But of this power of looking on the bright side of things the credit must be given to his nature and not to his piety, for Foy could not be sad for long. Dum spiro, spero would have been his motto had he known Latin, and he did not mean to grow sorrowful—­over the prospect of being burnt, for instance—­until he found himself fast to the stake.  It was this quality of good spirits in a depressing and melancholy age that made of Foy so extraordinarily popular a character.

Behind these two followed a much more remarkable-looking personage, the Frisian, Martin Roos, or Red Martin, so named from his hair, which was red to the verge of flame colour, and his beard of a like hue that hung almost to his breast.  There was no other such beard in Leyden; indeed the boys, taking advantage of his good nature, would call to him as he passed, asking him if it was true that the storks nested in it every spring.  This strange-looking man, who was now perhaps a person of forty years of age, for ten years or more had been the faithful servant of Dirk van Goorl, whose house he had entered under circumstances which shall be told of in their place.

Any one glancing at Martin casually would not have said that he was a giant, and yet his height was considerable; to be accurate, when he stood upright, something over six feet three inches.  The reason why he did not appear to be tall was that in truth his great bulk shortened him to the eye, and also because his carried himself ill, more from a desire to conceal his size than for any other reason.  It was in girth of chest and limb that Martin was really remarkable, so much so that a short-armed man standing before him could not make his fingers touch behind his back.  His face was fair as a girl’s, and almost as flat as a full moon, for of nose he had little.  Nature, indeed, had furnished him with one of ordinary, if not excessive size, but certain incidents in Martin’s early career, which in our day would be designated as that of a prize-fighter, had caused it to spread about his countenance in an interesting and curious fashion.  His eyebrows, however, remained prominent.  Beneath them appeared a pair of very large, round, and rather mild blue eyes, covered with thick white lids absolutely devoid of lashes, which eyes had a most unholy trick of occasionally taking fire when their owner was irritated.  Then they could burn and blaze like lamps tied to a barge on a dark night, with an effect that was all the more alarming because the rest of his countenance remained absolutely impassive.

Suddenly while this little company went homewards a sound arose in the quiet street as of people running.  Instantly all three of them pressed themselves into the doorway of a house and crouched down.  Martin lifted his ear and listened.

“Three people,” he whispered; “a woman who flies and two men who follow.”

At that moment a casement was thrown open forty paces or so away, and a hand, bearing a torch, thrust out of it.  By its light they saw the pale face of a lady speeding towards them, and after her two Spanish soldiers.