It was for Charlie to defend them as long as life and strength were his! His eyes turned to the clock; it was only eight. What an age till daybreak! To thoroughly barricade and fasten the door was his first consideration. It was well and strongly built of oak, strengthened here and there with iron ribs, and secured by three bolts and a huge bar that passed immediately across the centre. All these were duly pushed into their places by Charlie, regardless of the hammering and knocking that was going on outside. This done, he hurried up-stairs to see that the lights were burning all right; wick, oil, and reflectors, were all in perfect order, and might in the emergency be left to themselves. They would do their duty till morning if only the wreckers’ fingers could be kept at a respectful distance. Satisfied as to these particulars, Charlie hurried downstairs again to defend the door. How thankful did he now feel to Bill for the lessons he had given him in shooting! There was another revolver lying at the bottom of the locker, he took it up, loaded it carefully, and then prepared himself for the siege. The wind still howled and whistled, while the thunder of the waves upon the rock was almost deafening, still Charlie was just able to catch the sound of voices outside during the intervals of cessation from knocking on the part of his besiegers. “Blow up,” and “pistol,” he distinctly heard, and then a hoarse cry from some one, evidently intended for him. “If you don’t open the door we’ll blow it up.” “Blow away, my hearties,” shouted he in reply, “and take care how you play with gunpowder, for it’s dangerous.” A sound very much like a laugh followed this: and then the same voice that had addressed him before screamed out:— “If you’ll give in, young ’un, we won’t hurt you. It’s no use your fighting against odds; we’ve cobbled your mates, and we shall have to do the same for you if you keep us out here much longer.”