Brooke was silent, and watched the preparations outside. These grew more and more menacing. A great pile of wood was soon collected, which grew rapidly to more formidable proportions. If these prisoners hoped for life, they must leave their present hiding-place, and soon, too; for soon—ah, too soon, if that pile were once kindled—the flames would pour in, and burn all the inner wood-work, even if the walls were of stone.
At this moment a man came hurrying forward and burst in among the crowd.
"What's the meaning of all this nonsense?" he asked, in a stern voice.
"Why, we're burning the mill," said one of the most active of the party.
"Fools!" cried the other, "are you mad? It will attract attention. We shall be seen—perhaps attacked."
"Pooh!" said the man, impudently, "what of that? That's all the better."
The other laid his hand upon his sword, and looked as though he was about to use it; but a wild outcry burst forth from all the crowd, and with an impatient gesture he turned away. By his dress, which was the only uniform visible, and also by his bearing, he seemed to be the captain of the band, yet his authority did not seem to receive any very strong recognition. Still, the sight of this uniform was of itself encouraging to Brooke, who now at once decided upon the course which he should adopt. There was no longer time to hesitate. Already the match was struck, the next moment the flame would be touched to the kindling, and the fires would blaze up.
So Brooke called in a loud voice,
"Stop! stop! till we come down!"
At this cry they all looked up in amazement. The match dropped from the hand of the man who held it, and several of the men sprang to their arms.