“Hark!” cried Lettice.
“They are here,” groaned her brother. For now the tread of advancing feet, the exultant shouts of a victorious army, were heard. Night was approaching, close and warm after the hot, debilitating day, when up the avenue came the irregular lines of the British.
“It is fairly suffocating in here,” said Lettice; “let us open the windows.” But the words were hardly out of her mouth before a shot struck the closed shutters, and the girl started back with an exclamation of alarm.
“I think we shall have to stand the heat,” remarked her brother, quietly. And indeed it would have been a rash thing to open the shutters, for every now and then, from the ranks of the redcoats were sent stray bullets to fall harmlessly, since no one dared to open a door or window.
“If only they don’t fire the town,” said William, as he walked the floor restlessly. Lettice, with a strained look on her face, sat with clasped hands in one of the farther corners of the room. At last Mr. Baldwin, more venturesome than the others, opened a shutter a little way and peeped out.
“They seem flocking from every direction,” he said, as he drew in his head. “The streets are full of them, shouting, singing, firing on whomever they chance to see.”
“What was that?” cried Lettice, springing to her feet. For from the direction of the Capitol came the sound of a rattle of musketry, followed closely by a second volley, both accompanied by the crash of glass.
“Ah-h,” groaned William, “they have not the manhood even to spare that;” for through the clinks of the shutters could be seen the glare and smoke of an ascending fire. The Capitol was in flames.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A Time of Dreadful Night.