The men had satisfied themselves the fugitives were in the coppice, and were beating back.
"No matter," whispered Martin to his trembling companion.

"We shall have time to win clear and slip back out of sight by hard running.

Ah!" He stooped suddenly; for just as he was going to burst out of the brushwood, his eye caught a figure keeping sentinel.

It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten seated on his mule; a bloody bandage was across his nose, the bridge of which was broken; but over this his eyes peered keenly, and it was plain by their expression he had heard the fugitives rustle, and was looking out for them.

Martin muttered a terrible oath, and cautiously strung his bow, then with equal caution fitted his last arrow to the string.