"Beg pardon, sor, but dount ye think 'twould be safer to lock the gate agin? They moight follow loike."
With great care I closed and locked the gate. Then, stealing slowly, as doth the fox, along the wall, we in time reached the shadow of St. Thomas tower. It was so dark here that I could scarce see Michael; for now 'twas past the hour of midnight, and the young moon had grown weary and was sinking her head upon the lap of earth, casting long, black shadows as she sank into her sleep.
How I cursed my creaking, yet necessary, armour as I stole along.
Then my heart beat so loudly that I thought the sentry near which we were now drawing must hear it and break forth with his loud, disturbing challenge. Back and forth he paced with weary, clanking steps, unconscious of the two dark forms working their way slowly, and well nigh breathlessly, towards him. Now we were pressing against the wall, as he halted almost within arm's length before us. Verily, his eyes must have been closed in partial sleep, or he had seen us. Then he tramped round, as though he had been fastened to a cord which permitted him to go but to its length and then warned him to return.
At that moment I attempted to draw back still further. My spur struck the wall with a sharp click, and this did cause me to lose my balance, and mine armoured shoulders clanked against the stones.
The soldier turned like a flash of light, and brought his axe from shoulder unto thigh. He was about to challenge when Michael, forcing the axe's point above his head, clapped his mighty hand over the surprised sentry's mouth, permitting no sound to escape.
I seized the axe, lest it should fall and rouse the guard.
"Be quoiet, thou fool, and no harm 'll come unto thee," whispered Michael in the fellow's ear, as he held him firmly to the ground.
With haste I searched me for my scarf.
"It's here, sor, about moy hand; jist untoie it, playze sor. Sure a little blood 'll do thee no harm. Thou shouldst thank the Lord that it isn't thoine own." This to the sentry.