“But how can you keep the door against a dozen?”
The Frenchman shrugg’d his shoulders with a smile—
“Mais-comme ca!”
For at this moment came a rush of footsteps within the room. I saw a fat paunch thrusting past us, a quiet pass of steel, and the landlord was wallowing on his face across the threshold. Jacques’ teeth snapp’d together as he stood ready for another victim: and as the fellows within the room tumbled back, he motion’d me to leave him.
I sprang from his side, and catching the rail of the staircase, reach’d the foot in a couple of bounds.
“Hurry!” I cried, and caught the old baronet by the hand. His daughter took the other, and between us we hurried him across the passage for the kitchen door.
Within, the chambermaid was on her knees by the settle, her face and apron of the same hue. I saw she was incapable of helping, and hasten’d across the stone floor, and out toward the back entrance.
A stream of icy wind blew in our faces as we stepp’d over the threshold. The girl and I bent our heads to it, and stumbling, tripping, and panting, pull’d Sir Deakin with us out into the cold air.
The yard was no longer dark. In the room above someone had push’d the casement open, letting in the wind: and by this ’twas very evident the room was on fire. Indeed, the curtains had caught, and as we ran, a pennon of flame shot out over our heads, licking the thatch. In the glare of it the outbuildings and the yard gate stood clearly out from the night. I heard the trampling of feet, the sound of Settle’s voice shouting an order, and then a dismal yell and clash of steel as we flung open the gate.
“Jacques!” scream’d the old gentleman: “my poor Jacques! Those dogs will mangle him with their cut and thrust—”