To make bad worse, just in the heart of the brattle, the grating sound of the yett turning on its rusty hinges was but too plainly heard.

What was to be done?
I thought of our both running away; and then of our locking ourselves in, and firing through the door; but who was to pull the trigger?
Gudeness watch over us! I tremble yet when I think on it.

We were perfectly between the de'il and the deep sea--either to stand still and fire our gun, or run and be shot at.

It was really a hang choice.

As I stood swithering and shaking, the laddie flew to the door, and, thrawing round the key, clapped his back to it.