Viola was quiet and silent. He felt convinced that his hour had come, and he awaited death fearlessly. The thought of his family alone was a weight upon his heart. For a moment he thought of flight. There was a possibility of escape by breaking through the roof, and escaping from the back of the hut. But he looked at his old companion, who lay bleeding at his feet, and who had once saved his life. His resolution was taken. He could not leave that man in the hour of his agony. Immediately afterwards he heard them prepare for another attack, and he awaited his fate with firmness and resignation.
"Fire at them!" said Ratz Andor, when he heard the noise outside, "fire at them, to the last man!"
"We are short of bullets. There's plenty of powder, but no lead." Ratz Andor drew a deep breath.
"A thousand devils! is there no shot?"
"No. There's a gun and two pistols loaded—that's all."
"Give me a pistol!" whispered the robber, holding out his hand to Viola; and when his comrade, who understood the purport of the request, handed him the weapon, he clutched it with an eager hand, muttering—
"Let them come now! They won't take me alive, I warrant you!"
"I say!" whispered the butcher, pointing to Ratz Andor, "is he dead?"
"No; don't you see him breathing?"
"But he'll die!—don't you think he'll die! I say, Viola, don't you think we'd better surrender? Perhaps they'll grant us a pardon."