"Father John, you have come in good time," said the galleyman, who now approached the monk, and who was he that had been contesting with the two men; "for, good father, if my ears serve me rightly, within that berth is the Lady de Boteler!"
The monk started.
"And where is her lord?"
"I know not, unless he be with the king at Mile-end."
"Lady de Boteler," cried the monk, "if thou art within come forth!" and Isabella, at his voice, at once threw open the door.
"Lady," said Ball, who, in a low voice, had exchanged a few words with Wells, "here thou art no longer safe. Conduct this lady, my friend, to the abbey of Westminster," addressing Wells, "and encounter not those who might, unchecked by me, commit further outrage. Take a boat from the water-side—that way is yet open. Farewell, lady, I must hence;—for even Simon Sudbury, who made John Ball what he is now, may be in peril, and it is for the Lord alone to smite.—I seek not the brand to right me!"
The idea of Sudbury's danger had been confirmed by the behaviour of those whom his presence had arrested in guilt; and the monk, whose sympathies were thus awakened, hastened away, and gained the court-yard. Here his ears were assailed by a loud shout, which was repeated thrice, and which, he conjectured, proceeded from Tower-hill.
The monk hurried to the northern battlements, and stood, for an instant, gazing intently on the confusion which filled the vast area before him. At one point, and towards the centre, he observed a circle formed of some mounted commons, and he perceived a man in the midst in a kneeling posture. His voice now arose deep and startling as he exclaimed, "Wat Tyler, I adjure thee, touch not the prelate—touch not the Lord's anointed! Forbear! forbear!" and then, with an agility which, since his boyhood, he had not probably before exerted, he descended the platform, hurried through the fortress, crossed the moat, and then striding rapidly through the people, who made way as he approached, stood in the centre of that circle towards which his fears had impelled him.
A glance informed father John that vengeance was swifter in the race than mercy, and his eye now fiercely sought for the guilty author of the drama. He stood a few paces to the right, leaning on the instrument of crime, and his eyes rivetted on the prophet. Upon his dark countenance was marked triumph and agitation, for he feared the storm which he expected was now to burst upon him. But whether it was the spectacle which the monk's first gaze encountered, or that indignation, too deep for utterance, overpowered his energies, cannot be said; but, after regarding Tyler with a look which seemed to combine every thing of horror and disgust, father John turned away, and was quickly lost in the multitude.
Those who witnessed this brief interview saw enough to indicate, in that glance cast on their leader, the monk's displeasure at the deed; and Tyler himself well understood the silent rebuke, for, turning to Kirkby, he said, in a bitter, though subdued tone,—