It was not the sudden change from darkness to this dreadful light,it was not the sound of distant shrieks and shouts of triumph, itwas not this dread invasion of the serenity and peace of night,that drove the man back as though a thunderbolt had struck him. Itwas the Bell. If the ghastliest shape the human mind has everpictured in its wildest dreams had risen up before him, he couldnot have staggered backward from its touch, as he did from thefirst sound of that loud iron voice. With eyes that started fromhis head, his limbs convulsed, his face most horrible to see, heraised one arm high up into the air, and holding somethingvisionary back and down, with his other hand, drove at it as thoughhe held a knife and stabbed it to the heart. He clutched his hair,and stopped his ears, and travelled madly round and round; thengave a frightful cry, and with it rushed away: still, still, theBell tolled on and seemed to follow him--louder and louder, hotterand hotter yet. The glare grew brighter, the roar of voicesdeeper; the crash of heavy bodies falling, shook the air; brightstreams of sparks rose up into the sky; but louder than them all-risingfaster far, to Heaven--a million times more fierce andfurious--pouring forth dreadful secrets after its long silence-speakingthe language of the dead--the Bell--the Bell!
What hunt of spectres could surpass that dread pursuit and flight!
Had there been a legion of them on his track, he could have betterborne it. They would have had a beginning and an end, but here allspace was full. The one pursuing voice was everywhere: it soundedin the earth, the air; shook the long grass, and howled among thetrembling trees. The echoes caught it up, the owls hooted as itflew upon the breeze, the nightingale was silent and hid herselfamong the thickest boughs: it seemed to goad and urge the angryfire, and lash it into madness; everything was steeped in oneprevailing red; the glow was everywhere; nature was drenched inblood: still the remorseless crying of that awful voice--the Bell,the Bell!
It ceased; but not in his ears. The knell was at his heart. Nowork of man had ever voice like that which sounded there, andwarned him that it cried unceasingly to Heaven. Who could hearthat hell, and not know what it said! There was murder in itsevery note--cruel, relentless, savage murder--the murder of aconfiding man, by one who held his every trust. Its ringingsummoned phantoms from their graves. What face was that, in whicha friendly smile changed to a look of half incredulous horror,which stiffened for a moment into one of pain, then changed againinto an imploring glance at Heaven, and so fell idly down withupturned eyes, like the dead stags" he had often peeped at when alittle child: shrinking and shuddering--there was a dreadful thingto think of now!--and clinging to an apron as he looked! He sankupon the ground, and grovelling down as if he would dig himself aplace to hide in, covered his face and ears: but no, no, no,--ahundred walls and roofs of brass would not shut out that bell, forin it spoke the wrathful voice of God, and from that voice, thewhole wide universe could not afford a refuge!
While he rushed up and down, not knowing where to turn, and whilehe lay crouching there, the work went briskly on indeed. Whenthey left the Maypole, the rioters formed into a solid body, andadvanced at a quick pace towards the Warren. Rumour of theirapproach having gone before, they found the garden-doors fastclosed, the windows made secure, and the house profoundly dark: nota light being visible in any portion of the building. After somefruitless ringing at the bells, and beating at the iron gates, theydrew off a few paces to reconnoitre, and confer upon the course itwould be best to take.
Very little conference was needed, when all were bent upon onedesperate purpose, infuriated with liquor, and flushed withsuccessful riot. The word being given to surround the house, someclimbed the gates, or dropped into the shallow trench and scaledthe garden wall, while others pulled down the solid iron fence, andwhile they made a breach to enter by, made deadly weapons of thebars. The house being completely encircled, a small number of menwere despatched to break open a tool-shed in the garden; and duringtheir absence on this errand, the remainder contented themselveswith knocking violently at the doors, and calling to those within,to come down and open them on peril of their lives.
No answer being returned to this repeated summons, and thedetachment who had been sent away, coming back with an accession ofpickaxes, spades, and hoes, they,--together with those who had sucharms already, or carried (as many did) axes, poles, and crowbars,-struggledinto the foremost rank, ready to beset the doors andwindows. They had not at this time more than a dozen lightedtorches among them; but when these preparations were completed,flaming links were distributed and passed from hand to hand withsuch rapidity, that, in a minute"s time, at least two-thirds of thewhole roaring mass bore, each man in his hand, a blazing brand.
Whirling these about their heads they raised a loud shout, and fellto work upon the doors and windows.
Amidst the clattering of heavy blows, the rattling of broken glass,the cries and execrations of the mob, and all the din and turmoilof the scene, Hugh and his friends kept together at the turret-doorwhere Mr Haredale had last admitted him and old John Willet; andspent their united force on that. It was a strong old oaken door,guarded by good bolts and a heavy bar, but it soon went crashing inupon the narrow stairs behind, and made, as it were, a platform tofacilitate their tearing up into the rooms above. Almost at thesame moment, a dozen other points were forced, and at every one thecrowd poured in like water.
