They went back, and wisely Miss Sibson made no mystery of the truth; repeating, however, those arguments against giving way to alarm which she had used to Mary. “The poor dear gentleman has lost his house,” she concluded piously. “But we should be thankful he has another.” Lady Sybil took the news with calmness; her eyes indeed seemed brighter, as if she enjoyed the excitement. But the frightened woman at the door refused to be comforted, and underlying the courage of the two who stood by Lady Sybil’s couch was a secret uneasiness, which every cheer of the crowd below the windows, every “huzza” which rose from the revellers, every wild rush from one part of the Square to another tended to strengthen. In her heart Miss Sibson owned that in all her experience she had known nothing like this; no disorder so flagrant, so unbridled, so daring. She could carry her mind back to the days when the cheek of England had paled at the Massacres of September in Paris. The deeds of ’98 in Ireland, she had read morning by morning in the journals. The Three Days of July, with their street fighting, were fresh in all men’s minds—it was impossible to ignore their bearing on the present conflagration. And if here was not the dawn of Revolution, if here were not signs of the crash of things, appearances deceived her. But even so, she was not to be dismayed. She believed that even in revolutions a comfortable courage, sound sense, and a good appetite went far. And “I’d like to hear John Thomas Gaisford talk to me of guillotines!” she thought. “I’d make his ears burn!” Meanwhile, Mary was thinking that, whatever the emergency, her mother was too ill to be moved. Miss Sibson might be right, the danger might be remote. But it was barely midnight; and long hours of suspense must be lived through before morning came. Meanwhile there were only women in the house, and, bravely as the girl controlled herself, a cry more reckless than usual, an outburst of cheering more savage, a rush below the windows, drove the blood to her heart. And presently, while she gazed with shrinking eyes on the crowd, now blood-red in the glow of the burning timbers, now lost for a moment in darkness, a groan broke from it, and she saw pale flames appear at the windows of the house next the Mansion House. They shot up rapidly, licking the front of the buildings. Miss Sibson saw them at the same moment, and “The villains!” she exclaimed. “God grant it be an accident!” Mary’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. Lady Sybil laughed her shrill laugh. “The curs are biting bravely!” she said. “What will Bristol say to this?” “Show them that they have gone too far!” Miss Sibson answered stoutly. “The soldiers will act now, and put them in their places, as they did in Wiltshire in the winter! And high time too!”