Captain Hepburn stood at the foot to steady it; Maurice was by his side. In a few, but peremptory words, he ordered all his men back; he would remain alone: the instinct of obedience prevailed; slowly and unwillingly the sailors retired, scarce condescending even then to stand out of danger. The ladder was so frail that the least experienced eye could see that it would not bear the weight of two persons at once, and yet the women, even in their perilous position, half hesitated to trust themselves to their only chance of escape.
“Down! down!” shouted the men, in an ecstasy of impatience, “every moment you delay you risk the captain’s life.”
Captain Hepburn tried to speak words of encouragement, and at length one, the boldest, ventured the attempt and descended in safety.
“Go, Maurice,” said Captain Hepburn to his brother-in-law, as they together watched her progress; “go back with her; you are not wanted here.”
“Never while you are in danger,” was the lieutenant’s resolute reply.
“Go,” repeated the other with more emphasis, “for Hilary’s sake; if I perish, tell her I fell in duty—why should she lose us both?”
“Never!” was still the answer. “Go, you, dear Hepburn, for her sake, it matters nothing what becomes of me.”
By this time the second woman had nearly reached the ground; the third, with feeble, tottering step, was commencing the descent, seemingly more alarmed at this attempt than at the awful danger which had menaced her. Another minute and all would be safe, when just then a fiercer burst of flame issued from the window, as some new impulse was given to its fury,
and another shout arose amid the crowd, “The powder! the powder!”
At the same time another form was seen, a man laden with a heavy box issued from the garret window, and although the last woman had but advanced a few steps, he began, with frantic haste, to descend the ladder.