ry different
intonation, added, "Nothing."

As we went downstairs the heat was excessive, and the roaring of the fire
filled our ears; and we had scarce reached the passage before the stairs
window fell in, a branch of flame shot brandishing through the aperture,
and the interior of the pavilion became lighted up with that dreadful and
fluctuating glare. At the same moment we heard the fall of something heavy
and inelastic in the upper story. The whole pavilion, it was plain, had
gone alight like a box of matches, and now not only flamed sky high to
land and sea, but threatened with every moment to crumble and fall in
about our ears.

Northmour and I cocked our revolvers. Mr. Huddlestone, who had already
refused a firearm, put us behind him with a manner of command.

"Let Clara open the door," said he. "So, if they fire a volley, she will
be protected. And in the meantime stand behind me. I am the scapegoat; my
sins have found me out."

I heard him, as I stood breathless by his shoulder, with my pistol ready,
pattering off prayers in a tremulous, rapid whisper; and, I confess,
horrid as the thought may seem, I despised him for thinking of
supplications in a moment so critical and thrilling. In the meantime,
Clara, who was dead white but still possessed her faculties, had displaced
the barricade from the front door. Another moment, and she had pulled it
open. Firelight and moonlight illuminated the links with confused and
changeful luster, and far away against the sky we could see a long trail
of glowing smoke.

Mr. Huddlestone, filled for the moment with a strength greater than his
own, struck Northmour and myself a back-hander in the chest; and while we
were thus for the moment incapacitated from action, lifting his arms above
his head like one about to dive, he ran straight forward out of the
pavilion.

"Here am I!" he cried--"Huddlestone! Kill me, and spare the others!"

His sudden appearance daunted, I suppose, our hidden enemies; for
Northmour and I had time to recover, to seize Clara between us, one by
each arm, and to rush forth to his assistance, ere anything further had
taken place. But scarce had we passed the threshold when there came near a
dozen reports and flashes from every direction among the hollows of the
links. Mr. Huddlestone staggered, uttered a weird and freezing cry, threw
up his arms over his head, and fell backward on the turf.

_"Traditore! Traditore!"_ cried the invisible avengers.