In the meantime, Clara, who was dead white but still possessed her
faculties, had displaced the barricade from the front door.
Another moment, and she had pulled it open. Firelight and
moonlight illuminated the links with confused and changeful lustre,
and far away against the sky we could see a long trail of glowing
smoke.
Mr. Huddlestone, filled for the moment with a strength greater than
his own, struck Northmour and myself a back-hander in the chest;
and while we were thus for the moment incapacitated from action,
lifting his arms above his head like one about to dive, he ran
straight forward out of the pavilion.
"Here am!" he cried - "Huddlestone! Kill me, and spare the
others!"
His sudden appearance daunted, I suppose, our hidden enemies; for
Northmour and I had time to recover, to seize Clara between us, one
by each arm, and to rush forth to his assistance, ere anything
further had taken place. But scarce had we passed the threshold
when there came near a dozen reports and flashes from every
direction among the hollows of the links. Mr. Huddlestone
staggered, uttered a weird and freezing cry, threw up his arms over
his head, and fell backward on the turf.
"TRADITORE! TRADITORE!" cried the invisible avengers.
And just then, a part of the roof of the pavilion fell in, so rapid
was the progress of the fire. A loud, vague, and horrible noise
accompanied the collapse, and a vast volume of flame went soaring
up to heaven.
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