"When can the soldiers be here?" asked his mother, in a low but not unsteady voice.
He took out his watch with the same measured composure with which he did everything. He made some little calculation:
"Supposing Williams got straight off when I told him, and hadn't to dodge about amongst them—it must be twenty minutes yet."
Twenty minutes!" said his mother, for the first time showing her terror in the tones of her voice.
"Shut down the windows instantly, mother," exclaimed he: "the gates won't bear such another shock. Shut down that window, Miss Hale."
Margaret shut down her window, and then went to assist Mrs. Thornton's trembling fingers.
From some cause or other, there was a pause of several minutes in the unseen street. Mrs. Thornton looked with wild anxiety at her son's countenance, as if to gain the interpretation of the sudden stillness from him. His face was set into rigid lines of contemptuous defiance; neither hope nor fear could be read there.
Fanny raised herself up:
"Are they gone?" asked she, in a whisper.
"Gone!" replied he. "Listen!"
She did listen; they all could hear the one great straining breath; the creak of wood slowly yielding; the wrench of iron; the mighty fall of the ponderous gates. Fanny stood up tottering—made a step or two towards her mother, and fell forwards into her arms in a fainting fit. Mrs. Thornton lifted her up with a strength that was as much that of the will as of the body, and carried her away.
