"Why? Are we not safe?"
"Before one may count a hundred, we are surrounded by the whole army of the tyrant!"
This sudden and awful disclosure was too much for the frail maiden, already exhausted by watching and excitement. She grasped his wrist, and shuddering as she fixed her eyes on him, staggered forward, and would have fallen, had not the palmer caught her now unconscious form, and, raising it in his arms, passed from the room. Through the gallery, down the staircase, along the portico he passed, as swiftly as though he carried but a child. The wind came damp and cold against his cheek, the rain poured pitilessly upon his head, the arrowy lightning seemed to play around his feet, but manfully he hurried on with his precious charge. The gate was reached; he paused but an instant to hail the groom and take breath, then slid into the moat, and in a short space stood safe upon the other side. Here he staid but to envelop the maiden in his own heavy cloak, which he had snatched up when the rain began. As her consciousness was but imperfectly restored, the palmer mounted one of the horses and placed her before him. The groom, at his direction, sprang to the saddle and led the third animal.
When they were a little within the wood, the palmer exclaimed
"Can you find the road to Count Montfort's?"
The groom replied in the affirmative.
"Then take the lead, and strike it at the nearest point."
After groping for some minutes, they succeeded in hitting it, and, aided by the lightning, pursued their course as swiftly as the stormy night permitted.
The Lady Margaret was awakened to her situation only to pour forth torrents of tears. In vain the palmer tried to moderate her grief—she could scarcely be persuaded from returning.
The rain had now ceased, and as the clouds rolled away, they obtained light enough to continue their flight more rapidly and securely.