Instead of attempting to dodge him, as the burgomaster made sure he
would, Gerard flew right at him, with a savage, exulting cry, and struck
at him with all his heart, and soul and strength. The oak staff came
down on Ghysbrecht's face with a frightful crash, and laid him under
his mule's tail beating the devil's tattoo with his heels, his face
streaming, and his collar spattered with blood.

The next moment the three were in the wood. The yell of dismay and
vengeance that burst from Ghysbrecht's men at that terrible blow which
felled their leader, told the fugitives that it was now a race for life
or death.

"Why run?" cried Gerard, panting. "You have your bow, and I have this,"
and he shook his bloody staff.

"Boy!" roared Martin; "the GALLOWS! Follow me," and he fled into the
wood. Soon they heard a cry like a pack of hounds opening on sight of
the game. The men were in the wood, and saw them flitting amongst the
trees. Margaret moaned and panted as she ran; and Gerard clenched his
teeth and grasped his staff. The next minute they came to a stiff hazel
coppice. Martin dashed into it, and shouldered the young wood aside as
if it were standing corn.

Ere they had gone fifty yards in it they came to four blind paths.

Martin took one. "Bend low," said he. And, half creeping, they glided
along. Presently their path was again intersected with other little
tortuous paths. They took one of them. It seemed to lead back; but
it soon took a turn, and, after a while, brought them to a thick pine
grove, where the walking was good and hard. There were no paths here;
and the young fir-trees were so thick, you could not see three yards
before your nose.

When they had gone some way in this, Martin sat down; and, having
learned in war to lose all impression of danger with the danger itself,
took a piece of bread and a slice of ham out of his wallet, and began
quietly to eat his breakfast.

The young ones looked at him with dismay. He replied to their looks.

"All Sevenbergen could not find you now; you will lose your purse,
Gerard, long before you get to Italy; is that the way to carry a purse?"

Gerard looked, and there was a large triangular purse, entangled by its
chains to the buckle and strap of his wallet.

"This is none of mine," said he. "What is in it, I wonder?" and he
tried to detach it; but in passing through the coppice it had become
inextricably entangled in his strap and buckle. "It seems loath to leave