d else. I am no scholar." And he took out of his
pouch a parchment with a grand seal. It purported to be a stipend and a
licence given by Philip, Duke of Burgundy, to Martin Wittenhaagen, one
of his archers, in return for services in the wars, and for a wound
received at the Dukes side. The stipend was four merks yearly, to be
paid by the Duke's almoner, and the licence was to shoot three arrows
once a week, viz., on Thursday, and no other day, in any of the Duke's
forests in Holland, at any game but a seven-year-old buck or a doe
carrying fawn; proviso, that the Duke should not be hunting on that day,
or any of his friends. In this case Martin was not to go and disturb the
woods on peril of his salary and his head, and a fine of a penny.

Margaret sighed and was silent.

"Come, cheer up, mistress," said he; "for your sake I'll peril my
carcass; I have done that for many a one that was not worth your
forefinger. It is no such mighty risk either. I'll but step into the
skirts of the forest here. It is odds but they drive a hare or a fawn
within reach of my arrow."

"Well, if I let you go, you must promise me not to go far, and not to
be seen; far better Gerard went supperless than ill should come to you,
faithful Martin."

The required promise given, Martin took his bow and three arrows, and
stole cautiously into the wood: it was scarce a furlong distant. The
horns were heard faintly in the distance, and all the game was afoot.
"Come," thought Martin, "I shall soon fill the pot, and no one be the
wiser." He took his stand behind a thick oak that commanded a view of
an open glade, and strung his bow, a truly formidable weapon. It was
of English yew, six feet two inches high, and thick in proportion; and
Martin, broad-chested, with arms all iron and cord, and used to the bow
from infancy, could draw a three-foot arrow to the head, and, when
it flew, the eye could scarce follow it, and the bowstring twanged as
musical as a harp. This bow had laid many a stout soldier low in the
wars of the Hoecks and Cabbel-jaws. In those days a battlefield was not
a cloud of smoke; the combatants were few, but the deaths many--for they
saw what they were about; and fewer bloodless arrows flew than bloodless
bullets now. A hare came cantering, then sat sprightly, and her ears
made a capital V. Martin levelled his tremendous weapon at her. The
arrow flew, the string twanged; but Martin had been in a hurry to pot
her, and lost her by an i