At this moment, aroused by the shouts of joy, Ragnar, forgetting even his danger, rushed to the roof. There he saw a crowd surrounding some object of their joy; in the darkness of the night he could not distinguish more, but the cry, “Long live Alfred of Æscendune!” arose spontaneously from the crowd, just as the brothers departed. Faint with toil as he was, his heart beating wildly with apprehension, he rushed to the chamber through smoke and flame, for the tongues of fire were already licking the staircase. He withdrew the bars, he rushed in, the room was empty. “It is magic, sorcery, witchcraft,” he groaned. But the remembrance of his last words, of his scornful defiance of God, came back to him, and with it a conviction that he had indeed lifted up his arm against the Holy One. He felt a sickening feeling of horror and despair rush upon him, when loud cries calling him from beneath aroused him. “We must charge through them; we cannot burn here; we must die fighting sword in hand, it is all that is left.” Not one voice spoke of surrender amongst those fierce warriors, or of seeking mercy. It was indeed high time, for all efforts to extinguish the flames had proved vain; every part of the castle was on fire; the fiery element streamed from the lower windows, and curled upwards around the towers; it crackled and hissed in its fury, and the atmosphere became unfit to breathe; it was like inhaling flame. Sparks flew about in all directions, dense stifling smoke filled every room. Not a man remained in the hall, when Redwald rushed down the gallery, holding his breath, for the hot air scorched the lungs; when, just as he arrived, the staircase fell with a huge crash, and the flames shot up in his face, igniting hair and beard, and scorching his flesh. He rushed back to the opposite end of the passage, only to meet another blast of fire and smoke—for they had ignited the hall in twenty places at once; they had done their work all too well. He rushed to the room he had left, shut the door for a moment’s respite from flame and smoke, and then, springing at the window, strove to tear the bars down, but all in vain. “There must be some egress. How did they escape? How could they escape?” he cried; and he sought in vain for the exit, for they had closed the door again, and he knew not where to look; in vain he lifted the tapestry, he could not discover the secret; and at last, overpowered by the heat, he sprang again to the window, and drank in deep draughts of fresh cool air to appease the burning feeling in his throat. Crash! crash! part of the roof had given way, and the whole chamber trembled; then a single tongue of flame shot up through the floor, then another; the door had caught outside. Even in that moment he beheld his men, his faithful followers, madly seeking death from the swords of the foe; they had lowered the drawbridge, and dashed out without a leader. “Would I were with them!” he cried. “Oh, to die like this!”