d in complete forgetfulness of our situation, till the voice
of Northmour recalled me to myself.

"An air-gun," he said. "They wish to make no noise."

I put Clara aside, and looked at him. He was standing with his back to
the fire and his hands clasped behind him; and I knew by the black look
on his face that passion was boiling within. I had seen just such a look
before he attacked me, that March night, in the adjoining chamber; and,
though I could make every allowance for his anger, I confess I trembled
for the consequences. He gazed straight before him; but he could see us
with the tail of his eye, and his temper kept rising like a gale of
wind. With regular battle awaiting us outside, this prospect of an
internecine strife within the walls began to daunt me.

Suddenly, as I was thus closely watching his expression and prepared
against the worst, I saw a change, a flash, a look of relief, upon his
face. He took up the lamp which stood beside him on the table, and
turned to us with an air of some excitement.

"There is one point that we must know," said he. "Are they going to
butcher the lot of us, or only Huddlestone? Did they take you for him,
or fire at you for your own _beaux yeux_?"

"They took me for him, for certain," I replied. "I am near as tall, and
my head is fair."

"I am going to make sure," returned Northmour; and he stepped up to the
window, holding the lamp above his head, and stood there, quietly
affronting death, for half a minute.

Clara sought to rush forward and pull him from the place of danger; but
I had the pardonable selfishness to hold her back by force.

"Yes," said Northmour, turning coolly from the window; "it's only
Huddlestone they want."

"Oh, Mr. Northmour!" cried Clara; but found no more to add; the temerity
she had just witnessed seeming beyond the reach of words.

He, on his part, looked at me, cocking his head, with a fire of triumph
in his eyes; and I understood at once that he had thus hazarded his
life, merely to attract Clara's notice, and depose me from my position
as the hero of the hour. He snapped his fingers.

"The fire is only beginning," said he. "When they warm up to their work
they won't be so particular."

A voice was now heard hailing us from the entrance. From the window we
could see the figure of a man in the moonlight; he stood motionless, his
face uplifted to ours, and a rag of something white on his extended arm;
and as we looked right down upon h