The lamp was set down in a corner where its light would not disturb the sleepers; then the two stood close to the door, intently listening and looking—the fire giving them light enough to see the invader should he succeed in forcing an entrance—and Mrs. Selby with her hand upon the lock, ready to close the door instantly upon his appearance.
Mutterings and curses came faintly to their ears; these were followed by half-suppressed cries and groans and another fall of plaster; but the sounds seemed stationary; they came no nearer.
“He has stuck fast, surely!” Mrs. Selby exclaimed in an excited whisper.
“And we can do nothing to help him!” Mildred said half breathlessly.
“No, nothing.”
Their conjecture soon grew to a certainty, as the groans and cries continued. Gradually their fright abated; they stole softly back to the fireside, and pitying the sufferings of the poor wretch, hastened to open the door, throw out the burning brands and extinguish them with water. It was all they could do for his relief.
He asked for water, and they tried to give it to him, but without success. He sang drunken songs, muttered indistinctly, asking, they thought, for help to get out—help they could not give; then followed groans, cries, and ineffectual struggles to get free. These gradually grew fainter, and at length were succeeded by a death-like silence and stillness.
“He is dead?” Mildred said half inquiringly in an awe-struck whisper.
Mrs. Selby nodded assent, tears springing to her eyes. “I am afraid so, though I had not thought it would come to that,” she whispered. “Oh, how horrible it is! But I’m thankful that mother and the children have slept through it all. We’ll not speak of it to mother if she wakes. There, I hear her stirring, and it’s time for the medicine again.”
“I’ll hold the light for you,” Mildred said, taking it up and following. She could not bear to stay alone in that room at that moment.