Ten minutes later, and the fugitives in the mound, peeping out from
their hole, saw clouds of smoke floating above them.

"You should have let me shoot, Master Hugh," said Grey Dick, in his
hard, dry whisper. "I'd have had these three, at least, and they'd have
been good company on the road to hell, which now we must walk alone."

"Nay," answered Hugh sternly, "I'll murder none, though they strive
to murder us, and these least of all," and he glanced at Eve, who sat
staring out of the mouth of the hole, her chin resting on her hand. "You
had best give in, sweetheart," he said hoarsely. "Fire is worse than
foes, and it draws near."

"I fear it less," she answered. "Moreover, marriage is worse than
either--sometimes."

Hugh took counsel with Grey Dick.

"This place will burn like tinder," he said, pointing to the dry reeds
which grew thickly all about them, and to the masses of brushwood and
other rubbish that had drifted against the side of the little mound
in times of flood. "If the fire reaches us we must perish of flame, or
smoke, or both."

"Ay," answered Dick, "like old witch Sarah when they burned her in
her house. She screeched a lot, though some say it was her cat that
screeched and she died mum."

"If we could get into the water now, Dick?"