“For the love of Saint Andrew, lay not a hand on the rope, Sir Knight, as thou may’st value thy life!” said Michael Forbes, who, having heard Patrick’s loud shout, had been hurried off to his aid by the fears and the commands of the Lady Catherine.
“Why hast thou left the lady, caitiff?” demanded Patrick Stewart, angrily. “Did I not tell thee to stay with her till I should call thee?”
“We heard thee call loudly, Sir Knight,” replied Michael, trembling more from his proximity to the place whence the screams had issued, than from any thing that Patrick had said.
“True, I had forgotten,” replied Patrick; “I did call, though not on thee. But since thou art here, come lend me thy hand to pull up the basket.”
“Nay, Sir Knight; surely thou art demented by devilish influence. For the love of all the saints!” cried Michael, quaking from head to foot; “for the love of ——”
“Dastard, obey my command, or I will hurl thee over the rock!” cried Patrick furiously, and with a manner that showed Michael that it was time to obey. “Now, pull—pull steadily and firmly; pull away, I say!”
“Have mercy on us! have mercy on our souls!” cried Michael, pulling most unwillingly.
“What a fiend are you afraid of? Why don’t you pull, I say?” cried the Knight again.
“Jesu Maria protect me! that I should have a hand in any such work!” muttered Michael. “Oh holy Virgin! to have thus to deal with the Devil himself!”
“Come! pull!—pull away, I tell ye—pull! aye, there!” cried Patrick Stewart, as the basket at last came to the top of the rock.