The man on his face dug his nails into the earth and howled; his fellows were too frightened for sound or motion. Diccon, a hardy rogue, with little fear of God or man, gave no sign of perturbation beyond a desperate tugging at the rope about his wrists. He was ever quick to take suggestion, and he had probably begun to question the nature of the ghost who was doing him such yeoman service. “D' ye think they've had enough?” said Sparrow in my ear. “My invention flaggeth.” I nodded, too choked with laughter for speech, and drew my sword. The next moment we were upon the men like wolves upon the fold. They made no resistance. Amazed and shaken as they were, we might have dispatched them with all ease, to join the dead whose lamentations yet rang in their ears; but we contented ourselves with disarming them and bidding them begone for their lives in the direction of the Pamunkey. They went like frightened deer, their one goal in life escape from the wood. “Did you meet the Italian?” I turned to find my wife at my side. The King's ward had a kingly spirit; she was not one that the dead or the living could daunt. To her, as to me, danger was a trumpet call to nerve heart and strengthen soul. She had been in peril of that which she most feared, but the light in her eye was not quenched, and the hand with which she touched mine, though cold, was steady. “Is he dead?” she asked. “At court they called him the Black Death. They said”-- “I did not kill him,” I answered, “but I will if you desire it.” “And his master?” she demanded. “What have you done with his master?” I told her. At the vision my words conjured up her strained nerves gave way, and she broke into laughter as cruel as it was sweet. Peal after peal rang through the haunted wood, and increased the eeriness of the place. “The knot that I tied he will untie directly,” I said. “If we would reach Jamestown first, we had best be going.” “Night is upon us, too,” said the minister, “and this place hath the look of the very valley of the shadow of death. If the spirits walk, it is hard upon their time--and I prefer to walk elsewhere.” “Cease your laughter, madam,” I said. “Should a boat be coming up this stream, you would betray us.” I went over to Diccon, and in a silence as grim as his own cut the rope which bound his hands, which done we all moved through the deepening gloom to where we had left the horses, Jeremy Sparrow going on ahead to have them in readiness. Presently he came hurrying back. “The Italian is gone!” he cried. “Gone!” I exclaimed. “I told you to tie him fast to the saddle!” “Why, so I did,” he replied. “I drew the thongs so tight that they cut into his flesh. He could not have endured to pull against them.” “Then how did he get away?”