“Fine morning, sir’come from far?” “No, nothing very great to-day. Off the moor and through Ashburton.” “Going on to Teignmouth, sir?” “No, only to a place called Coombe.” “Coombe-in-Teignhead? You haven’t many miles more. Nice place. Just heard there has been a fire there.” “Indeed. Insured?” “Can’t say, sir. My little place was burnt down. A tramp slept in the tallat over the pigs and set it ablaze with his pipe. Happily, I was insured, and now I have a very respectable house over my head. What will you please to take, sir?” “Some rum and milk, I think.” Then Mr. Squire and the landlord went within, and Pasco lowered his kerchief. He wished he had heard more’that the man had entered into particulars, and yet he dared not inquire. Presently the lawyer stepped into the carriage. The host attended him, and in shutting the door, caught sight of Pasco. “Halloo!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Pepperill, have you heard the news?” “News’what news?” “Why, rather bad for you. There’s been a terrible fire at your place.” “The house?” “I really don’t know particulars. They say it’s been dreadful. I’m sorry to have to say it, but I hope there’s no lives lost, and that you are insured.” “Drive on!” shouted Pasco to the postilion. “Drive on’lose no time. There is a fire at my house.” The horses whirled away, and Pasco no longer disguised his nervousness. It was natural that he should be uneasy. “You needn’t trouble yourself,” said Mr. Squire. “If lives had been lost you would have heard, and if you are insured to full value, well”’ On reaching the summit of the hill whence Coombe was visible, a sickly scented smoke was wafted into the carriage windows. “By George, I can smell it!” exclaimed the solicitor. “It is a sort of concentrated essence of burnt wool.” “Then my stores are gone!” cried Pepperill. “And all the fleeces for which I have just borrowed two hundred pounds of you to pay’all lost. I’m a ruined man.” “Not a bit,” answered the lawyer. “You are insured.” The postilion needed no urging; he cracked his whip, and the horses flew down hill, the chaise rattled through the village, past the church and the inn, whence the host came out to see whether a distinguished guest was coming, and drew up at the entrance to the paddock before the Cellars. A crowd of villagers, men, women, and children, was assembled round the wreck of the storehouse, from which volumes of smoke still ascended. Every now and then stones and bricks exploded, and the children shouted or screamed if a hot cinder flew out and fell near them. Pasco burst out of the carriage and rushed towards his house, pushed his way through the assembled crowd, and ran to his door. There stood Zerah, ghastly in her pallor, her usually well-ordered hair dishevelled, with clenched hands held to her breast, a look of despair in her face. Directly she saw her husband, she shrank from him, and when he put out his hands to her, she thrust him away, with an expression of horror.