"St. Luke! what sport goeth on in this mine earldom, ay! in my own woods, and I see it not. You base fellows have all the luck." And he was indignant at the partiality of Fortune. "Lo you now! this was a man-hunt," said he. "_I_ never had the luck to be at a man-hunt." "My luck was none so great," replied Martin bluntly; "I was on the wrong side of the dogs' noses." "Ah! so you were: I forgot that." And royalty was more reconciled to its lot. "What would you then?" "A free pardon, your highness, for myself and Gerard." "For what?" "For prison-breaking." "Go to: the bird will fly from the cage. 'Tis instinct. Besides, coop a young man up for loving a young woman? These burgomasters must be void of common sense. What else?" "For striking down the burgomaster." "Oh, the hunted boar will turn to bay. 'Tis his right: and I hold him less than man that grudges it him. What else?" "For killing of the bloodhounds." The duke's countenance fell. "'Twas their life or mine," said Martin eagerly. "Ay! but I can't have my bloodhounds, my beautiful bloodhounds, sacrificed to----" "No, no, no! They were not your dogs." "Whose dogs, then?" "The ranger's." "Oh. Well, I am very sorry for him, but, as I was saying, I can't have my old soldiers sacrificed to his bloodhounds. Thou shalt have thy free pardon." "And poor Gerard." "And poor Gerard too, for thy sake. And more, tell thou this burgomaster his doings mislike me: this is to set up for a king, not a burgomaster. I'll have no kings in Holland but one. Bid him be more humble: or by St. Jude I'll hang him before his own door, as I hanged the burgomaster of what's the name, some town or other in Flanders it was: no, 'twas somewhere in Brabant--no matter--I hanged him, I remember that much--for oppressing poor folk." The duke then beckoned his chancellor, a pursy old fellow that rode like a sack, and bade him write out a free pardon for Martin and one Gerard. This precious document was drawn up in form, and signed next day, and Martin hastened home with it. Margaret had left her bed some days, and was sitting pale and pensive by the fireside, when he burst in, waving the parchment, and crying, "A free pardon, girl, for Gerard as well as me! Send for him back when you will; all the burgomasters on earth daren't lay a finger on him." She flushed all over with joy, and her hands trembled with eagerness as she took the parchment and devoured it with her eyes, and kissed it again and again, and flung her arms round Martin's neck, and kissed _him_. When she was calmer, she told him Heaven had raised her up a friend in the dame Van Eyck. "And I would fain consult her on this good news: but I have not strength to walk so far." "What need to walk? There is my mule." "Your mule, Martin?"