Now and then a loud sound, resembling the discharge of artillery at a distance, would come booming through the air, indicative of the fall of some heavy part of the ancient building, and then the flame would be smothered for a moment, and dense volumes of smoke terrifically red from the glare beneath, would roll over the sky, to be succeeded again by myriads of sparks, which would, in their turns, give place to the long tongues of flame which shot up from the fallen mass, as it became more thoroughly ignited. Jacob Gray gazed intently on the scene for a few minutes, then turning to the boy, he cried,— “We are in haste.” The lad resumed his oars, and struck them lazily into the glowing stream, that looked like liquid fire from the bright reflection of the sky, and once more the boat was making way towards Westminster. Several times Gray glanced in the face of Ada, to note what effect the burning of the old house had upon her imagination, but not a muscle moved—all was as still and calm as before, and save that the reflection from the reddened sky now cast a glow of more than earthly beauty over her otherwise pale face, to look at her, she might have been supposed some thing of Heaven, summoned by the small casualties and petty commotions of this world, which she had but visited for a brief space, for some specific purpose. The boat glided on, and so intent was the boy upon the fire, that he had several narrow escapes of running foul of barges and other wherries, some of the latter of which were pulling down the stream on purpose to look at the fire, which was causing a great deal of comment and commotion among the gossips of ancient Westminster. Many were the oaths levelled on the head of the boy, by parties who were obliged to ship their oars suddenly to avoid a collision with his boat, and it was not until this happened thrice, that he began to be a little more careful, and look warily about him. The stairs to which Gray directed the boy were through the bridge, and the boat now reached the ancient structure, which looked beautiful and brilliant from the reflection of the fire upon its many rough stones and jagged points of architecture. A wherry, in which sat one person besides the rower, now came rapidly from under the same arch of the bridge, through which the boat containing Ada and Gray was about to proceed. “Hilloa!” cried the man, who was sitting in the boat. “Hilloa there!” “Well, what now?” said the boy. “None of your impertinence, youngster,” cried the man, showing a constable’s staff, which Ada knew no more the meaning of than if he had unfurled the banner of Mahomet. “Well, sir,” said the boy, “I only want to land my passengers.” “You may land your passengers, and be d—d,” replied the man in authority. “Thank you kindly sir,” replied the boy, promptly. The rower in the other boat laughed at this, and the constable cried,— “Come, come, none of this. How far have you pulled up the river, boy?” “From Battersea.”