Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/182

27, 1859.]

if this had been a concerted signal, the back-door was struck as rudely the next instant. They were hemmed in. But at these alarming sounds Margaret seemed to recover some share of self-possession. She whispered, “Say he was here, but is gone.” And with this she seized Gerard and almost dragged him up the rude steps that led to her father’s sleeping-room. Her own lay next beyond it.

The blows on the door were repeated.

“Who knocks at this hour?"

“Open, and you will see!”

“I open not to thieves—honest men are all a-bed now.”

“Open to the law, Martin Wittenhaagen, or you shall rue it.”

“Why that is Dirk Brower’s voice, I trow. What make you so far from Tergou?”

“Open, and you will know.”

Martin drew the bolt, and in rushed Dierich and four more. They let in their companion who was at the back-door.

“Now, Martin, where is Gerard Gerardssoen?”

“Gerard Gerardssoen? Why he was here but now.”

“Was here?” Dierich’s countenance fell. “And where is he now?”

“They say he is gone to Italy. Why? What is to do?”

“No matter. When did he go? Tell me not that he went in such a storm as this!”

“Here is a coil about Gerard Gerardssoen,” said Martin, contemptuously. Then he lighted the candle, and, seating himself coolly by the fire, proceeded to whip some fine silk round his bow-string at the place where the nick of the arrow frets it. “I’ll tell you,” said he, carelessly. “Do you know his brother Giles—a little misbegotten