We gained the door as the butcher struck his first blow on that which we had guarded--on that which we had given up.

We sprang down the stairs with bounding hearts, heard as we reached the outer door the roar of many voices, but stayed not to look behind--paused indeed for nothing.

Fear, to speak candidly, lent us wings.

In three seconds we had leapt the prostrate gates, and were in the street.

A cripple, two or three dogs, a knot of women looking timidly yet curiously in, a horse tethered to the staple--we saw nothing else.