The thing came down through the ages and survived through the dark
Middle Ages, as all good things come down through the ages and survive
through the blackest ages. The hunted man in the tree, or cave, or
hole, and strangers creeping to him with food in the darkness, and in
fear and trembling; though he was, as often happened, an enemy to
their creed, country, or party. For he was outcast, and hungry, and a
wanderer whom men sought to kill.

These were mostly poor people or peasants; but it was so with the rich
and well-to-do in the bloody Middle Ages. The Catholic country
gentleman helping the Protestant refugee to escape disguised as a
manservant (or a maidservant), and the Protestant country gentleman
doing likewise by a hunted Catholic in his turn, as the battles went.
Rebel helping royalist, and royalist helping rebel. And always, here
and there, down through those ages, the delicate girl standing with
her back to a door and her arms outstretched across it, and facing,
with flashing eyes, the soldiers of the king or of the church--or
entertaining and bluffing them with beautiful lies--to give some poor
hunted devil time to hide or escape, though she a daughter of
royalists and the church, and he a rebel to his king and a traitor to
his creed. For they sought to kill him.

There was sanctuary in those times, in the monkeries--and the
churches, where the soldiers of the king dared not go, for fear of
God. There has been sanctuary since, in London and other places,
where His or Her Majesty's police dared not go because of the fear of
man. The "Rocks" was really sanctuary, even in my time--also
Woollomooloo. Now the only sanctuary is the jail.