was heard booming out over the city, to be answered almost immediately
by the hum of voices and the hurry of feet.

"Now you are doomed indeed," Hildebrand commented, ironically.

Perpetua still tugged at the bell.

"Syracuse will defend me," she asserted, brave against danger.

"Syracuse will do nothing," Hildebrand said, confidently.

Even as he spoke the sea-door was flung open and a mob of people flooded
the church, bearing Hieronymus in their midst. At the same moment
through the side door Sigurd entered with his soldiers, followed by
Lycabetta.

"Who rings the bell?" Hieronymus asked, sternly, gazing in amazement at
Perpetua and the strange display of armed force.

"I do, father," Perpetua answered. Then eagerly she appealed to the
murmuring crowd: "People of Syracuse, protect me. That bell appeals to
you with the voice of the dead good King, to defend me against the
living evil King."

Men and women, the crowd clustered together, murmurous, menacing
sound--the men had weapons in their hands and looked as if they were
ready to use them in defence of their ancient rights.

Unmoved by their attitude, Hildebrand said to Sigurd: "Make that woman
your prisoner. She is the King's enemy."

Sigurd and his soldiers advanced towards Perpetua. As they did so the
uneasy crowd about the door parted, and Robert rushed in through the
human lane, wild-eyed; he looked from Perpetua to Hildebrand, from the
soldiers to the people.

"Perpetua! Perpetua!" he cried. "You dare not touch her. She is in
sanctuary."

Instantly the people about the door took up the cry and thundered it:
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!"

Hildebrand greeted Robert with an evil smile. "Fool, fool, I thought we
should lure you."

"Sanctuary!" Robert cried again. He tried to reach Perpetua, but the
soldiers were between him and her, a wall of weapons.

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" the people raved, swaying at Robert's heels.

Hildebrand lifted his hand; there was a lull, and he spoke. "Silence,
slaves! There is no sanctuary against sorcery."

Perpetua, clinging to the pillar, echoed his word in horror. "Sorcery!"

"Ay," repeated Hildebrand. "Sorcery. The King swears you have cast
spells upon him, delivering him madness in a draught of well-water, that
you are a damnable sorceress."

Through the confused clamor that followed this charge, Perpetua's voice
rang out.

"This is the wickedest story ever told."

"People of Syracuse," Robert called, "do not