It is needless to describe the excitement and astonishment of the crowd. The Prior and his procession with difficulty returned to the chapel through the press. The Sheriff and Richard Inglesant, who with the other leading gentry had affected perfect unconsciousness that anything unusual was taking place, entered the hall of the Priory, and the Prior had a message sent into the sacristy that the King’s commissioner desired to see him immediately in the parlour. When the Prior entered, Inglesant was standing upon the hearth; he was pale, and his manner was excited and even fierce. "You are a bold man, master Prior," he said almost before the other was in the room; "do you know that you have this day banished yourself and all your fellowship into the world without shelter and without help? Nay, I know not but the King’s Grace may have you up to answer for this day with your life! Do you know this?" The Prior looked him steadily in the face, but he was deadly pale, and his manner was humble and cowed. "Yes, I know it," he said. "Well," continued the other still more excitedly, "I call you to witness, master Prior, as I shall before the throne of God Almighty, that I have neither hand nor part in this day’s work; that you have brought this evil upon yourself by your own deed and choice, by no want of warning and no suddenness on my part, but by your own madness alone." "It is very true," said the Prior. "I must to horse," said Inglesant, scarcely heeding him, "and ride post to my lord. It is as much as my head is worth should any rumour of this day’s business reach the King’s Grace by any other tongue than mine. You will stay here under the Sheriff’s guard; but I fear you will too soon hear what a tragedy this day’s play has been for you! God have you in his keeping, Prior! for you have put yourself out of all hope of mercy from the King’s Grace." He might have said more, but an alarming noise made him hasten into the hall. The most lawless and poorest of the people—of whom numbers had mingled in the crowd in the hope of spoil, taking for granted that the house was dissolved—had made an attack upon the Chapel and the Prior’s lodging, and it was some time before the Sheriff, assisted by Inglesant and the other gentlemen and their servants, all of whom were armed, could restore order. When this was done, and the peaceable people and women reassured, Inglesant’s horses were brought out, and he mounted and rode off through the dispersing but still excited and lawless crowds, leaving the Priory to a strong guard of the Sheriff’s men. As he rode up the hill—the people shrinking back to let him pass—he muttered, bitterly: "A fine piece of work we have set our hands to, with all the rascal people of the country to aid. And why should not the Poverty get some of the droppings, when the Gentry cuts the purse?"