That some one passing in the road well out beyond might hear him, was his hope. He was beginning to hope, too, that the fire would be seen in the village in time for fire fighters to get out to it before it had made a finish of him.
As if in answer to his calls, he soon heard the jingling approach of a sleigh, and from the sound of the bells he could tell that the horses were galloping.
The fire had reached the stairway which led to the room where the Duke lay; he could see, under the door, the fiery licking of red tongues of flame, as gusts of air drove the flames higher; and now the smoke, getting into his room more and more, was troublesome, and threatened soon to be suffocating.
He was yelling himself hoarse, bawling for help to the occupants of the sleigh. When he heard them shouting to each other outside in the snow, his screams to attract their attention became screeches.
He had been heard; he could soon tell that.
At the same time it was being said that no one could get up to the second floor; there were no ladders to be had, and the stairs were on fire.
Some one jingled away in the sleigh, going to the village to get ladders; the others, it seemed, were waiting for the ladders, or for the coming of the Fardale fire department.
The Duke knew that before the slow-moving local fire department could get there, or the sleigh return with ladders, he would be beyond the need of aid.
“Help!” he screamed.
His feet, flailing, could not shatter the stout panels of the door.