Presently they heard a horse gallop up to the front of the mill,
and shortly after the sound of a man's voice raised in anger. By
this time it was getting dark.
"What'll be the end of this, Master Rupert? We could stand a siege
for a week, but they'd hardly try that."
"What's that?" Rupert said. "There's some one at the door again."
They came back, but all was quiet. Listening attentively, however,
they heard a creaking, as of someone silently descending the
stairs. For some time all was quiet, except that they could hear
movements in the lower story of the mill. Presently Rupert grasped
Hugh's arm.
"Do you smell anything, Hugh?"
"Yes, sir, I smell a smoke."
"The scoundrels have set the mill on fire, Hugh."
In another minute or two the smell became stronger, and then
wreaths of smoke could be seen curling up through the crevices in
the floor.
"Run through the other rooms, Hugh; let us see if there is any
means of getting down."
There were three other rooms, but on opening the shutters they
found in each case a sheer descent of full forty feet to the
ground, there being no outhouses whose roofs would afford them a
means of descent.
"We must rush downstairs, Hugh. It is better to be shot as we go
out, than be roasted here."
Rapidly they tore away the barrier of sacks, and Rupert put his
thumb on the latch. He withdrew it with a sharp exclamation.
"They have jammed the latch, Hugh.
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