Yet I was glad of the
stir, for it cooled my temples, and I think that but for one thing I
might have slept. And had I fallen on sleep then no one of us might have
waked so easily. What I heard was no more than this--once or twice the
flame of the candle gave a smart little "spit," as if a moth or a fat
blue-bottle had forwandered into it and fallen spinning to the ground
with burned wings. Yet there were no moths in the chambers, or we should
have seen them circling about the lights at the time of supper.
Nevertheless, ere long I heard again the quick, light "_plap_!" And
presently I saw a pellet fall to the ground, rolling away from the wall
almost to the edge of the straw on which I lay.

I reached out a hand for it, and in a trice had it in my fingers. It was
soft, like mason's putty. "Plop!" came another. I was sure now. Some one
was shooting at the flame of the candle with intent to leave us in the
dark. Jorian and Boris snored loudly, sleeping like true men-at-arms. I
need say no more.

I lay with my head in the shadow, but by moving little by little, with
sleepy grunts of dissatisfaction, I brought my face far enough round to
see through the straw the window at the far end of the passage, which, as
I had discovered upon our first coming, opened out upon a ravine running
at right angles to the street by which we had come.

Presently I could see the lattice move noiselessly, and a white face
appeared with a boy's blow-gun of pierced bore-tree at its lips.

"Alas!" said I to myself, "that I had had these soldiers' skill of the
knife throwing. I would have marked that gentleman." But I had not even a
bow--only my sword and dagger. I resolved to begin to learn the practice
of pistol and cross-bow on the morrow.

"_Plap! Scat!_" The aim was good this time. We were in darkness. I
listened the barest fragment of a moment. Some one was stealthily
entering at the window end.

"Rise, Jorian and Boris!" I cried. "An enemy!"

And leaping up I ran to relight the candle. By good luck the wick was a
sound, honest, thick one, a good housewife's wick--not such as are made
to sell and put in ordinary candles of offertory.

The wick was still red, and smoked as I put my hands behind it and blew.
"_Twang! Twang! Zist! Zist!_" went the arrows and bolts thickly about me,
bringing down the clay dust in handfuls thickly from the walls.

"Down on your stomachs--they are shooting crosswise along the passage !"
cried Jorian, who