Maurice was sincerely sorry for the consequence of his disobedience, and would have been much to be pitied had it not been for his secret satisfaction in the success of his art. He called his sister into the schoolroom to explain how it happened. The room was a dismal sight, blackened with smoke, and flooded with water, the table and part of the floor charred, a mass of burnt paper in the midst, and a stifling smell of fire. A pane of glass was shattered, and Maurice ran down to the lawn to see if he could find anything there to account for it. The next moment he returned, the powder-horn in his hand. ‘See, Jenny, how fortunate that this was driven through the window with the force of the explosion. The whole place might have been blown to atoms with such a quantity as this.’ ‘Then what was it that blew up?’ asked Jane. ‘What I had put out for my rocket, about two ounces. If this half-pound had gone there is no saying what might have happened.’ ‘Now, Maurice,’ said Jane, ‘I must go back to Ada, and will you run down to the parsonage with a parcel, directed to Robert, that you will find in the hall?’ This was a device to occupy Maurice, who, as Jane saw, was so restless and unhappy that she did not like to leave him, much as she was wanted elsewhere. He went, but afraid to see his cousin, only left the parcel at the door. As he was going back he heard a shout, and looking round saw Lord Rotherwood mounted on Cedric, his most spirited horse, galloping up the lane. ‘Maurice!’ cried he, ‘what is all this? they say the New Court is blown up, and you and half the girls killed, but I hope one part is as true as the other.’ ‘Nobody is hurt but Ada,’ said Maurice, ‘but her face is a good deal burnt.’ ‘Eh? then she won’t be fit for the 30th, poor child! tell me how it was, make haste. I heard it from Mr. Burnet as I came down to dinner. We have a dozen people at dinner. I told him not to mention it to my mother, and rode off to hear the truth. Make haste, half the people were come when I set off.’ The horse’s caperings so discomposed Maurice that he could scarcely collect his wits enough to answer: ‘Some signal rocket on a new principle—detonating powder, composed of oxymuriate—Oh! Rotherwood, take care!’ ‘Speak sense, and go on.’ ‘Then Phyllis came in, banged the door, and the vibration caused the explosion,’ said Maurice, scared into finishing promptly. ‘Eh! banging the door? You had better not tell that story at school.’ ‘But, Rotherwood, the deton—Oh! that horse—you will be off!’ ‘Not half so dangerous as patent rockets. Is Emily satisfied with such stuff?’ ‘Don’t you know that fulminating silver—’ ‘What does Robert Devereux say?’ ‘Really, Rotherwood, I could show you—’ ‘Show me? No; if rockets are so perilous I shall have nothing to do with them. Stand still, Cedric! Just tell me about Ada. Is there much harm done?’ ‘Her face is scorched a good deal, but they say it will soon be right.’