"But perhaps we sha'n't die," Cecil whispered consolingly. "Thou knowst to-day is the festival of Candlemas. I remember, when we were gathering the greens and taking them down from the chapel last night, some one bade me see that no leaf was neglected, for as many as I left, so many goblins should I see. And so I went back and picked up the very last, and then Father White blessed two great candles and gave them me and bade me burn them on the shrine of St. Michael, because he was my patron saint and I was born on his day." "And didst thou?" "Ay, Mother, when I came home and saw the image in my room,--thou knowst the one of the saint, with his foot on the devil's head,--I thought, for safety's sake, I would offer one to the devil, too, for who knew when it might come his turn to befriend one. Now I will go in and light the candles, and I will pray to Michael and beg him to come and set his foot on Dick Ingle's neck. Ingle must look a deal like Lucifer; and Michael--Mother, dost not think Michael must look rather like Master Neville?" Elinor started as if a bandage had been torn from some hidden wound. She gave a little gasp; but the nearer trampling of feet called her thoughts back to the pressing needs of the present moment. In truth, they were urgent. Already the fighting mob was surging through highway and byway lighted by the glare of the burning church. They fought, not like an army, but in little detached groups, without order or leadership. Here the enemy gained ground, here the townsfolk. What was this the men were bearing to her door? Her heart sank as she recognized Giles Brent. "Oh, Giles! Cousin!--art thou hurt?" "A scratch,--a mere scratch, on my honor;" but he whitened as he spoke. "Bear him in," said Elinor to the two men on whose shoulders he was leaning, "bear him in, and I will make a bed ready for him." As she watched the men following her bidding, her mind leaped back to the last time she had seen Brent,--the day when he told her of Neville's death, and when she had sworn never to own kinship or speak with him again till he took back his accusation. "I have broken my vow," she said to herself. "God forgive me! Yet not so much the breaking as the making." Then she turned to follow him in; but as she moved, she felt her wrist grasped from behind, softly but with the irresistibleness of a handcuff of iron. Looking round, she caught sight of a sleeve of russet cloth bound about with a green ribbon with gold and emerald tags, and turning she found herself face to face with Ralph Ingle. Instinctively she struggled to free herself, then perceiving that her strength was no match for his, she stood still. "I am thy slave still," he whispered. "Give me one kind word, one glance to kindle hope in my heart, and my sword is thine for offence and defence. Nay, 'tis in my power to save thy kinsman, whom I have just seen borne in at thy door. I saw him fall and followed his bearers, sure that they would bring him here."