Gerard now gave his orders in a whisper.
"Stand you with your bow by the side of the coppice - there, in the ditch.I will go but a few yards to yon oak-tree, and hide behind it; the dogs will follow me, and, as they come out, shoot as many as you can, the rest will I brain as they come round the tree."Martin's eye flashed.They took up their places.
The hooping and hallooing came closer and closer, and soon even the rustling of the young wood was heard, and every now and then the unerring bloodhound gave a single bay.
It was terrible! the branches rustling nearer and nearer, and the inevitable struggle for life and death coming on minute by minute, and that death-knell leading it.A trembling hand was laid on Gerard's shoulder.It made him start violently, strung up as he was.
"Martin says if we are forced to part company, make for that high ash-tree we came in by.""Yes! yes! yes! but go back for Heaven's sake! don't come here, all out in the open!"She ran back towards Martin; but, ere she could get to him, suddenly a huge dog burst out of the coppice, and stood erect a moment.Margaret cowered with fear, but he never noticed her.
Scent was to him what sight is to us.He lowered his nose an instant, and the next moment, with an awful yell, sprang straight at Gerard's tree and rolled head-over-heels dead as a stone, literally spitted with an arrow from the bow that twanged beside the coppice in Martin's hand.That same moment out came another hound and smelt his dead comrade.Gerald rushed out at him; but ere he could use his cudgel, a streak of white lightning seemed to strike the hound, and he grovelled in the dust, wounded desperately, but not killed, and howling piteously.
Gerard had not time to despatch him: the coppice rustled too near:
it seemed alive.Pointing wildly to Martin to go back, Gerard ran a few yards to the right, then crept cautiously into the thick coppice just as three men burst out.These had headed their comrades considerably: the rest were following at various distances.Gerard crawled back almost on all-fours.Instinct taught Martin and Margaret to do the same upon their line of retreat.Thus, within the distance of a few yards, the pursuers and pursued were passing one another upon opposite tracks.
A loud cry announced the discovery of the dead and the wounded hound.Then followed a babble of voices, still swelling as fresh pursuers reached the spot.The hunters, as usual on a surprise, were wasting time, and the hunted ones were making the most of it.
"I hear no more hounds," whispered Martin to Margaret, and he was himself again.
It was Margaret's turn to tremble and despair.
"Oh, why did we part with Gerard? They will kill my Gerard, and Inot near him."
"Nay, nay! the head to catch him is not on their shoulders.You bade him meet us at the ash-tree?""And so I did.Bless you, Martin, for thinking of that.To the ash-tree!""Ay! but with less noise."
They were now nearly at the edge of the coppice, when suddenly they heard hooping and hallooing behind them.The men had satisfied themselves the fugitives were in the coppice, and were beating back.
"No matter," whispered Martin to his trembling companion."We shall have time to win clear and slip back out of sight by hard running.Ah!"He stooped suddenly; for just as he was going to burst out of the brushwood, his eye caught a figure keeping sentinel.It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten seated on his mule; a bloody bandage was across his nose, the bridge of which was broken; but over this his eyes peered keenly, and it was plain by their expression he had heard the fugitives rustle, and was looking out for them.Martin muttered a terrible oath, and cautiously strung his bow, then with equal caution fitted his last arrow to the string.Margaret put her hands to her face, but said nothing.She saw this man must die or Gerard.After the first impulse she peered through her fingers, her heart panting to her throat.
The bow was raised, and the deadly arrow steadily drawn to its head, when at that moment an active figure leaped on Ghysbrecht from behind so swiftly, it was like a hawk swooping on a pigeon.Akerchief went over the burgomaster, in a turn of the hand his head was muffled in it, and he was whirled from his seat and fell heavily upon the ground, where he lay groaning with terror; and Gerard jumped down after him.
"Hist, Martin! Martin!"
Martin and Margaret came out, the former openmouthed crying, "Now fly! fly! while they are all in the thicket; we are saved."At this crisis, when safety seemed at hand, as fate would have it, Margaret, who had borne up so bravely till now, began to succumb, partly from loss of blood.
"Oh, my beloved, fly!" she gasped."Leave me, for I am faint.""No! no!" cried Gerard."Death together, or safety.Ah! the mule!
mount her, you, and I'll run by your side."In a moment Martin was on Ghysbrecht's mule, and Gerard raised the fainting girl in his arms and placed her on the saddle, and relieved Martin of his bow.
"Help! treason! murder! murder!" shrieked Ghysbrecht, suddenly rising on his hams.
"Silence, cur," roared Gerard, and trode him down again by the throat as men crush an adder.
"Now, have you got her firm? Then fly! for our lives! for our lives!"But even as the mule, urged suddenly by Martin's heel, scattered the flints with his hind hoofs ere he got into a canter, and even as Gerard withdrew his foot from Ghysbrecht's throat to run, Dierich Brower and his five men, who had come back for orders, and heard the burgomaster's cries, burst roaring out of the coppice on them.
