"Yes! there's one star, professor, just rising,--rising away there on the horizon beyond Brudenell Hall," said Ishmael. "So there is a star, or--something! it looks more like the moon rising; only there's no moon," said Morris, scrutinizing the small dull red glare that hung upon the skirts of the horizon. "It looks more like a bonfire than either, just now," added the boy, as the lurid red light suddenly burst into flame. "It is! it is a large fire!" cried the professor, as the whole sky became suddenly illuminated with a red glare. "It is Brudenell Hall in flames!" exclaimed Ishmael Worth, in horror. "Let us hurry on and see if we can do any good." CHAPTER XXVI. THE FIRE AT BRUDENELL HALL. Seize then the occasion; by the forelock take That subtle power the never halting time, Lest a mere moment's putting off should make Mischance almost as heavy as a crime. --_Wordsworth_. Through the threefold darkness of night, clouds, and rain they hurried on towards that fearful beacon light which flamed on the edge of the horizon. The rain, which continued to pour down in torrents, appeared to dampen without extinguishing the fire, which blazed and smoldered at intervals. "Professor?" said the boy, as they toiled onward through the storm. "Well, young Ishmael?" "It seems to me the fire is inside the house." "Why so, young Ishmael?" "Because if it wasn't, this storm would put it out at once! Why, if it had been the roof that caught from a burning chimney this driving rain would have quenched it in no time." "The roof couldn't catch, young Ishmael; it is all slate." "Oh!" ejaculated Ishmael, as they increased their speed. They proceeded in silence for a few minutes, keeping their eyes fixed on the burning building, when Ishmael suddenly exclaimed: "The house is burning inside, professor! You can see now the windows distinctly shaped out in fire against the blackness of the building!" "Just so, young Ishmael!" "Now, then, professor, we must run on as fast as ever we can if we expect to be of any use. George Washington was always prompt in times of danger. Remember the night he crossed the Delaware. Come, professor, let us run on!" "Oh yes, young Ishmael, it is all very well for you to say--run on! but how the deuce am I to do it, with the rain and wind beating this old umbrella this way and that way, until, instead of being a protection to our persons, it is a hindrance to our progress!" said the professor, as he tried in vain to shelter himself and his companion from the fury of the floods of rain. "I think you had better let it down, professor," suggested the boy. "If I did we should get wet to the skin, young Ishmael," objected Morris. "All right, professor. The wetter we get the better we shall be prepared to fight the fire." "That is true enough, young Ishmael," admitted Morris.