gger; the eye that turned
from the red death without to cast languishing glances at his mistress
where she stood directing the women, was quick to note the minutest
change in savage tactics. He jested as he fought--once he drew a
tremulous wail of laughter from Mistress Lettice's lips.

A bullet sung through the aperture and grazed his arm. "The first
blood," he said, with a laugh.

"There's a man killed in the master's room and two in the hall!" cried
young Whittington, from his post at the far window.

"And Margery," said Patricia, coming forward with the kerchief from her
neck in her hand. "Let me bind up your wound, cousin."

He held out his arm with a smile and a few low, caressing words, and she
wound the lawn that was not whiter than her face about it; then moved
back to where the women worked, loading and passing the muskets to the
men who kept up an incessant fire upon the assailants.

The whole house filled with smoke through which the figures of the
besieged loomed large and indistinct, and the noise--the crack of the
muskets, the loud commands and oaths, the scream of a frightened woman
or child, the groans of the wounded, of whom there were now many--became
deafening. The attack was now general, and the men on each face had
their hands full. Without was horrible clamor, oaths, shots, yells,
crashing blows against door and window; within was noise and confusion,
and fear, stern and controlled, but blanching the lip of the men and
showing in the agony of the women's eyes.

Sir Charles, turning for a fresh musket, after a highly successful shot
as the yell outside had testified, found Patricia at his elbow. "There
are very few bullets left, cousin, and this is all the powder."

The baronet drew in his breath. "Peste! we are unfortunate! One of you
men go beg, borrow, or steal from the others."

Landless left his loophole in charge of the Muggletonian and went
swiftly into the hall, where he found the master, his wig off, his shirt
torn, his face and hands blackened with powder, now firing with his own
hand, now shouting encouragement to the panting men.

"Powder and shot!" he cried. "God help us! are you out? Not a grain or a
bullet can we spare, for if we keep them not from the great door we are
dead men!"

Landless went to the overseer. "Two more rounds and _we_ are out," said
Woodson coolly, firing as he spoke.

"There is no sign that they have had enough," said Landless, as the
clamor outside