He was still in the dark of the stair; the fire at least was not close enough to stop his mounting, so up he felt his way in a hurry till he reached Lord Duthie’s flat. A lobby that led to the left from the landing roared with flame that scorched him; a lobby on the right was still untouched. He hammered at the only shut door but got no answer, plied the risp as well with the same result, then threw it in with a drive of the shoulders. He gave a cry in the entrance and, getting no response, started to go through the rooms. At the third the lady sat up in her bed and cried at the intruder. “The land’s on fire, ma’am,” said he quietly in the dark. “Fire!” she cried in horror. “Oh, what shall I do? Who are you?” “Barrisdale,” said he, remembering his role and determined to make this his last appearance in it. “You have plenty of time to dress, and I’ll wait for you on the landing.” He went out with a sudden project in his mind, ran down the stair with its litter of rags and footwear and found it almost vacant, the obstruction at the bottom being cleared. “Take your time, my friends,” said he, “there’s not the slightest danger; the fire will not get this length for half an hour yet.” His cousin came back from the crush. “As sure’s death, I’m glad to see you and sorry I never bided,” said he. “You never came on her; I knew very well she must have got out at the outset.” “Indeed!” said Barrisdale. “As it happens, she’s yonder yet, and I had the honour to wake her; I fancy she’s taking her hair from the curl-papers at this moment. You never had a better chance of getting credit for a fine action very cheaply. It was in the dark I wakened her; I told her I was Barrisdale and would return when she was dressed. You may go back to her.” “Man, I wouldn’t mind,” said the cousin; “but what’s the object?” he added suspiciously. “Only that I’m tired of being Barrisdale to suit you. If you like to be Barrisdale and carry your own reputation, you’ll have the name of saving her life—one thing at least to your credit that’ll maybe make her forget the rest. With a creature so romantical, I would not wonder if it came to the runaway match after all.” “Faith, I’ll risk it,” said Jaunty Jock, and ran up the stair. He came down with the lady on his arm, and took her to a neighbour’s. “And did you confess to your identity?” asked his cousin when they met again. “I did,” he answered gloomily. “Surely she did not boggle at the Barrisdale; I was certain it would make little odds to a lady of her character.” “Oh, she was willing enough, but it’s not a match,” said Jaunty Jock. “After this, I’ll always see the mask off first; she had a worse nose than yourself!” YOUNG PENNYMORE.