Mutimer lost his hat in jumping from the cart; in five minutes his waistcoat and shirt were rent open, whether by friends in guarding him, or by foes in assailing, it was impossible to say.  But his bodyguard held together with wonderful firmness, only now and then an enemy got near enough to dash a fist in his face.  If he fell into the hands of the mob he was done for; Mutimer knew that, and was ready to fight for his life.  But the direction taken by the main current of the crowd favoured him.  In about twenty minutes he was swept away from the Green, and into a street.  There were now fewer foes about him; he saw an opportunity, and together with Redgrave burst away.  There was no shame in taking to flight where the odds against him were so overwhelming.  But pursuers were close behind him; their cry gave a lead to the chase.  He looked for some by-way as he rushed along the pavement.  But an unexpected refuge offered itself.  He was passing a little group of women, when a voice from among them cried loudly—­’In here!  In here!’ He saw that a house-door was open, saw a hand beckon wildly, and at once sprang for the retreat.  A woman entered immediately behind him and slammed the door, but he did not see that a stick which the foremost of his pursuers had flung at him came with a terrible blow full upon his preserver’s face.

For a moment he could only lean against the wall of the passage, recovering his breath.  Where he stood it was almost dark, for the evening was drawing in.  The woman who had rescued him was standing near, but he could not distinguish her face.  He heard the mob assembling in the narrow street, their shouts, their trampling, and speedily there began a great noise at the door.  A beating with sticks and fists, a thundering at the knocker.

‘Are you the landlady?’ Mutimer asked, turning to his silent companion.

‘No,’ was the reply.  ’She is outside, I must put up the chain.  They might get her latchkey from her.’

At the first syllable he started; the voice was so familiar to him.  The words were spoken with an entire absence of womanish consternation; the voice trembled a little, but for all that there was calm courage in its sound.  When she had made the door secure and turned again towards him, he looked into her face as closely as he could.

‘Is it Emma?’

‘Yes.’

Both were silent.  Mutimer forgot all about his danger; that at this moment he should meet Emma Vine, that it should be she who saved him, impressed him with awe which was stronger than all the multitude of sensations just now battling within him.  For it was her name that had roused the rabble finally against him.  For his wrong to her he knew that he would have suffered justly; yet her hand it was that barred the door against his brutal pursuers.  A sudden weakness shook his limbs; he had again to lean upon the wall for support, and, scarcely conscious of what he did, he sobbed three or four times.