“Here, this caps me,” he said to himself. “I don’t want to think he’s a bad un, but he’s took down the bar and shoved the door wide-open. It don’t mean, do it, that he’s sent for some one to come and take us? No, or he wouldn’t have given us our guns.”
Nick, nick, nick, nick, went the flint against the steel; and the boy watched the sparks flying till one of them seemed to settle lightly in the priest’s tinder-box, and the next minute that single spark began to glow as the old man deliberately breathed upon it till the tinder grew plain before the watcher’s eyes, and the shape of the old man’s bald head, with its roll of fat across the back of the neck, stood out like a silhouette.
Then there was a rustling sound, and the boy saw the point of a match applied, and marked that that point was formed of pale yellow brimstone, which began to turn of a lambent blue as it melted and quivered, and anon grew a flame-colour as the burning mineral fired the match.
A deep, heavy breath as of relief rose now through the floor as the old man applied the burning match to the wick of his oil-lamp, and Punch drew back from the knot-hole, for the loft was dimly lit up by the rays which came through the cracks of the badly laid floor, so that it seemed to him as if this could be no hiding-place, for any one in the room below must for certain be aware of the presence of any one in the loft.
In spite of himself, Punch started and extended his hand to catch at his comrade’s arm, for he could see him plainly, though dimly, lying with the muskets on one side, the basket and jar of water upon the other, while half-behind him, where he himself lay, there was the black trap-like opening through which he had climbed.
The boy’s was a very slight movement, but it was sufficient to make a board creak, and a warning “Hist!” came once more from below; while, as he looked downward, the boy found that he could see what the old man was doing, as he drew his lamp across the rough table and bent over a little open book, while he began muttering softly, half-aloud, as he read from his Book of Hours.
Punch softly pressed his comrade’s arm, and then there was a slight movement and the pressure was returned.
“Wonder whether he can see too,” thought Punch; and then in spite of himself he started, and his breath seemed to come thick and short, for plainly from a short distance off came the unmistakable tramp of marching men.
“Then he has sold us after all,” thought the boy, and by slow degrees he strained himself over so that he could look through the knot-hole again. To his great surprise the priest had not stirred, but was bending over his book, and his muttered words rose softly to the boy’s ear, while the old man seemed to be in profound ignorance of the approaching steps.