She spoke with decision, in rapid tones that conveyed no impression of fear, but rather of courage and determination. The young Señor looked at the huddled, helpless figure of the old lady on the bench. "Señora," he said quickly to her, "we leave you for a little. Take me into the house, Señorita." As she led the way the youth threw quick glances to right and left, taking his bearings. "Is anyone in the house?" he asked. "Francisco; all the other servants have fled." "Where is he?" "In the sala." "Take me to him." Afterwards he remembered the peremptoriness of his speech; at the moment neither noticed it. Entering the room, he saw the servant loading and firing as imperturbably as before his mistress departed. "That’s right; go on firing," said the stranger. "Now upstairs, Señorita." She led him to the top of the house. The windows at the back overlooked the tiled roofs of the lower houses opposite, slightly above the level of the parapet. The street below was filling with French soldiers, who were battering and firing at the doors, without for the moment doing much damage. From the barricaded and loopholed windows on the other side shots flashed at intervals; the houses were evidently defended in some force, and the throng below were taken aback by the deadly cross-fires from above. The stranger measured with his eye the distance across the street from house to house. "Have you any boards, tables, anything, about fifteen feet long?" he asked. "I do not know. Francisco will know." They ran downstairs. "Can you bring the Señora up?" asked the youth. "Yes, I carried her down." "Please do." Juanita hastened to the patio below; Jack went into the sala. "Stop firing now, hombre," he said to the servant. "There is one chance of escape, from window to roof. Are there any planks?" Francisco put down his musket, and glanced keenly at the speaker, with a touch of surprise at his urgent manner. "None, Señor, but the boards of the floor." "No time to tear those up." He glanced round the room. He saw that the heavy curtains were enclosed at the top within an ornamental wooden framework, square-cut, massive, and ugly. "Steps? A ladder?" he said. "In the press at the head of the stairs, Señor." "Quick! bring them here; and a hammer." In a few moments Jack was standing on a short ladder, hammering the planks of the framework apart. Extending over both windows and the wall between, they were about sixteen feet in length. A few hard blows wrenched the fastenings, and two planks an inch thick lay on the floor. Side by side they measured three feet across. "Now, ropes, cords!" cried Jack. A long, stout bell-pull hanging from the ceiling caught his eye. Tearing it down, by the time Francisco returned with a length of rope Jack had lashed the planks together at one end. Soon the other ends were bound as firmly together. "Help me upstairs with it."