It drove him back to the window again, the window with its easy drop out into the sate, kind night of stars and watery moon and cold wet air.
But the servants! How was he to warn the servants?
And the fire might be spreading. He felt his way to the washstand and dipped one of the towels in water. He wrapped it round his neck like a muffler, covering mouth and nose, and then he opened his door again, ran down the smoke-packed passage as fast as he could; and up the little staircase to the belfry, where he fell gasping, for the acrid smoke was terrible.
Here it was better, for the belfry tower was open to the night. Johnny seized the rope and pulled for dear life. How long must he ring before they would all be roused?
It was a big, loud bell: he heard it clanging overhead, and insensibly it seemed to swing to the rhythm of these words:
"Pray for us, heroes, pray,
That when Fate lays on us our task,
We do not shame the day."
Johnny's arms were tired and his bare feet were cold. Would they hear? Had he rung long enough? Might he go back to his room now and get out of the window?
The smoke was creeping up into the belfry. It was the smoke, of course, that made the tears come into his eyes.
Clang, clang, clang, clang—clang, clang!
Johnny loosed the rope for a minute and listened.