Suddenly a light sprang up beneath him.
There was a sound of falling stones, but the light grew brighter and brighter, and he knew that this time the pile had been fired.

As he ran upstairs he was met by one of the soldiers from above.
"They crept round by the back of the church, sir, and round at the foot of the tower, and they had fired the pile before we saw that they were there." "It cannot be helped," Malcolm said, "they were sure to succeed sooner or later.

Call the others down from the roof." The door at the top of the stairs was now closed, and the crevices were stuffed tightly with strips torn from the men's clothes so as to prevent the smoke from entering when the door below gave way to the flames.

A broad glare of light now lit up the scene, and showers of sparks, and an occasional tongue of flame were visible through the window.
"Shut down the trapdoor in the roof," Malcolm said, "that will check the draught through the windows." The wood was dry, and what smoke made its way in through the window found its way out through the loopholes of the upper chamber without seriously incommoding those below.
"We can take it easy, now," Malcolm said as he set the example by sitting down against the wall.

"It will be hours before the stonework below will be cool enough to permit them to attack." "They are lighting a circle of fires all round the church," one of the soldiers said looking out.
"They think we shall be trying to escape, now that our door is burned.
They are too late; I trust our messenger is miles away by this time." In half an hour the flames died away, but a deep red glow showed that the pile of embers was still giving out an intense heat.