"I will ask you what you think of him three months hence,
if we be all alive; for sure I am that----"
Aylward's words were interrupted by an extraordinary hubbub which
broke out that instant some little way down the street in the
direction of the Priory. There was deep-mouthed shouting of men,
frightened shrieks of women, howling and barking of curs, and
over all a sullen, thunderous rumble, indescribably menacing and
terrible. Round the corner of the narrow street there came
rushing a brace of whining dogs with tails tucked under their
legs, and after them a white-faced burgher, with outstretched
hands and wide-spread fingers, his hair all abristle and his eyes
glinting back from one shoulder to the other, as though some
great terror were at his very heels. "Fly, my lady, fly!" he
screeched, and whizzed past them like bolt from bow; while close
behind came lumbering a huge black bear, with red tongue lolling
from his mouth, and a broken chain jangling behind him. To right
and left the folk flew for arch and doorway. Hordle John caught
up the Lady Loring as though she had been a feather, and sprang
with her into an open porch; while Aylward, with a whirl of
French oaths, plucked at his quiver and tried to unsling his bow.
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