ence and despair!... He rushed up-stairs, hoping that from a window
above he might be able to call the guard. The prudent soldiers had
locked and barricaded the entrances to the upper floors of the whole
right wing, lest the palace court should be commanded from thence.
Whither now? Back--and whither then? And his breath failed him, his
throat was parched, his face burned as with the simoon wind, his legs
were trembling under him. His presence of mind, usually so perfect,
failed him utterly. He was baffled, netted. His brain, for the first
time in his life, began to reel. He could recollect nothing but that
something dreadful was to happen--and that he had to prevent it, and
could not.... Where was he now? In a little by-chamber. What was that
roar below?... A sea of weltering heads, thousands on thousands down
into the very beach; and from their innumerable throats one mighty
war-cry--"God, and the Mother of God!" Cyril's hounds were loose.... He
reeled from the window, and darted frantically away again ... whither,
he knew not, and never knew until his dying day.

Philammon saw Raphael rush across the streets into the Museum gardens.
His last words had been a command to stay where he was, and the boy
obeyed him, quietly ensconced himself behind a buttress, and sat coiled
up on the pavement ready for a desperate spring.

There Philammmon waited a full half-hour. It seemed to him hours, day,
years. And yet Raphael did not return; and yet no guards appeared.

What meant that black knot of men some two hundred yards off, hanging
about the mouth of the side street, just opposite the door which led to
her lecture-room? He moved to watch them; they had vanished. He lay down
again and waited.... There they were again. It was a suspicious post.
That street ran along the back of the Caesareum, a favorite haunt of
monks, communicating by innumerable entries and back buildings with the
great church itself.... He knew that something terrible was at hand.
More than once he looked out from his hiding place--the knot of men were
still there; ... it seemed to have increased, to draw nearer. If they
found him, what would they not suspect? What did he care? He would die
for her if it came to that--not that it would come to that; but still he
must speak to her--he must warn her.

At last, a curricle, glittering with silver, rattled round the corner
and stopped opposite him. She must be coming now. The crowd had
vanished. Perhaps it wa