And she held down her head. But Richard that moment felt his muscles hard as bands of steel. Should she die, with him so strong, with the might of the saints shed over him as never before? Should she die, and by his hand?
"I wait, dear heart," she was saying, "hasten!"
The fire shot up the stairway in one raging, devouring column. But Trenchefer did not strike.
"Morgiana!" was Richard's fierce cry, "if the sealed door were shivered, is there escape?"
The Arabian had crouched upon the floor.
"Yes!" gasped she, "when Allah sends a miracle."
"And that He shall! God wills it!" and Richard sent the Crusader's war-cry out into the smoke and fire. The very shout made his might fivefold.
Through the smoke he bounded to the sealed portal, dashed against it, a lion against his cage. It stood firm; but he felt the bolts give way in their fastenings. A marble pendant hung betwixt the windows. He wrenched it from its mortar setting, swung it on high, and crashed it upon the door. In after days men found this marble in the wreck and marvelled at the might of the Christians. At the first blow the wood and iron sprang inwards as with a groan. Twice!—the stones in the casement crumbled, the pivots started. Thrice!—and before the iron of Richard's north-sprung strength the weaker iron of the door gave way.
"God wills it!" Over the storm of fire again he flung the cry. Iftikhar had seen—the Ismaelians had seen the attack on the door—the miracle! One and all had sped forward,—at the doorway had met Godfrey and Musa, and their tireless blades.
A crash below; the firm floors were shivered; flames leaped between. But the sealed portal—it was sealed no longer! Richard was back in the press at the other door. The marble block was lifted on high, and as it sped from his hand it dashed down the tall Harun, who never felt his hurt. Trenchefer was again flashing in the Ismaelians' faces. They drew back, crying:—