And all the while the shrieking and cries for help came from the outside, mingled now with the trampling of feet.
Then, sounding muffled and strange, and as if from a great distance, Tom heard David’s voice.
“What is it? where are you hurt?”
“Oh, all over,” came in Pete’s voice; “I was a-lookin’ over the wall and they shot me with a big gun.”
“Yah!” cried David, as if still at a great distance, but his words sounded with peculiar distinctness through the metallic ringing. “Shootin’! It was a thunderbolt struck the mill.”
“Oh, what is the matter?” came now in Mrs Fidler’s voice.
“Thunderbolt, mum; I saw the flash,” cried David; and as Tom still held up his uncle’s head, and knelt there confused, half-stunned and helpless, Mrs Fidler’s voice rose again.
“Quick! help them before the place falls. Master! poor master! Mr Maxted—Master Tom!”
Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and as Tom looked up, to see the ceiling above him come crumbling down, more questioning voices were heard outside, and Pete’s voice rose again.
“They shot me with a big gun—they shot me with a big gun.”