There was a great creaking of bolts and hinges and in a moment the pilgrims rushed forward, afraid of losing even a single moment of the precious hours of indulgence, and cries of "San Francesco" almost drowned the sound of hurrying footsteps. Families caught each other by the arms and swept wildly round the altar, often knocking people down in their wild career, old women gathered up their skirts and ran, the Abruzzesi in their scarlet jackets, whom we had seen so calmly walking down the streets, stepped eagerly forward with outstretched arms and clasped hands calling loudly on the saint. Round they went in a perpetual circle, first past the altar, then through the Maddalena chapel out into the Piazza, and back again without a single pause. Each time they entered the church they gained a new plenary indulgence. From the walls the frescoed saints leant towards us, and never had they seemed so full of peace and beauty, as on that day of hurry and strange excitement. We saw them through a mist of dust, but they were more real to us than the fanatics streaming past in mad career, and we greeted them as friends. Then as the sun went down in a crimson sky behind the Perugian hills, a great stillness fell upon the people, the gaining of indulgences for that day had ceased, and quietly those who had no shelters went into the country lanes to pass the night, or rested beneath a gateway of the town. Already Assisi was returning to her long spell of silence, for next morning at dawn the pilgrims would be on their road to Sta. Maria degli Angeli for the early morning mass. [Illustration: SAN FRANCESCO AND THE LOWER PIAZZA] Rashly we left the quietness of the town to join the crowd again down in the plain late the next afternoon when the feast was nearly over. The press of people was felt more at the Angeli than at San Francesco, as they gained the indulgence by simply walking round the church and through the Portiuncula without going outside. It was useless to struggle, or to attempt to go the way we wanted, for we were simply carried off our feet and borne round the church in breathless haste in the temperature of a Turkish bath. There were moments of suspense when we doubted, as the crowd bore us swiftly forward, whether we should pass the confessional boxes without being crushed against the sharp corners. The cries of "Evviva Maria, Evviva San Francesco," became deafening as we neared the Portiuncula, and the people surged through the doors, throwing handfuls of coppers and silver coins upon the altar steps, and even at the picture of the Madonna above the altar in their extraordinary enthusiasm. How tired they looked, but in their eyes was a fixed look showing the feelings which spurred them on to gain as much grace as time would allow. They never paused, they never rested. With a last glance back upon the people and the names of Mary and Frances ringing in our ears we left the stifling atmosphere for the burning, but pure air outside.