"Look, Carolus van Hout's daughter and Juan Montalvo's wife; those who have seen me once do not forget me." Lysbeth sat up on the bed and stared at the gaunt, powerful form, the deep-set grey eyes, the wide-spread nostrils, the scarred, high cheek-bones, the teeth made prominent by some devil's work upon the lips, and the grizzled lock of hair that hung across the forehead.

In an instant she knew her.
"You are Martha the Mare," she said.
"Yes, I am the Mare, none other, and you are in the Mare's stable.

What has he been doing to you, that Spanish dog, that you came last night to ask the Great Water to hide you and your shame ?" Lysbeth made no answer; the story seemed hard to begin with this strange woman.

Then Martha went on: "What did I tell you, Lysbeth van Hout?
Did I not say that your blood should warn you against the Spaniards?
Well, well, you saved me from the ice and I have saved you from the water.

Ah! who was it that led me to row round by that outer isle last night because I could not sleep?
But what does it matter; God willed it so, and here you lie in the Mare's stable.