tried to descend, they, too, in spite of
desperate efforts, were driven upward by the constantly arriving
enemies, who forced them on to the leads by the now useless guns.

Here, in each case, a desperate encounter went on, which Roy, with his
blood running cold, was able to mentally picture, as he stood there
listening to the wild shouts of the attacking party, the defiant cries
of the garrison--the mere handfuls of men who tried to hold their own.

There was no more firing: all was being done with the keen-edged naked
blade for a few minutes; and this was followed by a wild despairing cry
from the gate tower, and directly after there was a dull, sickening
crash which told that a man had been hurled from the parapet into the
court-yard, where he lay never to move again.

The shock of this was succeeded by others nearly as terrible, as the
struggle went on at the tops of the different towers; and cry after cry
arose, followed by heavy splash after splash, which, Roy interpreted
rightly, meant that the victors were driving the defenders over the
battlements into the moat, to sink or swim for life as they could.

A mad feeling of rage and despair seized upon the boy as he heard all
this, and he struggled desperately with his captors in his endeavours to
escape, and try to aid the poor fellows fighting to the death in their
vain efforts to defend the place.

Vain, too, were his efforts; for a couple of men held him while others
wrenched his arms behind his back, and tearing off his gay scarf, bound
his elbows so tightly together that he could not stir, but had to listen
helplessly to the yells and despairing cries that arose towards the
silent vault of heaven.

It seemed to Roy like an hour of horror, during which he was listening
to what seemed to be the massacre of the men, every one of whom he
looked upon as a friend. But it was only a matter of a few minutes at
the most, before a shout rang out from the top of the gate tower, to be
answered with a burst of wild "hurrahs" from the four corners, and the
ramparts as well; for the clashing of swords, the yells of rage, and the
sounds of fierce and desperate struggles going on had ceased.

Roy's despair was at its height; he knew that the castle was taken, and
its defenders killed, hurled into the moat, or captive.

But the boy's sinking heart gave one leap, for he knew that the
flickering fire of defence blazed up in one spot, and that was in the
guard-room, wher