“Gerard forever!” shouted Couchman.
“Gerard forever!” exclaimed a hundred voices.
“‘Tis his blessed daughter,” said others; “‘tis Sybil, our angel Sybil.”
“Stand by Sybil Gerard.”
Sybil had made her way upon the terrace, and had collected around her a knot of stout followers, who, whatever may have been their original motive, were now resolved to do her bidding. The object of Mr Mountchesney was to descend the side-step of the terrace and again the flower-garden, from whence there were means of escape. But the throng was still too fierce to permit Lady de Mowbray and her companions to attempt the passage, and all that Sybil and her followers could at present do, was to keep the mob off from entering the library, and to exert themselves to obtain fresh recruits.
At this moment an unexpected aid arrived.
“Keep back there! I call upon you in the name of God to keep back!” exclaimed a voice of one struggling and communing with the rioters, a voice which all immediately recognised. It was that of Mr St Lys. Charles Gardner, “I have been your friend. The aid I gave you was often supplied to me by this house. Why are you here?”
“For no evil purpose, Mr St Lys. I came as others did, to see what was going on.”
“Then you see a deed of darkness. Struggle against it. Aid me and Philip Warner in this work; it will support you at the judgment. Tressel, Tressel, stand by me and Warner. That’s good, that’s right! And you too, Daventry, and you, and you. I knew you would wash your hands of this fell deed. It is not Mowbray men who would do this. That’s right, that’s right! Form a band. Good again. There’s not a man that joins us now who does not make a friend for life.”
Mr St Lys had been in the neighbourhood when the news of the visit of the mob to the castle reached him. He anticipated the perilous consequences. He hastened immediately to the scene of action. He had met Warner the handloom weaver in his way, and enlisted his powerful influence with the people on his side.