The flames rose higher, and half the faggot was now alight.

Another minute and the fire would communicate with the pile.
Then there was a crash.

A shower of sparks leapt up as the faggot, struck by one of the heavy stones, was dashed from its place and lay blazing twenty feet distant from the pile.

There it burnt itself out, and for a time the tower was safe.
For an hour the defenders watched the peasants, who had now lighted great fires just out of pistol shot from the tower, and were gathered thickly round them, the light flashing redly from pike head and scythe.
The uproar of voices was loud; but though the defenders guessed that they were discussing the next plan of attack they could catch no meaning from such words as reached them, for the patois of the Bavarian peasants was unintelligible.

At last a large number seized brands, some approached as before towards the pile, the others scattered in various directions, while the men with muskets again opened fire at the top of the tower.
Malcolm took his post at the loophole awaiting attack, but the men in front of him did not advance.