as a scream from the women, whose
curiosity had not allowed them to retreat beyond the foot of the
staircase--a rush forward on the part of Brown and Chesterton--an oath
or two from the intruders at finding themselves so unexpectedly
confronted--and then, for a moment or two, an ominous pause on both
sides. It was broken by Chesterton, who clubbed his gun, and brought
the first man to the ground. Nearly at the same time I grappled with
the last who had entered, whilst a heavy crow-bar, in the hands of the
third, after describing an arc within an inch or two of my own head,
descended with a horrible dull sound (I hear it now) upon that of poor
Chesterton, who fell heavily, whilst in the act of springing forwards,
across his prostrate antagonist. Again the murderous weapon was
uplifted--I vainly endeavoured to fling my opponent and myself against
the striker--I heard a scream, and saw the poor servant girl rush
forward with a sort of desperate instinct, armed with no other weapon
than the candlestick--when a report, that sounded like a volley, shook
the whole passage--a bright flash threw out the whole scene vividly
for a moment--the robber with his back to me with his weapon poised,
and the blackened face of the other glaring savagely into my own--then
followed total darkness--the ringing of the iron-bar upon the
bricks--a stifled groan--and then a silence more horrible than all.

"Get a light!" said Brown at last; "get a light for heaven's sake, Mrs
Nutt, or somebody. Hawthorne, are you hurt?"

"No, no," said I; "it was you that fired, John?"

"Yes," said he; "we can do nothing now till we have a light."

The whole affair, from the unbolting the door to the firing the shot,
had not occupied nearly a minute; nor was it much longer before the
trembling women succeeded in relighting the candle from the embers of
the kitchen hearth; but they were moments into which one crowded
almost years of thought; and I remember now with astonishment how
every miserable consequence of poor Chesterton's probably fate came
vividly and irresistibly before my imagination during those few
hurried breathings of suspense--how his father could be told of
it--how desolate would be now the home of which he was the hope and
idol, (I knew his family)--how the college would mourn for him; nay,
even such wretched particulars as how we were to move him to
Oxford--whether he would be buried there--whether he would have a
monument in the chapel--and