And with a general cry of “No papists!--no priests!--no Jews!--no wooden shoes!” they began with a volley of stones against the windows. I ran to see where Berenice was. It had been previously agreed among us, that she and her guests, and every female in the house, should, on the first alarm, retire into a back room; but at the first shout of the mob, Lady de Brantefield lost the little sense she ever possessed: she did not faint, but she stiffened herself in the posture in which she sat, and with her hands turned down over the elbows of the huge chair, on which her arms were extended, she leaned back in all the frightful rigidity of a corpse, with a ghastly face, and eyes fixed. Berenice, in vain, tried to persuade her to move. Her ideas were bewildered or concentrated. Only the obstinacy of pride remained alive within her. “No,” she said, “she would never move from that spot--she would not be commanded by Jew or Jewess.” “Don’t you hear the mob--the stones at the windows?” “Very well. They would all pay for it on the scaffold or the gibbet.” “But if they break in here you will be torn to pieces.” “No--those only will be sacrificed who _have sacrificed_. A ‘de Brantefield’--they dare not!--I shall not stir from this spot. Who will presume to touch Lady de Brantefield?” Mr. Montenero and I lifted up the huge chair on which she sat, and carried her and it into the back room. The door of this room was scarcely shut, and the tapestry covering but just closed over the entrance into the picture-gallery, when there was a cry from the hall, and the servants came rushing to tell us that one of the window-shutters had given way. Mr. Montenero, putting the pistols into my hand, took the gun, ran down stairs, and stationed himself so as to defend the entrance to the window, at which the people were pelting with stones; declaring that he would fire on the first man who should attempt to enter. A man leaped in, and, in the struggle, Mr. Montenero’s gun was wrested from him. On my presenting a pistol, the man scrambled out of the window, carrying away with him the prize he had seized. At this moment the faithful Jacob appeared amongst us as if by miracle. “Master, we are safe,” said he, “if we can defend ourselves for a few minutes. The orange-woman delivered your letter, and the military are coming. She told me how to get in here, through the house that is building next door, from the leads of which I crept through a trap-door into your garret.” With the pistols, and with the assistance of the servants who were armed, some of them with swords, and others with whatever weapons came to hand, we made such a show of resistance as to keep the mob at bay for some moments.