Martin Wittenhaagen, standing¹ at the foot of the stairs with his arrow drawn² nearly to the head and his knife behind him, was struck with amazement³ to see the men come back without Gerard: he lowered his bow and looked open-mouthed at them. They, for their part, were equally puzzled at the attitude they had caught him in.  
“Why, mates, was the old fellow making ready to shoot at us?”
 
“Stuff!” said Martin, recovering his stolid⁴ composure; “I was but trying my new string. There! I'll unstring my bow, if you think that.”
 
“Humph!” said Dierich suspiciously, “there is something more in you than I understand: put a log on, and let us dry our hides a bit ere we go.”
 
A blazing fire was soon made, and the men gathered round it, and their clothes and long hair were soon smoking from the cheerful blaze. Then it was that the shrieks⁵ were heard in Margaret's room. They all started up, and one of them seized the candle and ran up the steps that led to the bedrooms.
 
Martin rose hastily too, and being confused by these sudden screams, and apprehending

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