“And if the law cannot, or will not, Elsa, what then?”

“Then, dear, our consciences being clean, we will be a law to ourselves.  But first we must wait a while.  Are you satisfied now, Foy?”

“No,” answered Foy sulkily, “for it is monstrous that such devil’s work should keep us apart even for an hour.  Yet in this, as in all, I will obey you, dear.”

“Marrying and giving in marriage!” broke in Martha in a shrill voice.  “Talk no more of such things, for there is other work before us.  Look yonder, girl, what do you see?” and she pointed to the dry land.  “The hosts of the Amalekites marching in their thousands to slaughter us and our brethren, the children of the Lord.  Look behind you, what do you see?  The ships of the tyrant sailing up to encompass the city of the children of the Lord.  It is the day of death and desolation, the day of Armageddon, and ere the sun sets red upon it many a thousand must pass through the gates of doom, we, mayhap, among them.  Then up with the flag of freedom; out with the steel of truth, gird on the buckler of righteousness, and snatch the shield of hope.  Fight, fight for the liberty of the land that bore you, for the memory of Christ, the King who died for you, for the faith to which you are born; fight, fight, and when the fray is done, then, and not before, think of peace and love.

“Nay, children, look not so fearful, for I, the mad mere-wife, tell you, by the Grace of God, that you have naught to fear.  Who preserved you in the torture den, Foy van Goorl?  What hand was it that held your life and honour safe when you sojourned among devils in the Red Mill yonder and kept your head above the waters of the flood, Elsa Brant?  You know well, and I, Martha, tell you that this same hand shall hold you safe until the end.  Yes, I know it, I know it; thousands shall fall upon your right hand and tens of thousands upon your left, but you shall live through the hunger; the arrows of pestilence shall pass you by, the sword of the wicked shall not harm you.  For me it is otherwise, at length my doom draws near and I am well content; but for you twain, Foy and Elsa, I foretell many years of earthly joy.”

Thus spoke Martha, and it seemed to those who watched her that her wild, disfigured face shone with a light of inspiration, nor did they who knew her story, and still believed that the spirit of prophecy could open the eyes of chosen seers, deem it strange that vision of the things to be should visit her.  At the least they took comfort from her words, and for a while were no more afraid.