"Oh! do not leave me," cried Adelaide; "I shall die with fear, if I am left alone."
"No, no--not so," answered the priest; "I will show you in a moment that you are quite safe;" and, drawing a key from under his gown, he opened the door which led from the little chapel to the lodging-chamber at its side, and entered with the lady.
The cell was quite vacant; but on a shelf at one side stood a bottle of wine and some provisions, which the priest soon placed before Adelaide, and insisted upon her partaking thereof, though appetite she had none. "Now, I will go and see for the horses," he said, as soon as he had made her swallow a morsel, and taste the wine. "But first I must show you--Hark! they are coming, I think. Did you not hear a sound?"
"It is from the other side--it is from the castle," cried Adelaide, starting up in terror; and the monk instantly crossed to a little lancet-shaped window which looked up the hill, saying, at the same time, in a confident tone, "No fear if it be, my child."
The next instant he turned round, nodded his head significantly, and locked the door into the chapel; then advancing to the spot where his pallet lay, with the crucifix at the head, he put his hand upon one of the large blocks of stone which formed the wall of the building, and pressed against it with no great effort. It instantly gave way, however, rolling back, as a door, upon a strong perpendicular bar of iron run through the angle of the block,[[2]] and disclosing the lower steps of a little staircase, to which he motioned his fair companion. "Quick; go in, my child," he said, in a low tone, while the horses' feet came clattering down the hill; and with breathless haste Adelaide darted forward, and ran some way up the steps. Father George followed, pushed back the block of stone, and secured it with a bolt. "Go on, daughter," he said; and, feeling her way up; for the stairs were quite in darkness, she soon came to a door-way leading into the belfry over the little chapel. Father George followed her, and reached the belfry just as two armed horsemen checked their beasts at the door. One of them, springing down, entered the chapel in haste, but returned immediately, exclaiming aloud, "He's not in there; and that door's locked."
"Try the other," cried his companion; and the man who had dismounted going up to the door of the cell, shook it as if he would have forced it off its hinges, exclaiming aloud, "Father George, Father George!"
The good priest smiled, but replied not, and the next moment the man without, exclaiming, with an oath, "I will see if he's within or not," dashed his gauntleted hand through the lower part of the window, which was dim with dust and age, and, holding by the stone-work, looked into the cell.
"There's no one there," he said at length. "Where, in the fiend's name, can the monk be?"
"Gone to the devil, I suppose," answered the other man, "who has got more of his companions than they suspect at the abbey, I fancy. But, at all events, we must go back as fast as may be. The Count won't catch him in a hurry, I should think."
While he had been speaking, his companion remounted, and they rode off together towards the castle.