A loud noise of knocking, as though with a stone, at the outer door, broke in upon the colloquy, and Kate passed into the drawing-room, and opened the window, out upon the stone terrace which overlooked the yard: ‘Who is there?—who are you?—what do you want?’ cried she, peering down into the darkness, which, in the shadow of the house, was deeper.
‘We’ve come for arms,’ cried a deep hoarse voice.
‘My father is away from home—come and ask for them when he’s here to answer you.’
A wild, insolent laugh from below acknowledged what they thought of this speech.
‘Maybe that was the rayson we came now, miss,’ said a voice, in a lighter tone.
‘Fine courageous fellows you are to say so! I hope Ireland has more of such brave patriotic men.’
‘You’d better leave that, anyhow,’ said another, and as he spoke he levelled and fired, but evidently with intention to terrify rather than wound, for the plaster came tumbling down from several feet above her head; and now the knocking at the door was redoubled, and with a noise that resounded through the house.
‘Wouldn’t you advise her to give up the arms and let them go?’ said Nina, in a whisper to Walpole; but though she was deadly pale there was no tremor in her voice.
‘The door is giving way, the wood is completely rotten. Now for the stairs. Mr. Walpole, you’re going to stand by me?’
‘I should think so, but I’d rather you’d remain here. I know my ground now.’