At that moment, the two female attendants unwisely began to utter noisy cries of terror, while the startled pages, though but boys, grasped their poniards; then a knocking, like thunder, shook the chapel door, and a fierce laugh was heard without the little painted window of the cell, at which Sybilla saw a grim and bearded face appear, with its eyes glittering under the peak of an iron morion; for there stood Borthwick, with his brazen visage, and heart as hard as steel.
"Be calm," said Barton—"be silent all," he added, with a voice of authority; "take courage, and remember that this is a sanctuary—a holy place."
"You should have remembered that before making it the scene of amorous assignations and unholy dalliance," said the hermit, with something of anger.
"Pardon us," said Barton; "yet it is not the less a sanctuary."
"But, I fear me, these masterful limmers would violate the blessed sepulchre itself," replied the friar, bitterly, as he hastened to conceal the barrel, the two baskets, and the six flasks, in the niche beyond the crucifix and skull.
"Violate it! dost thou think so?" asked Barton, drawing his sword.
At that instant, again the thundering knocks rang on the chapel door, and shouts were heard.
"A Home! a Home!"
"Dost think they will commit sacrilege?"
"What dare they not do? Hear ye not they are Homes?"