So Martin Valliant became an outlaw¹, Nature being stronger than the ingenious folly² of dead saints.  
It was Mellis who captained the adventure, for she was quicker in thought than Martin, and the day’s happenings had stunned³ him not a little.
 
She had her eyes on Woodmere, and both heart and head justified⁵ the choice. It was nearer to Troy Castle than the Black Moor⁶, but this disadvantage was overbalanced by many virtues⁷. The place lay in the thick of the woods; its broad mere⁴ made it very safe; and with but little labor⁸ the house itself could be put into a good state for defense⁹. Arms and stores were hidden there. Moreover, it lay in the Red Rose country, where the Forest folk were most bitter against the Lord of Troy. John Falconer held Badger¹⁰ Hill; the Blounts were at Bloody¹¹ Rood, just south of the Rondel toward the west. Mellis counted on the Forest rallying to her when the secret word went forth¹² that Richmond was crossing the seas.
 
“To horse, good comrade; or rather you and I will have to march and load the baggage on my horse. Have you much store of food?”
 
“Half a sack of flour, and some yeast¹³.”
 
“Empty your cupboard into a couple of sacks. I will go and harness the horse.”
 
Martin Valliant was looking at the dead men. He loitered a moment, as though he could not decide what should be done with them.
 
“No, I’ll not touch them,” he said to himself. “I am a man of blood; let others do what is right and good.”
 
He locked up the chapel¹⁴ and left the key hanging on a nail in his cell, nor did he touch anything in the cell itself save the food in the cupboard and larder¹⁵. A couple of sacks served for the stowing away of the flour, the yeast, a bottle or two of wine, a paper of dried herbs, and some salted meat. He tied up the mouths of the sacks and carried them down to the stable.
 
Mellis showed herself a very practical young woman.
 
“Fasten those two sacks together, and we can sling¹⁶ them like panniers. Now, what else would make useful plunder¹⁷? A coil of rope, if you have such a thing.”
 
Martin remembered seeing a coil hanging in Father Jude’s tool-house.
 
“Wait—and a felling ax and a crowbar. I’ll come with you.”
 
They ransacked¹⁸ the tool-house, and Mellis blessed Father Jude.
 
“The rope, yes, and that felling ax. This is a treasury¹⁹, good comrade. Take that saw, and the mattock and spade.”
 
“Here’s a crowbar.”
 
“Oh, brave man! We shall bless these tools to-morrow. That big maul, too, and the billhook, and that auger²⁰ hanging there.”
 
“I can use the rope to lash²¹ them into a bundle.”
 
“Of course. Give me the saw, the auger, and the billhook.”
 
Martin laid the rest of the tools on the ground, and lashed²² them together by the handles. He tried the weight of the bundle.
 
“Your horse will not bless us. I could shoulder these things.”
 
“Seven miles?”
 
“It is not the weight, but an awkward bale to tie on a horse’s back.”
 
“Here’s a sack and some cord; wrap it around the handles; we can sling the food one side and the tools the other. The horse must make the best of it.”
 
Her word was law for the moment, both to Martin Valliant and the beast. She stood by while he loaded the things on to the horse’s back, watching him critically and the way he used his big brown hands.
 
“Can you ride a horse?” she asked him.
 
He smiled around at her gravely.
 
“I have broken in colts at Paradise.”
 
“Was that monk²³’s work?”
 
“I was young, and even a monk is none the worse for learning to handle an untamed thing and to keep his temper.”
 
She nodded approvingly.
 
“That may help us. Can you use a bow?”
 
“Passably. As a boy I used to carry a prodd and shoot at the crows.”
 
“The long bow for a forester; the arbalist is only for townsmen.”
 
“I could hit a sheaf of corn at fifty paces when I was younger.”
 
“You will have to grow young again. And traps—can you set a snare²⁴ as a bird-trap?”
 
“No.”
 
“I am thinking of our larder,” she explained. “Outlaws are not fed by ravens²⁵.”
 
The sun had swung well into the west when they were ready to start upon their journey. Mellis went to the great cross, and from its knoll²⁶ she scanned the moor, but could see no live thing moving anywhere. Martin stood by the horse, leaning on his hollywood staff and staring at the ground, trying to convince himself that he was not dreaming. He saw Mellis come back and turn her head so as not to see those dead things lying by the rest-house. Yes, the business was real enough. He had but to look at Mellis, and the knowledge leaped in him that the Martin Valliant of yesterday was dead.
 
“I can see no one moving. The sooner we are lost to view in the woods, the better it will be for us.”
 
His tragic²⁷ face touched her, but she let him alone, and taking the horse’s bridle²⁸, started over the moor.
 
Martin followed her like a dog. He moved mechanically, watching her with a kind of sorrowful bewilderment, marching toward the new world with a heart that was very heavy. A man’s whole life cannot be overturned and broken in a day without the shock of it leaving him dazed and full of a dull distrust. To have become a murderer, to find himself tramping at the heels of a young woman whose eyes bewitched him, to know that there was a likelihood of both of them being hanged—these amazing realities hung heavy about Martin Valliant’s neck.
 
Once or twice Mellis glanced back over her shoulder. She had divined what was passing in Martin Valliant’s heart; she half expected to find herself alone, or to see him stalking away over the moor. Had she suffered less herself, she might have reasoned with him, tried to spur him against the world; but her own heart was full of sadness, and sorrow is a great teacher. She had fought to save him from his own fanaticism²⁹, and she had won a victory; but she was too full of pity for the man to torture him with more grim home-truths. Fate seemed to have tossed them together into the unknown. She chose to let Fate settle the matter. The man should be free to repent³⁰ and go.
 
They crossed the moor and reached the beech³¹ woods without adventure, and Mellis’s heart............