They are on the scaffold, and the bell still booms as it shall boom until the victims swing between heaven and earth--a mockery of God and man. The priest of S. Mary Steppes has given his parting Benediction. The younger, to whom is given the privilege of dying first, has already meekly turned to the executioner--a brute with a masked face, clad in light leather, with two similarly dressed assistants, when---- A tremendous shout-- “Dartmoor to the rescue!” And the whole body of men with the sprigs of heather in their hats, clear all the incumbrances, carrying off their feet the few halberdiers at a rush, and are on the scaffold: they kick the executioners off their own boards, upset the governor and the sheriff, but do not hurt them, cut the prisoners’ bonds, pass them from hand to hand, and before anyone can prevent, they, the two, are lost to sight in the vast and sympathizing crowd. Then the multitude spy Sir John Redfyrne sitting upon a horse in the cathedral yard, ready to start to town when all is over; the story of his ingratitude is known, and they manifest a playful desire to duck him in the Exe; and it is only with the greatest difficulty that setting spurs to his steed, and riding over one unlucky old dame in his path, he escapes their pressing attentions, and rides away with the cry ringing in his ears, the unwelcome cry, “Dartmoor to the rescue!” “Saved, saved!” FOOTNOTES [45] The reader will perceive that there is something contradictory in these pious expressions; first he seems to think it dangerous to be with the majority, then he claims it as on his side. CHAPTER IX. _BREATHING TIME._ When our youthful hero, so suddenly rescued from a bloody death, regained the full consciousness, of which the shock seemed to have deprived him for a time, he felt like one in a dream, such a dream as enables a prisoner to escape from the slime and darkness of a subterranean dungeon, to the happiness and joy of the domestic hearth, or of boundless liberty in verdant woods, breezy groves, or sun-lit hill-tops. Was he in Paradise? The words he had often sung in choir came into his mind,-- “In loco pascuæ ibi me collocavit, Et super aquam refectionis educavit me.”[46] Had the gibbet and quartering block been endured and left behind, was he in the spirit while the mutilated and desecrated members of his mortal body rotted on the gates of Exeter? But as he regained fuller consciousness, he became aware of circumstances not resembling those which are commonly supposed to be the portion of the Blessed in Paradise--such as a comfortable down bed, richly embroidered curtains around him, Flemish tapestry on the walls of his chamber, and a bright autumnal sun pouring in between the window curtains. He strove to rise, although he felt very weak; still curiosity overcame weakness, and he staggered, like one giddy, to the casement, and parting the curtains looked out.