"They only want unhooking," replied another.
"The straw is piled up in both the rooms." said a third. "Shall I fire it now?"
"No, no! Are you mad?" replied Actonville "Not till it is done."
"Then I'll put the lantern ready," replied the other.
"Where will you be, sir?" asked Actonville.
"Close at hand," replied the man in the crimson mantle. "But we lose time. Go out quietly, one by one, and leave the door open. Put out the lights, William of Courthose. I have a lantern here, under my cloak."
The lights were immediately extinguished, and, by the flickering of the fire, eighteen shadowy forms were seen to pass out of the room like ghosts. Through the long passage from the back to the front of the house, they went as silently as their arms would permit, and then gliding down the irregular side of the road, one by one, they disappeared from their rank to lay in wait in what the prophet calls "the thievish corners of the streets."
The man who had last joined them remained alone, standing before the fire. His arms were crossed upon his chest; a lantern which he had carried stood on the ground by his side; and his eyes were fixed upon a log from which a small thin flame, yellow at the base, and blue at the top, rose up, wavering fitfully. He watched it for some five or six minutes. Suddenly it leaped up and vanished.
"Ha!" said that dark, stern man, and turned him to the door. Ere he reached it, there was a loud outcry from without--a cry of pain and strife. He paused and trembled. What was in his bosom then? God only knows. Man never knew.