Boston did not run far. Reaching the edge of a little thicket, he paused, and waited for the captain, who was only a few feet behind, hurrying forward at his best pace; when Boston, making a single forward step, dealt a blow with such fullness and force, that the furious soldier went down like an ox under the ax of the butcher. No one, looking at the light frame of the peddler, would have imagined for a moment that his muscles were developed to such an extent. No sooner was the blow struck, than he grasped Willie by the arm and hurried him forward at a quick pace, leaving Van Zandt prostrate upon the earth. “Have you hurt him badly?” inquired Willie. “Oh, no. I hit him behind the ear in the way you wot of. I did not care to use my weapons.” “You are right. What shall we do now? I am afraid you have betrayed yourself. You called out, ‘obey me!’ in a way that made me start.” “Katrine suspects too, the little darling. I have promised to tell her the secret. She shall know it when the house of Good Hope is ours.” “You have hope, then?” “When I shall tell you what I have heard this night from the lips of Jacob Van Curter, you will understand why I have hope. But, we can not stay now. We must go to Windsor at once. We know the river, and our canoe is at hand.” “I am ready to go.” As they glided from the shore, Van Curter stumbled over the prostrate form of Joseph. This aroused the captain, and he staggered to his feet, making a weak attack upon his friend, who parried his blows with great ease. “You are mad. It’s I, Van Curter.” Van Zandt came to his senses. “I believe I am crazy,” he said. “But what a blow. My head seems split asunder.” “What did he strike you with? Ho, there, Hans! Bring the torch hither. What did he strike you with?” “It seemed like a clinched hand. And it can not be that a human hand should have such power. I would sooner be kicked by a horse than take such another blow.” “Do you know who struck you?” “Not I; though when the blow came every sun, moon and star in a clear sky seemed to blaze close before my eyes. By my faith, I am dizzy yet.” “I should think you were. Lean upon me, and let us return to the house. Do you know who they were?” “Surely. Who should it be but the worshipful Lieutenant Barlow, and his friend Bainbridge. I tell you again that he is something more than he shows upon the outside. S’death, man, he called out to the lieutenant like a master, I can tell you, and he came at his call.” “What was it all about?” “I heard voices under my window, and listened. It was Theresa talking with Barlow. I threw open my window and called upon him to speak. But Bainbridge called to his comrade to come away, and I missed him—it was very dark.” “By the bones of my father!” cried Van Curter. “Has it gone so far as that. Follow me.”