Mrs. Pemberton descended the stairs, followed by Susan and Fred, who had
just returned from the front window, where he had exhibited the flag,
which the crowd outside were still cheering.

"Who can it be?" continued the old lady, as she slowly and cautiously
walked forward to the scene of the catastrophe.

"I don't know," replied the squire, in whom the presence of his family had
spurred up a semblance of courage; for if a man ever is brave, it is in
the presence of his wife and children. "If it is one of the ruffians who
came here to destroy my house, I am glad he has lost his life in the
attempt. It is a righteous retribution upon him for his wickedness."

Mrs. Pemberton took the lantern, and the squire, still excited and
terrified, bent over the prostrate form of the young marauder. The victim
lay upon his face, and the squire had to turn him over to obtain a view of
his countenance.

"I declare it is one of the Somers boys!" exclaimed Mrs. Pemberton, as her
husband brought the face of Thomas to her view.

"The young villain!" ejaculated the squire. "It is lucky he was killed, or
the house would have been in flames before this time. He is a desperate
young scoundrel."

"But he isn't dead, father!" said Mrs. Pemberton, as she knelt upon the
cold ground, and felt the pulse of the insensible boy. "He is only
stunned."