Crash!
Another volley, the bullets for the most part passing through the open work of the gates; but still the enemy swarmed on.
Just then a dark figure ran back to where the boys stood, gun in hand, ready to fire.
"Hal! Phra!" was whispered hoarsely; "if they get through and we are driven back, don't wait to resist, but rush into one of the rooms at once and fire through the open windows. We are all going to retreat there."
"Where is my father?" whispered Phra excitedly.
"I don't know; I have not seen him for the last few minutes."
"Ah! here he comes," cried Phra.
"Stand away, boy!" cried the King excitedly, as he ran down the steps from the palace entrance, bearing something in each hand spitting and sparkling like a firework.
Phra gave way at his father's command, but rushed after him to be ready to defend him from injury; and, as if from a natural instinct, Harry followed to defend his comrade, till they saw the King stop in front of the gates, over which many of the enemy were climbing, some to reach the ground unhurt, others to fall, shot down.
As the King stopped there seemed to be a sea of fire about his head, as he whirled one of the sparkling objects round; then it passed from his hand, formed a tiny arc as it flew over the gate, and fell amongst the crowd beyond.