again.”
“Oh!” broke in Elsa, “is there to be more fighting? I hoped that at last we were safe, and going straight to Leyden, where the Prince is. I hate this bloodshed; I tell you, Foy, it frightens me to death; I believe that I shall die of it.”
“You hear what she says?” asked Foy.
“We hear,” answered Martha. “Take no heed of her, the child has suffered much, she is weak and squeamish. Now I, although I believe that my death lies before me, I say, go on and fear not.”