'I'll not open the door!' said Mr. Wyley from within; 'they will rob and
murder me. They are come to kill me, and I may as well die here. There's
no help.'
'There is help, dear uncle!' cried Miss Anne; 'there are other people
from Botfield; and help is coming from Longville. Oh, let me in!'
'No,' said the master, 'they all hate me. They'll kill me, and say it
was done in the fire. I'll not open to anybody.'
She prayed and expostulated in vain; he cared little for their danger,
so hardened was he by a selfish fear for himself. The fire was gaining
ground quickly, for a brisk wind had sprung up, and the long-seasoned
timber in the old walls burnt like touchwood. The servant lay insensible
on the threshold of the master's chamber; and Miss Anne and Stephen
looked out from a front casement upon the gathering crowd, who implored
them, with frenzied earnestness, to throw open the door.
'Miss Anne,' cried Stephen, 'you can get through the pantry window; you
are little enough. Oh, be quick, and let me see you safe!'
'I cannot,' she answered: 'not yet! Not till the last moment. I dare not
leave my uncle and that poor girl.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169