“You will not?” shrieked Michael, leaping up and waving the axe.
“No, since I fear God!”
The Wartburg shook with the bursting of the last barrier. They heard a whooping war-shout.
“An end to this folly,” cried Ulrich, his sword leaping forth; “kill him first, then go out fighting, whether St. Michael or Beelzebub snatch us.”
Jerome never blinked. They cursed, raved, but he was silent. Now feet trampled in the court. Priest Clement grew grey with fear, but he swung an axe too.
“Absolvo! Absolvo! Say but the word,” he screamed, and buffeted Jerome, who stood like a stony tower, silent, but frowning terrible.
“Kill him! Curse him!” cried Clement; “they are on us, and we are burned forever.”
But high above the groan of the hunted and the shout of the hunters sounded the Graf’s voice:—
“For the love of Christ! Hold!”