But Bray was at her side in an instant, trying again to drag her away, but in vain; when, seizing his rival by the throat, he fiercely whispered in the poor girl’s ear, “Come on, or it will be his death!”
“You have killed him now, coward!” cried the girl, vainly tearing at the hand so ruthlessly grasping her lover; when again seizing the opportunity Bray lifted her once more from the floor, and bore her towards the door, but only for there to be a repetition of the fierce struggle; the light, active girl writhing herself free again, calling upon Ned for the help he was powerless to give, he, poor fellow, responding with a groan, as in the shadowy place he could mistily make out what was going on.
Tearing herself away, Katie was again by the side of Murray, when the casement above her head was suddenly thrown open, a couple of streams of flame flashed across the place, and, with a loud cry, Bray sprang through the door at the other end. The moonbeams shone in for an instant, showing the wreaths of smoke curling slowly upward, and all was once more darkness, while Katie knelt, hardly daring to breathe; her hand, too, pressed upon Murray’s lips, lest he should moan, and so betray their whereabouts.
But the next moment her breath was drawn with a sob, for the window swung-to again, and from the rapid beat of footsteps, it was evident that the men who fired had gone round in pursuit of Bray; but apparently in vain, for they soon returned, stopped before the outhouse door, and looked in; but coming from the outer brightness, they saw nothing but the wreathing smoke; and, closing the door violently, hurried on towards the front of the house, where loud talking, and more than once a weak cry for help, fell upon the ears of the poor girl.
Murray had attempted to speak, and then seemed to become inanimate. In her grief, Katie clung to him, calling upon him, in whispers, to speak to her, if but a word, for she felt that he must be dying; and then, forgetful of all but her love, she clasped him fondly, bathing his face with her tears, and kissing him again and again. Then suddenly she started up with affright, for, just above her head, she heard the grating of the casement, as it slowly opened. Then there was a dread pause, broken by the loud talking and quarrelling of the convicts, but a few yards away.
Involuntarily she turned her face towards the open window, trying to pierce the darkness—for the moon had sunk behind the shoulder of the mountain, and in the last few minutes all had become black as night. But she could see nothing, only hear the sound of hard breathing, as some one leaned out into the place where she crouched, cold and paralysed, but with her mind in a state of fearful activity.
But was it fancy? Had her over-wrought imagination conjured up this new terror? No; it was no fancy, for the window was thrust farther back, and the dread seemed greater than she could bear, as just above her she could feel, as it were, that there was a face stretched out towards her.