The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER XXI

  SPEECH is the familiar vent of human thoughts: but there are emotions sosimple and overpowering, that they rush out not in words, but ineloquent sounds. At such moments man seems to lose his characteristics,and to be merely one of the higher animals; for these, when greatlyagitated, ejaculate, though they cannot speak.

  There was something terrible and truly animal, both in the roar oftriumph with which the pursuers burst out of the thicket on ourfugitives, and the sharp cry of terror with which these latter dartedaway. The pursuers' hands clutched the empty air, scarce two feet behindthem, as they fled for life. Confused for a moment, like lions that misstheir spring, Dierich and his men let Gerard and the mule put ten yardsbetween them. Then they flew after with uplifted weapons. They were sureof catching them; for this was not the first time the parties hadmeasured speed. In the open ground they had gained visibly on the threethis morning, and now, at last, it was a fair race again, to be settledby speed alone. A hundred yards were covered in no time. Yet still thereremained these ten yards between the pursuers and the pursued.

  This increase of speed since the morning puzzled Dierich Brower. Thereason was this. When three run in company, the pace is that of theslowest of the three. From Peter's house to the edge of the forestGerard ran Margaret's pace; but now he ran his own; for the mule wasfleet, and could have left them all far behind. Moreover youth andchaste living began to tell. Daylight grew imperceptibly between thehunted ones and the hunters. Then Dierich made a desperate effort, andgained two yards; but in a few seconds Gerard had stolen them quietlyback. The pursuers began to curse.

  Martin heard, and his face lighted up. "Courage, Gerard! courage, bravelad! they are straggling."

  It was so. Dierich was now headed by one of his men, and another droppedinto the rear altogether.

  They came to a rising ground, not sharp, but long; and here youth, andgrit, and sober living, told more than ever.

  Ere he reached the top, Dierich's forty years weighed him down likeforty bullets. "Our cake is dough," he gasped. "Take him dead, if youcan't alive": and he left running, and followed at a foot's pace. JorianKetel tailed off next; and then another, and so, one by one, Gerard ranthem all to a standstill, except one who kept on stanch as a bloodhound,though losing ground every minute. His name, if I am not mistaken, wasEric Wouverman. Followed by him, they came to a rise in the wood,shorter, but much steeper than the last.

  "Hand on mane!" cried Martin.

  Gerard obeyed, and the mule helped him up the hill faster even than hewas running before.

  At the sight of this manoeuvre Dierich's man lost heart, and, beingnow full eighty yards behind Gerard, and rather more than that inadvance of his nearest comrade, he pulled up short, and, in obedience toDierich's order, took down his crossbow, levelled it deliberately, andjust as the trio were sinking out of sight over the crest of the hill,sent the bolt whizzing among them.

  There was a cry of dismay; and, next moment, as if a thunderbolt hadfallen on them, they were all lying on the ground, mule and all.