Chapter Thirty Eight.
“Is there nothing we can save?”
It was too true.
Whether started by some smouldering wad, or by a piece of furniture being driven into one of the fire-places, or, as was more probable, by the wilful act of one of the Royalist party, who was determined that the victors should not profit by their success, the Hall was on fire, and the smoke, which rapidly increased in volume, showed that the danger must be great.
“Don’t run quite so fast, Master Fred,” panted Samson. “You can’t keep up at that pace. Better take it a bit more coolly.”
There was wisdom in the hurried words, and Fred slackened his speed a little, so as to allow his follower to come alongside; and in this way, taking in the whole proceedings as they ran, they continued their course down the park slope, toward the lake.
There before them in the evening glow was the fine old house, with the dense cloud of smoke slowly rising, and shouts reached them as men were seen running to and fro in obedience to the orders, but what those orders were it was impossible to tell.
In front of the building a strong body of the general’s men was drawn up, and in their midst the prisoners stood in a knot, while from time to time horsemen came slowly in, leading other prisoners, who had evidently been captured in efforts to escape.