their reins to prevent their horses from falling. From the way the dyke ran it formed an angle with the high road, and they were soon again brought within sight of the Spanish horsemen, who shouting out to them to stop, fired several shots in rapid succession.

“The fellows are not bad marksmen,” said Berthold, “for I heard two or more bullets whistle close to my ears.”

Captain Van der Elst continued shouting out, “Ride on! ride on!” more to show that he himself was unhurt than that there was any necessity to urge on Berthold. The Spaniards were evidently unwilling to trust themselves to the low ground for fear of finding that it was a morass, into which their steeds might plunge with little hope of extricating themselves. On seeing that the fugitives had a good chance of escaping, although some of the Spaniards galloped after them along the road, the others continued firing their carbines, though fortunately they missed their aim. The two fugitives were soon beyond the range of the Spanish musketeers, but Captain Van der Elst still cried out to his companion, “Go on! go on!” for, glancing behind him, he saw indistinctly through the gloom the heads of several horsemen following them.

“We shall soon be at the bridge,” cried Berthold. “I do not think the Spaniards will attempt to cross it.” Just as he had announced that they were close upon it they saw a body of horse who had evidently galloped round to take possession of the post. This discovery was made, however, in time to enable Berthold to ride his horse down the side of the dyke, the captain following his example. “Come along,” he cried out, “the ground is somewhat soft, but these horses are accustomed to it, and we may get over it much faster than our pursuers.” Having proceeded some distance, they had good reason to hope that they had not been seen.

“We must now make for the river, and a few minutes will carry us safe across it,” said Berthold.

The horses as they reached the bank, without hesitation plunged in, and bravely breasted the smooth water. They had got more than halfway across when again they heard the shouts of a number of Spaniards ordering them to return.

“You may shout yourselves hoarse, my men,” cried Berthold. “We have no intention of obeying you.” Finding that their shouts produced no effect, they fired several bullets from their fire-arms, and the bullets came spattering into the water like a shower of hail, but the gallant steeds bore their riders to the opposite bank unhurt, and soon 

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