Gerard sprang again at the window, and whistled. Martin instantly showed that he was watching much harder than fishing. He turned hastily round and saw Gerard--made him a signal, and taking up his line and bow, went quickly off. Gerard saw by this that his friends were not idle: yet had rather Martin had stayed. The very sight of him was a comfort. He held on, looking at the soldier's retiring form as long as he could, then falling back somewhat heavily wrenched the rusty iron bar, held only by rusty nails, away from the stone-work just as Ghysbrecht Van Swieten opened the door stealthily behind him. The burgomaster's eye fell instantly on the iron, and then glanced at the window; but he said nothing. The window was a hundred feet from the ground; and if Gerard had a fancy for jumping out, why should he balk it? He brought a brown loaf and a pitcher of water, and set them on the chest in solemn silence. Gerard's first impulse was to brain him with the iron bar and fly down the stairs; but the burgomaster seeing something wicked in his eye, gave a little cough, and three stout fellows, armed, showed themselves directly at the door. “My orders are to keep you thus until you shall bind yourself by an oath to leave Margaret Brandt, and return to the Church, to which you have belonged from your cradle.” “Death sooner.” “With all my heart.” And the burgomaster retired. Martin went with all speed to Sevenbergen; there he found Margaret pale and agitated, but full of resolution and energy. She was just finishing a letter to the Countess Charolois, appealing to her against the violence and treachery of Ghysbrecht. “Courage!” cried Martin on entering. “I have found him. He is in the haunted tower, right at the top of it. Ay, I know the place: many a poor fellow has gone up there straight, and come down feet foremost.” He then told them how he had looked up and seen Gerard's face at a window that was like a slit in the wall. “Oh, Martin! how did he look?” “What mean you? He looked like Gerard Eliassoen.” “But was he pale?” “A little.” “Looked he anxious? Looked he like one doomed?” “Nay, nay; as bright as a pewter pot.” “You mock me. Stay! then that must have been at sight of you. He counts on us. Oh, what shall we do? Martin, good friend, take this at once to Rotterdam.” Martin held out his hand for the letter. Peter had sat silent all this time, but pondering, and yet, contrary to custom, keenly attentive to what was going on around him. “Put not your trust in princes,” said he. “Alas! what else have we to trust in?” “Knowledge.” “Well-a-day, father! your learning will not serve us here.” “How know you that? Wit has been too strong for iron bars ere to-day. “Ay, father; but nature is stronger than wit, and she is against us. Think of the height! No ladder in Holland might reach him.” “I need no ladder; what I need is a gold crown.”