A gabble of fierce tongues broke out; Chris pressed up to Dom Anthony’s back, and looked out. The space was very narrow, and he could not see much more than a man’s leg across a saddle, the brown shoulder of a horse in front, and a smoky haze beyond and over the horse’s back. The leg shifted a little as he watched, as if the rider turned; and then again the voice pealed out above the tumult. “Will you open, sir, for the last time?” “I will not,” shouted the monk through the grill. “You are nothing but--” then he dashed the shutter into its place as a stick struck fiercely at the bars. “Back to the cloister,” he said. The roar outside was tremendous as the six went back across the empty court; but it fell to a sinister silence as an order or two was shouted outside; and then again swelled with an excited note in it, as the first crash sounded on the panels. Chris looked at his father as they stood again on the steps fifty yards away. The old man was standing rigid, his hands at his sides, staring out towards the arch of the gateway that now thundered like a drum; and his lips were moving. Once he caught his breath as a voice shouted above the din outside, and half turned to his son, his hand uplifted as if for silence. Then again the voice pealed, and Sir James faced round and stared into Chris’s eyes. But neither spoke a word. Dom Anthony, who was standing a yard or two in front, turned presently as the sound of splintering began to be mingled with the reverberations, and came towards them. His square, full face was steady and alert, and he spoke with a sharp decision. “You and Sir Nicholas, sir, had best be within. My place will be here; they will be in immediately.” His words were perfectly distinct here in the open air in spite of the uproar from the gate. There was an indignant burst from the young squire. “No, no, father; I shall not stir from here.” The monk looked at him; but said no more and turned round. A sedate voice spoke from the dark doorway behind. “John and I have fetched out a table or two, father; we can brace this door--” Dom Anthony turned again. “We shall not resist further,” he said. Then they were silent, for they were helpless. There was nothing to be done but to stand there and listen to the din, to the crash that splintered more every moment in the cracked woodwork, and to watch the high wall and turret solemn and strong against the stars, and bright here and there at the edges with the light from the torches beneath. The guest-house opposite them was dark, except for one window in the upper floor that glowed and faded with the light of the fire that had been kindled within an hour or two before. Sir James took his son suddenly by the arm. “And you, Chris--” he said. “I shall stay here, father.”