“Let me pass, knaves,” cried Rushak.
“Ay, ay, let him pass,” said another man; “he hath right of entrance and outgoing at all hours. I would not have thee try to stop him, an thou wouldst sleep in a whole skin to-morrow night.”
The passage was cleared in a moment. The Lady Beatrice, overpowered with apprehension, was supported by the Franciscan.
“Come on, brother,” cried Friar Rushak.
“She faints,” cried the Franciscan.
“Lift her in thine arms, then,” cried Rushak.
The Franciscan raised her from the ground, and carried her half senseless to the door. At that moment a man entered, and brushed by them in breathless haste. He looked behind him at the group.
“The Lady Beatrice!” cried he. “Ha, whither do ye carry her, villains?”
“Answer him not, but run,” said Rushak, flying off at full speed across the court, followed by the sturdy Franciscan, [[523]]who carried his fair burden as if he felt not her weight. The steps of many people were heard following them. All at once the noise of a desperate scuffle ensued behind them, and the two monks, who stayed not to inquire the nature of it, pressed on towards a low archway that ran under the river-wall. The air blew fresh from the river on Beatrice’s cheek. She revived, and found that he who carried her was standing near an iron gate of ponderous strength, which Friar Rushak was making vain attempts to open.
“Holy St. Francis assist us!” cried he, “I fear that my hands have erred, and that I have unluckily possessed myself of the wrong key.”