The command was scarcely issued, when a hail of balls rattled through the air. The defenders of the barricade had opened their fire, and with a deadly precision, too, for several fell at the very first discharge.
“Back to the houses!” exclaimed Martin, dragging Lady Dorothea along, who, in her eagerness, now forgot all personal danger, and only thought of the contest before her.
“Get under cover of the troops,—to the rear!” cried the Captain, as he endeavored to bear her away.
“Back—back—beneath the archway!” cried Kate, as, throwing her arms around Lady Dorothea, she lifted her fairly from the ground, and carried her within the deep recess of a porte cochère. Scarcely, however, had she deposited her in safety, than she fell tottering backwards and sank to the ground.
“Good Heavens! she is struck,” exclaimed Martin, bending over her.
“It is nothing,—a spent shot, and no more,” said Kate, as she showed the bullet which had perforated her dress beneath the arm.
“A good soldier, by Jove!” said the Captain, gazing with real admiration on the beautiful features before him; the faint smile she wore heightening their loveliness, and contrasting happily with their pallor.
“There they go! They are up the barricade already; they are over it,—through it!” cried the Captain. “Gallantly done!—gloriously done! No, by Jove! they are falling back; the fire is murderous. See how they bayonet them. The troops must win. They move together; they are like a wall! In vain, in vain; they cannot do it! They are beaten,—they are lost!”
“Who are lost?” said Kate, in a half-fainting voice.
“The soldiers. And there 's Massingbred on the top of the barricade, in the midst of it all. I see his hat They are driven back—beaten—beaten!”