Chapter XV: Fire!

SHUTTING the door behind him, Colonel Smyth went swiftly to the second window, bearing still the unconscious child, and dragging the half-stupefied Bertha. He flung it open, and a cry of horror broke from the gathering crowd below, at the sight of three more threatened victims.

"No way out, I suppose, along the leads, either front or back?" Colonel Smyth inquired of Bertha.

As yet, Mrs. Burrell and Hope, in their absorption of terror, had not become aware of the Colonel's entrance.

Bertha's "No, sir," was bewildered.

He saw that she hardly knew what she said.

"Take the child for a moment!" And he laid Rhona in the girl's arms.

Then he was gone from the room, but only for a few seconds. Almost before Bertha had time to conjecture his purpose, he returned. And as he reached the window, Rhona opened her eyes, revived by a breath of fresher air.

"No hope there," he said gloomily. "I had thoughts of a descent at the back, making use of the cistern,—but the flames are all over it. Why is there no fire-escape?"

The Colonel was a brave man, but the threatening peril was very terrible, rendered still more terrible by his utter helplessness; and his cheeks blanched as he gazed.

To meet death on the battle-field would have been far easier.

"What are they about?" he groaned inaudibly. "The fire has made fearful way."

"Can't we get out?" Rhona asked, her clear voice sounding distinctly through the roar of the fire and the shouts of the crowd.

She seemed to have wakened quietly to a full sense of the position, and her large eyes were dilated with fear. She had slid partly out of Bertha's arms, which indeed were hardly able to bear her up, and stood leaning against her kind attendant, swathed still in the blanket from head to foot.

"I hope so,—very soon," the Colonel answered gravely. "I expect a fire-escape every moment. You have no ropes here, my good girl?" he asked of Bertha in a lower tone.

She shook her head mutely.

"The sheets—" said the Colonel.

Mrs. Burrell and Hope, becoming suddenly aware of their presence, rushed to the same window. Mrs. Burrell passionately implored aid, and Hope fairly flung herself at Colonel Smyth's feet, with sobs and incoherent shrieks.

"Hush! Be quiet," he said sternly. "Don't you see that we are all in the same condition? Here! You had better help me fasten the sheets together. Not you, Bertha,—don't leave Miss Rhona."

Hope was limp and helpless, but Mrs. Burrell, though refusing to move far from the window, gave some assistance. The Colonel worked as a man works for his life; and, in an incredibly short space of time, the improvised rope of sheets and blankets was ready for use. He brought it to the window, and there paused. The descent thus would be a passage through smoke and flame.

"Will any one make the trial?" asked the Colonel, looking round.

Hope hid her face.

Bertha said steadily, "I will take Miss Rhona down, if you wish, sir."

He looked at her and at the child, and shuddered.

"It would be a bare chance," he muttered. "Hardly a hope. Hanging so close to the windows, the sheets would certainly take fire. Wait a few more seconds," he said aloud. "The escape, if it comes soon, will be better."

Hope flung herself wildly on the knotted bedding. "Oh let me down, let me down," she cried piercingly; "I can't stay here. Oh let me down—quick—"

Colonel Smyth made no fresh protest. He was indeed unable to decide whether the peril of going or of delaying were the greatest. With compressed lips, he attached the end blanket to her waist, folding her up in it as much as possible, and helped her to mount the sill. But a glance over proved too much for her fortitude, and with a scream she fell back into the room.

"Don't you mean to go, Hope?" asked her mother in a voice of sullen misery.

"Oh, I don't know," gasped Hope. "Oh, I don't know. It looks so frightful. Oh, what shall I do?"

"The floor burns my feet," murmured Rhona patiently, and Colonel Smyth caught her up in his arms.

"What can they be about? Why don't they come?" he groaned, as she clung to him.

"I don't think we shall be burnt. God will take care of us," said Rhona.

"Pray to Him, my dear,—you know how. Pray for all of us," whispered the Colonel.

"I am praying all the time. God will take care of us," Rhona said again. But after a moment she added softly, "Only He might want to take me to mother that way. Would it hurt very much?"

Colonel Smyth could not answer, and again Hope sprang up wildly. "Oh, it burns, it burns," she screamed. "Oh, let me go down. I can't stay here."

"You must choose for yourself," Colonel Smyth answered gravely. "I don't know that this is long enough, and—"

"Oh, but it is worse waiting here. It is frightful," shrieked Hope. "Let me down,—quick—quick."

Bertha again received Rhona, supporting her with difficulty. And in another instant, Hope was hanging over the depth. Her shrill cries of terror rang piercingly through the night-air, and the crowd below seemed to watch with suspended breath. Colonel Smyth paid out the improvised rope rapidly yet cautiously. But that which he had dreaded came to pass. It proved too short; and as she hung some little way from the ground, for two short seconds of agony, a leaping tongue of fire set light to the sheets by which she was suspended.

Those above could not distinguish what went on so close underneath, but Hope's screams ceased, and the weight which depended on the Colonel's hands was suddenly lightened. Whether the change meant life or death to Hope, they could not tell. A flame was running up the twisted sheeting, which Colonel Smyth held, and he flung it down as useless.

"No hope now—that way," he muttered.

Then a loud cry rose from the people, resolving itself into joyful words. "Ha! The escape at last!" echoed Colonel Smyth, with relief unutterable.

At last, and not too soon. Was it even in time! A dull crash told of the first floor falling in, and flames rushed wildly out from the lower windows, fanned by the strong breeze.

Another minute found the ladders in position, and a brave man rapidly mounted through whirling smoke.

Their rescuer appeared suddenly close to the window, a helmeted figure, framed in coils of smoke, steadying himself in his perilous position. What had to be done needed to be done quickly. For a man to remain outside there any length of time was an impossibility. Colonel Smyth would fain have sent the child down first, but Mrs. Burrell pushed resolutely to the front, and no time could be wasted in parleying. As she flung herself over the windowsill, the man grasped her. And almost before she knew what would happen next, she was performing a swift descent down the canvas trough, to be safely caught by expectant hands below.

Another rush of flame, this time from the drawing-room windows, compelled the fireman to beat a retreat. He held out his arms, and Rhona was dropped into them.

"Come at once, sir," he said, seeing only the figure of the Colonel in that fire-illuminated window. For Bertha had sunk to the floor.

Those in the street saw the fireman reappear, descending through the smoke, saw him pause and falter while still some way from the ground, saw the child slipping from his grasp. A wail of horror broke from many, but another fireman rushed underneath and caught the little figure in his arms, thereby changing the wail into a frantic cheer. The poor fellow reached the bottom in safety, though nearly fainting, and Rhona's last rescuer, handing her over to a gentleman not far-off, immediately went up to the ladder in his stead.

Rhona's new friend, a strongly-built young man, perhaps about eight and twenty in age, carried her quickly away from the vicinity of the burning house. As the fresher air again recalled her scattered senses, she was startled to find herself in the grasp of strange arms. The face which met her opening eyes was reassuring, yet her first impulse was a distressful struggle, and an imploring, "Wait! Oh, please wait! Don't take me anywhere till he is safe."

"You shall wait near, my dear. I am only taking you to a house across the road," the gentleman said kindly. "Is he your father?"

"No, it is my uncle,—it is Colonel Smyth. Oh, why doesn't he come down?" Rhona asked in an agony. "Please, please, I can't go till he is safe."

"I am afraid of your taking cold," the gentleman said. Yet for an instant he had to pause that he might wrap more closely round her the blanket, disarranged by her struggle.

It was a wild scene, viewed from where he stood. The house threatened to become soon a mass of fire; and thus far, the steady play of the engines seemed to take no effect. At the windows of houses round about, opposite and on either side, faces of ghastly pallor and fear were visible in the red glare, which glowed upon glass panes, and lent a false hue to the dark sky.

Again the booming crash, and the burst of flame told of a floor falling in. Then a gust of wind swept the heavy smoke aside, and Colonel Smyth could be seen, still at the window, apparently striving to lift a heavy weight.

"Oh, it is Bertha! O uncle!" cried poor Rhona.

One fireman, striving to ascend, had already been beaten back half-way, but another now essayed the same successfully. A few more seconds of terrible suspense, and he was on his way downward, bearing a female figure. The Colonel following, seemed in some way to slip or fail, when getting out of the window, and was all but precipitated upon the pavement below. He caught the ladder with one hand, and somehow regained his footing, showing an activity hardly to be expected at his age. The remainder of the descent was accomplished by him without accident. A sudden change in the wind appeared to have taken place; and though flames leaped out fitfully, charring the canvas bagging, yet the chief rush of smoke and heated air was now in another direction.

But of all this, including the Colonel's most narrow escape, Rhona saw nothing. One glance only was permitted. Then despite sobbing protests, she was borne hurriedly to a house over the way, near the farthest end of the street.

"Yes, yes, my dear child, you shall know all as soon as possible," the gentleman said soothingly, as answer to her pleadings. "I cannot keep you out here in the night-air. I will come and tell you directly your uncle is safely down."

"They won't let him stay there,—poor uncle! They won't let him be burnt to death," said Rhona's quivering lips.

"No, no, don't be afraid. Think how many people there are to help, and they will do their utmost. See, I am going to take you in here to a friend of mine, a kind old lady."

"But I don't know her, and I haven't any frock," said Rhona.

"Never mind the frock. You and Mrs. Montague will not be strangers long, I am sure."

It was a private house at which he stopped, just beyond the region of shops. The front door was on the latch, and the inhabitants were evidently astir. Rhona's friend entered with the air of one much at home. He carried her swiftly upstairs, clearing two steps at a time with long easy strides, tapped at a door, and on receiving no answer walked in. A candle stood alight on the dressing-table, and the bed bore signs of having been slept in that night, but nobody was present. Rhona was laid on a couch, still rolled up in her sheltering blanket, and an eider-down quilt, caught up from the bed, was spread quickly over her. The gentleman paused then and bent down, looking into her eyes.

"Will you be afraid, my dear, to lie alone for a minute?"

"No," said Rhona, returning the gaze. "I don't think I am afraid—exactly."

"I am going to see after Colonel Smyth. You would rather I should do that than stay with you,—but Mrs. Montague will come directly. Somebody might be a little hurt at the fire, and I am a doctor."

"Oh please, please, go—" Rhona implored, shivering violently, though not from cold. "Oh please, don't wait."

Presently a lady entered, little and old and gentle, dressed in a quaint flowered wrapper, while a soft cream-coloured shawl was folded round her shoulders and passed, mantilla-wise, over her head. The face within these creamy folds was singularly small, aged yet delicate, worn yet still attractive. Rhona saw so much, almost without seeing, as a little wrinkled hand patted her fingers in soothing fashion, rubbing away their chill.

"Now the other hand, if we can get at it. They have rolled you up into an Egyptian mummy. Ah, here comes the hot stuff, to put a little colour into those white cheeks. It is well I bade my maids light a fire and have boiling water ready, thinking either might be needed. Drink it up, little one and after that you shall rest in my nice bed."