Most of the better classes of the Liegeois seemed to entertain similar opinions with the Syndic, and there had been scarce so much joy amongst them at the obtaining possession of Schonwaldt as now seemed to arise from the prospect of getting safe out of it. They were suffered to leave the castle without opposition of any kind, and glad was Quentin when he turned his back on those formidable walls.
For the first time since they had entered that dreadful hall, Quentin ventured to ask the young Countess how she did.
“Well, well,” she answered, in feverish haste, “excellently well—do not stop to ask a question, let us not lose an instant in words.—Let us fly—let us fly!”
She endeavoured to mend her pace as she spoke, but with so little success that she must have fallen from exhaustion had not Durward supported her. With the tenderness of a mother, when she conveys her infant out of danger, the young Scot raised his precious charge in his arms, and while she encircled his neck with one arm, lost to every other thought save the desire of escaping, he would not have wished one of the risks of the night unencountered, since such had been the conclusion.
The honest Burgomaster was, in his turn, supported and dragged forward by his faithful counsellor Peter, and another of his clerks, and thus, in breathless haste, they reached the banks of the river, encountering many strolling bands of citizens, who were eager to know the event of the siege, and the truth of certain rumours already afloat that the conquerors had quarrelled among themselves.
Evading their curiosity as they best could, the exertions of Peter and some of his companions at length procured a boat for the use of the company, and with it an opportunity of enjoying some repose, equally welcome to Isabelle, who continued to lie almost motionless in the arms of her deliverer, and to the worthy Burgomaster, who, after delivering a broken string of thanks to Durward, whose mind was at the time too much occupied to answer him, began a long harangue, which he addressed to Peter, upon his own courage and benevolence, and the dangers to which these virtues had exposed him, on this and other occasions.
“Peter, Peter,” he said, resuming the complaint of the preceding evening, “if I had not had a bold heart, I would never have stood out against paying the burghers twentieths, when every other living soul was willing to pay the same.—Ay, and then a less stout heart had not seduced me into that other battle of Saint Tron, where a Hainault man at arms thrust me into a muddy ditch with his lance, which neither heart nor hand that I had could help me out of till the battle was over.—Ay, and then, Peter, this very night my courage seduced me, moreover, into too strait a corselet, which would have been the death of me, but for the aid of this gallant young gentleman, whose trade is fighting, whereof I wish him heartily joy. And then for my tenderness of heart, Peter, it has made a poor man of me, that is, it would have made a poor man of me, if I had not been tolerably well to pass in this wicked world—and Heaven knows what trouble it is likely to bring on me yet, with ladies, countesses, and keeping of secrets, which, for aught I know, may cost me half my fortune, and my neck into the bargain!”
Quentin could remain no longer silent, but assured him that whatever danger or damage he should incur on the part of the young lady now under his protection should be thankfully acknowledged, and, as far as was possible, repaid.
“I thank you, young Master Squire Archer, I thank you,” answered the citizen of Liege “but who was it told you that I desired any repayment at your hand for doing the duty of an honest man? I only regretted that it might cost me so and so, and I hope I may have leave to say so much to my lieutenant, without either grudging my loss or my peril.”