“Open this door, here!—open!” roared the Major, kicking and thundering, so that the panels cracked. “Matilda, my angel, I am here.”
“Don’t, don’t; pray don’t scream, ma’am,” I implored.
“Oh! oh! oh! help, help, help! murder!” shrieked Mrs Major.
“Here, hi! oh! villain! A man’s voice! Break in the door; smash it off the hinges. I am here, Matilda, I am here. Broxby, what is this?” roared the Major; and then the door cracked and groaned beneath the blows thundered upon it.
“Oh! oh! oh!” shrieked Mrs Major.
“What shall I do?” I muttered, wringing my hands and trembling like a leaf. I ran to the bed to implore Mrs Major to be still, but she only shrieked the louder. I ran to the door, but fled again on hearing the thunderings and roarings of the Major, who beat frantically, louder and louder.
“Sir, sir,” I cried, “it’s a mistake.”
“Oh! villain,” he shrieked. “Here, here, a poker; my pistols. Broxby, there’ll be murder done.”
“Madam, oh! madam,” I cried, in agony, “have pity, and hear me.”
“Oh! oh! oh! help! help!” shrieked the wretched woman; when I heard the door going crack, crack; the panel was smashed in, and the sounds of the hubbub of voices entered the room, wherein I could detect that of the Major, more like a wild beast than anything, when, dashing to the window, I pushed back the fastener, threw up the sash, and crept out, lowered myself down till I hung by my hands, when, with my last look, I saw an arm reaching through the broken panel, the bolt slipped, the key turned, and a rush of people into the room; when, losing my hold, I fell crash into a tree, and then from branch to branch to the ground, where I lay, half-stunned, upon the cold snow.