"Look there," said Martin to Margaret scornfully, "_he is a priest at heart still_: and when he is not in ire, St. Paul, what a milk-sop!" "Tush, Martin!" cried Margaret reproachfully: then she wreathed her arms round Gerard, and comforted him with the double magic of a woman's sense and a woman's voice. "Sweetheart!" murmured she, "you forget: you went not a step out of the way to harm him who hunted you to your death. You fled from him. He it was who spurred on you. Then did you strike; but in self-defence and a single blow, and with that which was in your hand. Malice had drawn knife, or struck again and again. How often have men been smitten with staves not one but many blows, yet no lives lost! If then your enemy has fallen, it is through his own malice, not yours, and by the will of God." "Bless you, Margaret, bless you for thinking so!" "Yes, but, beloved one; if you have had the _misfortune_ to kill that wicked man, the more need is there that you fly with haste from Holland. Oh! let us on." "Nay, Margaret," said Gerard. "I fear not man's vengeance, thanks to Martin here, and this thick wood: only Him I fear whose eye pierces the forest, and reads the heart of man. If I but struck in self-defence, 'tis well; but if in hate, He may bid the avenger of blood follow me to Italy; to Italy? ay, to earth's remotest bounds." "Hush!" said Martin, peevishly. "I can't hear for your chat." "What is it?" "Do you hear nothing, Margaret? My ears are getting old." Margaret listened, and presently she heard a tuneful sound, like a single stroke upon a deep ringing bell. She described it so to Martin. "Nay, I heard it," said he. "And so did I," said Gerard: "it was beautiful. Ah! there it is again. How sweetly it blends with the air. It is a long way off. It is before us; is it not?" "No, no! the echoes of this wood confound the ear of a stranger. It comes from the pine grove." "What the one we passed?" "The one we passed?" "Why, Martin, is this _anything_? You look pale." "Wonderful!" said Martin, with a sickly sneer. "He asks me is it _anything_? Come, on, on! at any rate, let us reach a better place than this." "A better place--for what?" "To stand at bay, Gerard," said Martin gravely: "and die like soldiers, killing three for one." "What's that sound?" "IT IS THE AVENGER OF BLOOD." "Oh, Martin, save him! Oh, Heaven be merciful! What new mysterious peril is this?" "GIRL, IT'S A BLOODHOUND." CHAPTER XX