uttering whispers could be
heard, and it seemed as if they doubted how far it was safe to enter, for
all was dark within. Something was said in a tone of command, and at the
moment one of the party flung forward a bundle of lighted straw and tow,
which fell at the foot of the stairs, and for a few seconds lit up the
place with a red lurid gleam, showing the steep stair and the iron bars of
the little gate that crossed it.

'There's the iron wicket they spoke of,' cried one. 'All right, come on!'
And the speaker led the way, cautiously, however, and slowly, the others
after him.

'No, not yet,' whispered Kate, as she pressed her hand upon Walpole's.

'I hear voices up there,' cried the leader from below. 'We'll make them
leave that, anyhow.' And he fired off his gun in the direction of the upper
part of the stair; a quantity of plaster came clattering down as the ball
struck the ceiling.

'Now,' said she. 'Now, and fire low!'

He discharged both barrels so rapidly that the two detonations blended
into one, and the assailants replied by a volley, the echoing din almost
sounding like artillery. Fast as Walpole could fire, the girl replaced
the piece by another; when suddenly she cried, 'There is a fellow at the
gate--the carbine--the carbine now, and steady.' A heavy crash and a cry
followed his discharge, and snatching the weapon from him, she reloaded and
handed it back with lightning speed. 'There is another there,' whispered
she; and Walpole moved farther out, to take a steadier aim. All was still,
not a sound to be heard for some seconds, when the hinges of the gate
creaked and the bolt shook in the lock. Walpole fired again, but as he did
so, the others poured in a rattling volley, one shot grazing his cheek,
and another smashing both bones of his right arm, so that the carbine fell
powerless from his hand. The intrepid girl sprang to his side at once, and
then passing in front of him, she fired some shots from a revolver in quick
succession. A low, confused sound of feet and a scuffling noise followed,
when a rough, hoarse voice cried out, 'Stop firing; we are wounded, and
going away.'

'Are you badly hurt?' whispered Kate to Walpole.

'Nothing serious: be still and listen!'

'There, the carbine is ready again. Oh, you cannot hold it--leave it to
me,' said she.

From the difficulty of removal, it seemed as though one of the party
beneath was either killed or badly wounded, for it was several minutes
befor