His words proved true. The thunder came nearer and nearer till it crashed overhead: the flashes followed one another close, like the strokes of a whip, and the rain fell in torrents. Margaret hid her face not to see the lightning. On this, Gerard put up the rough shutter, and lighted a candle. The lovers consulted together, and Gerard blessed the storm that gave him a few hours more with Margaret. The sun set unperceived, and still the thunder pealed, and the lightning flashed, and the rain poured. Supper was set, but Gerard and Margaret could not eat: the thought that this was the last time they should sup together, choked them. The storm lulled a little. Peter retired to rest. But Gerard was to go at peep of day, and neither he nor Margaret could afford to lose an hour in sleep. Martin sat a while, too: for he was fitting a new string to his bow, a matter in which he was very nice. The lovers murmured their sorrows and their love beside him. Suddenly the old man held up his hand to them to be silent. They were quiet and listened, and heard nothing. But the next moment a footstep crackled faintly upon the autumn leaves that lay strewn in the garden at the back door of the house. To those who had nothing to fear such a step would have said nothing: but to those who had enemies it was terrible. For it was a foot trying to be noiseless. Martin fitted an arrow to his string, and hastily blew out the candle. At this moment, to their horror, they heard more than one footstep approach the other door of the cottage, not quite so noiselessly as the other, but very stealthily--and then a dead pause. Their blood froze in their veins. "Oh! Kate! oh, Kate! You said, fly on the instant." And Margaret moaned and wrung her hands in anguish and terror, and wild remorse for having kept Gerard. "Hush girl!" said Martin, in a stern whisper. * * * * * A heavy knock fell on the door. And on the hearts within. CHAPTER XIV AS 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 abed 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, very slowly, and in rushed Dierich and four more. They let in their companion who was at the back door. "Now, Martin, where is Gerard Eliassoen?" "Gerard Eliassoen? Why he was here but now?" "Was here?" Dierich's countenance fell. "And where is he now?"