And she who crouched there upon the ice, her arms bound behind her, her grizzled locks, torn loose by some rough hand, trailing on the snow--surely it was the woman who called herself the Mare, and who that very afternoon spoke to her, saying that she had known her father, and cursing the Spaniards and their Inquisition.

What were they doing here?
Instantly an answer leapt into her mind, for she remembered Black Meg's words--that there was a price upon this heretic's head which before nightfall would be in her pocket.

And why was there a square hole cut in the ice immediately in front of the captive?
Could it be--no, that was too horrible.
"Well, officer," broke in Montalvo, addressing the sergeant in a quiet, wearied voice, "what is all this about?
Set out your case." "Excellency," replied the man, "it is a very simple matter.

This creature here, so that woman is ready to take oath," and he pointed to Black Meg, "is a notorious heretic who has already been condemned to death by the Holy Office, and whose husband, a learned man who painted pictures and studied the stars, was burnt on a charge of witchcraft and heresy, two years ago at Brussels.

But she managed to escape the stake, and since then has lived as a vagrant, hiding in the islands of the Haarlemer Meer, and, it is suspected, working murder and robbery on any of Spanish blood whom she can catch.