Well, then, Martin said it was blood those cruel dogs followed; so I thought if I could but have a little blood on my shoon, the dogs would follow me instead, and let my Gerard wend free.

So I scratched my arm with Martin's knife--forgive me! Whose else could I take?
Yours, Gerard?
Ah, no.

You forgive me ?" said she beseechingly, and lovingly and fawningly, all in one.
"Let me see this scratch first," said Gerard, choking with emotion.
"There, I thought so.

A scratch?
I call it a cut--a deep, terrible, cruel cut." Gerard shuddered at sight of it.
"She might have done it with her bodkin," said the soldier.

"Milksop! that sickens at sight of a scratch and a little blood." "No, no.