As luck would have it, the outer gates, at which the Goths had just entered, were still open; but the inner ones which led into the court beyond were fast.

He tried them, but in vain.

There was an open door in the wall on his right: he rushed through it, into a long range of stables, and into the arms of Wulf and Smid, who were unsaddling and feeding, like true warriors, their own horses.
'Souls of my fathers!' shouted Smid, 'here's our young monk come back! What brings you here head over heels in this way, young curly-pate ?' 'Save me from those wretches!' pointing to the monks, who were peeping into the doorway.
Wulf seemed to understand it all in a moment; for, snatching up a heavy whip, he rushed at the foe, and with a few tremendous strokes cleared the doorway, and shut-to the door.
Philammon was going to explain and thank, but Smid stopped his mouth.
'Never mind, young one, you are our guest now.

Come in, and you shall be as welcome as ever.

See what comes of running away from us at first.' 'You do not seem to have benefited much by leaving me for the monks,' said old Wulf.