Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory, which stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass of Maldon’s people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had been gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For a moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed a wild and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they fought furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red flicker of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew each other upon the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen crucifix, and next moment himself was brained with its broken shaft. “For God and Grace!” shouted some; “For the King and Harflete!” answered others. “Keep line! Keep line!” roared Bolle, “and sweep them out.” The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained, a red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the blaze ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted, the Abbot’s folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by their foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the doorway and were cut down there or on the stair beyond. While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and screamed into his ear-- “Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped.” In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare that it was Cicely. “What do you here?” he cried. “Get gone.” “Fool,” she answered in a low, fierce voice, “I seek my husband. Show me the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a lantern, a lantern!” Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with him Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen man, Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the moat. “I may not leave,” muttered Thomas Bolle. “I seek Maldon.” “On to the dungeons,” shrieked Emlyn, “or I will stab you. I heard them give word to kill Harflete.” Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey’s hand, and crying “Follow me,” rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders in the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful sight.