“That was Tom Robson!” yelled Martin, who was the last.  “Let me get up to him!  Out of the way!  Only let me get my hands on him!” and he worked his way past the others, and got up to Tom, just as he had reached the top of the slope where the flat meadow began.

Martin went at him with such violence that the other had not time to put himself in position.  Blow after blow rained down on him, until he fell to the ground half stupefied.  Martin threw himself upon him, put his knees on his breast, and struck him in the face, and then continued hitting and kicking at random until he could do so no longer.

The others now came up, but did not get between the combatants.  Martin was now perfectly wild, and went on in front, swinging his arms, cursing and swearing horribly.  Tom Robson came limping behind; but no sooner did Martin catch sight of him, than he threw himself upon him a second time, until he again lay apparently dead upon the meadow.  They thus continued their way over the field, but just as Martin was making a third attack upon Tom, a tall, slender boy came springing over the field, and put himself in front of Martin.  It was Gabriel Garman.

“Will you leave him alone, Martin?” he cried, breathless from running.

“Oh!” cried Martin, “here is one of the bloodsuckers!  You have just come at the right time.  I will wreak my vengeance on you, you infernal young scoundrel!”

But just as he was on the point of attacking Gabriel his arms were seized from behind.

“Are you mad, Martin?  It’s Gabriel, the Consul’s son.  You are out of your senses, lad!” cried Woodlouse.  Both he and the Swede threw themselves upon Martin, and held him fast.  Martin yelled and struggled, until he at length fell back, wearied with his efforts, and lay still.

Tom Robson did not know much about what was going on, but managed, however, to stumble up to his house, which was close by.

“You have no occasion to be afraid, Mr. Gabriel,” said Woodlouse, in a fawning tone; “we have got him tight.”

“That is what you ought to have done before,” answered Gabriel.  “I should have been able to look after myself.”

He was so slight and slender that Martin could have crushed him, mad as he was; but Woodlouse could not help saying, as he went down the slope, “There is good blood in them.”

Martin, whom they had now let go, raised his head.  “Blood, do you say?  Yes, there’s blood in them—­the blood of the poor that they have sucked from father to son.  And all that blood have they turned to gold—­shining, blood-red gold; but,” added he, mysteriously, “I will tap the gold out of them—­I will—­till it shines as red as blood all over Sandsgaard!  Just wait a minute!” And off he rushed down the slope with the activity of a deer.  Woodlouse and the Swede looked at each other meaningly, and each went his way without saying a word.

After the window had been broken, Marianne quickly put out the light.  She took her petticoat, and tried to stop up the window, but the wind was blowing so hard that she could not manage to make it tight.  She shivered with the cold as she stood, and hurriedly got into bed.  But every time a blast came she felt the cold draught, and could not get warm.