LITMIR.BIZ

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of the sight.

      There was a black mass in the open space, whence rose fitful clouds of smoke, the remnants of the fire, which had there done its worst; and beyond was a smoky undefined outline, with tongues of flame darting up, then volumes of dense white smoke, denoting a rush of water from the engines.  Black beings flitted about like ants round a disturbed nest; Rosamond hoped she detected some scarlet among them, and Cecil lamented over not having brought her opera-glass.  Even without this, it was possible to make out two long lines of men between the fire and the river, and at times they fancied they heard the shouting, but the wind generally carried it away.  The cold was bitter, and they had to hold together and keep a tight grip upon their garments against the gusts that seemed to rock the tower; but they could not bear to turn away, though the clock beneath pealed out hour after hour; for still, as the flames were subdued in one place they broke out in another; but gradually smoke became predominant, and then grew thinner, and as some of the black specks began to straggle into the road as if returning to Compton, the desire to hear became more pressing than that to see, and the three ladies began to descend—a slow and weary process, cutting them off from the view, and lasting so long, that the road was no longer deserted when they finally emerged into the churchyard.

      Young Mr. Bowater, grimed, dusty, hatless, and his hair on end, and Rollo following with his feathery tail singed, hurried up at once.  “I’m not fit to touch, Lady Rosamond,” as he showed a black hand, and bowed to the others.

      “Where’s Ju—where’s my husband?” exclaimed Rosamond.

      “Just behind, riding home with Raymond and the rest of them.  Wasn’t it a magnificent flare-up?  But there was no loss of life; and this dog was of as much use as two men—carried whatever I told him.”

      “Good old man!  You’ve suffered too!” said Rosamond.  “Pah! you’re like a singed horse; but never mind, you’re a hero.”

      “And where is Mr. Charnock Poynsett?” said Cecil, retreating from the dog, which her sisters-in-law were vehemently patting.

      “He was arranging with the mayor.  Church, paper-mills, and town-hall got the worst of it.  It was well he came down; old Briggs, the mayor, lost his head, and Fuller never had one.  Every one gave contrary orders till he came down, and then, didn’t we work!”

      The curate stretched his stalwart limbs, as if they were becoming sensible of the strain they had undergone.

      “Did you say the church was burnt?” asked Cecil.

      “Yes; and a very good thing too!  Hideous place, where you couldn’t do right if you died for it!  The fire began there—stoves no doubt—and there it would have stopped if any one had had any sense; but there they would run and gape, and the more I tried to get them to form a chain and drench the warehouses, the more they wouldn’t do it.  And when the flame once got hold of the paper—did you see it?—it was not a thing to forget.  I verily believe the whole town would have gone if the Charnocks hadn’t come and got a little discipline into the asses.  It was just life and death work, fighting the fire to hinder it from getting across Water Lane, and then it would have been all up with High Street.  The tongues broke out like live things ready to lick up everything; and it was like killing dragons to go at them with the hose and buckets.  I declare my arms are fit to drop out of their sockets.  And the Rector devoted himself to carrying out bed-ridden old women.  I forgot to tell you, Lady Rosamond, he has broken his—There now, I never meant to frighten you—broken his spectacles.”

      “You did it on purpose,” she said, laughing at her own start.

      “No, indeed, I did not.”

      “And is it quite out now?”

      “Yes; when the Backsworth engines and the soldiers came up, it was like the Prussians at Waterloo.”

      “Oh, then it was done,” said Rosamond.  “Take care! my grandfather was in the Light Division.”

      “And my uncle in the Guards,” said the curate.  But before the Waterloo controversy could be pursued, four or five figures on horseback came round the knoll, and Raymond and Julius sprang off their horses, introducing the three officers who followed their example.

      One was Rosamond’s old acquaintance, the Colonel, a friend of her father; but she had little attention to spare for them till she had surveyed her husband, who looked nothing worse than exceedingly dusty, and at fault without his spectacles.

      Inquiries were made for Frank and Charlie.  They were walking home.  They had worked gallantly.  The flames were extinguished, but the engines must go on playing on them for some time longer.  No lives lost, and very few casualties, but the paper-mills were entirely destroyed, and about twenty tenements, so that great distress was to be apprehended.

      Such intelligence was being communicated as the party stood together in a group, when there was a light tinkling of bells, and two ladies in a light open carriage, drawn by two spirited ponies, dashed round the knoll; and at the moment something must have gone wrong with them, for there was a start, a pull, a call of “Raymond!  Raymond!”

      Throwing his bridle to Herbert Bowater, he sprang to the horses’ heads.

      “Mr. Poynsett!  Thank you!  I beg your pardon,” said the lady, recovering herself; and Rosamond instantly perceived that she must be Lady Tyrrell, for she was young-looking, very handsome, and in slight mourning; and her companion was Miss Vivian.  Julius, holding his surviving glass to his eye, likewise stepped forward.  “Thank you, it was so stupid,” the lady ran on.  “Is not there something wrong with the traces?  I don’t know how they got themselves harnessed, but there was no keeping at home.”

      “I think all is right,” said Raymond, gravely, making the examination over to a servant.  “Let me introduce my wife, Lady Tyrrell.”

      The lady held out her hand.  “I hope we shall be excellent neighbours.—My sister.—You remember little Lena,” she added to the brothers.  “She stole a march on us, I find.  I heard of your encounter on Friday.  It was too bad of you not to come in and let us send you home; I hope you did not get very wet, Lady Rosamond.—Ah!  Mr. Strangeways, I did not know you were there,” she proceeded, as the youngest of the officers accosted her; “come over and see us.  You’re better provided now; but come to luncheon any day.  I am sure to be at home at half-past one; and I want so much to hear of your mother and sisters.”  And with a universal bow and smile she nourished her whip, her ponies jangled their bells, and the ladies vanished.

      “Stunning pair that!” was young Strangeways’ exclamation.

      “Most beautiful!” murmured Cecil, in a low voice, as if she was quite dazzled.  “You never said she was like that,” she added reproachfully to Julius.

      “Our encounter was in the dark,” he answered.

      “Oh, I did not mean the young one, but Lady Tyrrell.  She is just like a gem we saw at Firenze—which was it?”

      “Where?” said Raymond, bewildered.

      “Firenze—Florence,” she said, deigning to translate; and finding her own reply.  “Ah, yes, the Medusa!” then, as more than one exclaimed in indignant dismay, she said, “No, not the Gorgon, but the beautiful winged head, with only two serpents on the brow and one coiled round the neck, and the pensive melancholy face.”

      “I know,” said Julius, shortly; while the other gentlemen entered into an argument, some defending the beauty of the younger sister, some of the elder; and it lasted till they entered the park, where all were glad to partake of their well-earned meal, most of the gentlemen having been at work since dawn without sustenance, except a pull at the beer served out to the firemen.

      Cecil was not at all shy, and was pleased to take her place as representative lady of the house; but somehow, though every one was civil and attentive to her, she found herself effaced by the more full-blown Rosamond, accustomed to the same world as the guests; and she could not help feeling the same sense of depression as when she had to yield the head of her father’s table to her step-mother.

      Nor could she have that going to church for

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