"Well, boys and girls," said Northmour, "how about a sally? The
oven is heating; it is not good to stay here and be baked; and, for
my part, I want to come to my hands with them, and be done."
"There is nothing else left," I replied.
And both Clara and Mr. Huddlestone, though with a very different
intonation, added, "Nothing."
As we went downstairs the heat was excessive, and the roaring of
the fire filled our ears; and we had scarce reached the passage
before the stairs window fell in, a branch of flame shot
brandishing through the aperture, and the interior of the pavilion
became lit up with that dreadful and fluctuating glare. At the
same moment we heard the fall of something heavy and inelastic in
the upper story. The whole pavilion, it was plain, had gone alight
like a box of matches, and now not only flamed sky-high to land and
sea, but threatened with every moment to crumble and fall in about
our ears.
Northmour and I cocked our revolvers. Mr. Huddlestone, who had
already refused a firearm, put us behind him with a manner of
command.
"Let Clara open the door," said he. "So, if they fire a volley,
she will be protected. And in the meantime stand behind me. I am
the scapegoat; my sins have found me out."
I heard him, as I stood breathless by his shoulder, with my pistol
ready, pattering off prayers in a tremulous, rapid whisper; and I
confess, horrid as the thought may seem, I despised him for
thinking of supplications in a moment so critical and thrilling.
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