"I must trust to the night and the thick darkness, and save my life by running for it while there is yet time." I huddled on my cloak and hood, and had my hand on the bar of the back door, when a piteous mew from the bedroom reminded me of the existence of poor Pussy.

I ran in, and huddled the creature up in my apron.

Before I was out in the passage again, the first shock from the beam fell on the door.
The upper hinge gave way.

The chairs and coal-scuttle, forming the top of my barricade, were hurled, rattling, on to the floor, but the lower hinge of the door, and the chest of drawers and the tool-chest still kept their places.
"One more!" I heard the villains cry--"one more run with the beam, and down it comes!" Just as they must have been starting for that "one more run," I opened the back door and fled into the night, with the bookful of banknotes in my bosom, the silver spoons in my pocket, and the cat in my arms.
I threaded my way easily enough through the familiar obstacles in the backyard, and was out in the pitch darkness of the moor before I heard the second shock, and the crash which told me that the whole door had given way.
In a few minutes they must have discovered the fact of my flight with the pocketbook, for I heard shouts in the distance as if they were running out to pursue me.

I kept on at the top of my speed, and the noise soon died away.