Some one was stealthily entering at the window end.
"Rise, Jorian and Boris!" I cried.

"An enemy!" And leaping up I ran to relight the candle.

By good luck the wick was a sound, honest, thick one, a good housewife's wick--not such as are made to sell and put in ordinary candles of offertory.
The wick was still red, and smoked as I put my hands behind it and blew.
"_Twang! Twang! Zist! Zist!_" went the arrows and bolts thickly about me, bringing down the clay dust in handfuls thickly from the walls.
"Down on your stomachs--they are shooting crosswise along the passage !" cried Jorian, who had instantly awakened.

I longed to follow the advice, for I felt something sharp catch the back of my undersuit of soft leather, in which, for comfort, I had laid me down to sleep.

But I _must_ get the candle alight.