No one replied to her. The only one of the mob who spoke was he who seemed to be their leader. “Where is the priest?” he asked.
Of course no one told him.
The lower rooms and the attic were searched, and there remained but one place. The hearts of the Christians died within them as the leader of the mob took a candle from the table, and went toward the cellar-door. A girl who was near the door caught up a chair to defend the passage, but another took it from her, and pulled her down to her knees. The next moment Father Rasle was led out amid the sobs and prayers of his children. He was very pale, but perfectly calm, and, like his divine Master, he uttered not a word. But as the mob surrounded and led him away, he cast one glance on those who knelt and stretched their clasped hands toward him, and raised his hand in silent benediction. That he
was being led to death, neither he nor they doubted. And they had no reason to doubt it. What violence, short of murder, had these men any reason to fear to do in open daylight? And might they not well believe that even the murderer could escape if he had only the law against him? This was not true only of Seaton. Many a Catholic priest in the United States, at that time, owed the preservation of his life, not to a fear of the law, but to a fear of Catholic vengeance.
They did not take their victim through the lane which Edith had followed, but through a shorter one leading to High Street. The family living in the house at the corner of this street were well-bred people, and, though Protestants, friends to Father Rasle. He had been received in that house as a guest; and now, seeing a light in one of the rooms, the instinct of preservation rose, and forced a cry from him. “Save me!” he cried out, calling the man by name.
Those nearest immediately silenced him with threats. If he spoke again, they said, they would kill him on the spot.
His voice had not been heard, and the faint hope faded as quickly as it had risen.
They avoided the thickly-settled part of the town, and took their way down one of the back streets leading to the river. Half-way down they met a man on horseback, carrying a lantern. He held the light up, and asked whom they had there.
“No one,” they replied, making haste to conceal their prisoner. “We have no one with us.”
Not till too late did Father Rasle know that he had missed another chance of escape, and that it was the sheriff who had met them.