Quicker and quicker it seemed to gush out, with dazzling flames dancing over it as it sped along. The whole building now was glorious with light, and seemed transformed; beams, rugged stone walls, flooring, all were glistening as if suddenly coated with silver and gold; and as, with parted lips and eager eyes, the founder's guest gazed upon the scene, and thought of how glorious was a cannon's birth, there was a sudden crash as if heaven and earth had come together; he was struck backwards, hurled as it were against the wall behind, and then, finding himself close to a window-opening, half fell, half dropped out into the open air to stagger away amidst the _debris_ of broken tiles and wood that had fallen around. He knew he was not hurt, but he felt confused and dazed as men from various parts ran up, women from the distant cottages came shrieking, and the occupants of the furnace-house, now roofless and smoking, staggered out panting and blackened, to look eagerly round at one another. "My father--where is my father?" cried Mace, running up wild-eyed and pale. There was no reply, and, without a moment's hesitation, she ran over the broken fragments of stone and wood lying about, to the arched door, and stepped in amidst the blinding smoke and reeking steam. "Stop! oh, stop," cried Sir Mark. "Good heavens, men, she will lose her life." Roused by his words, a couple of the men ran after the excited girl, but only reached the door as the founder came out looking blackened and half stunned, leaning upon his daughter's arm. "I can't see any one there," he cried, as soon as he was out, and he began looking round at his men. "Are you all here, my lads?" The men gazed at one another as if for the first time it had occurred to them that they ought to count their number, and at last, as Master Peasegood repeated the question, out of breath with his exertions to get there, some one exclaimed: "We be all here, Master." "Then help me to a flagon of ale, Mace," cried the founder. "But father, dear, you are hurt; you are burned. Quick, some one, help get him to the house." "Nay, nay, child, I'm not much hurt, and, as no one else is, loose my arm. Where's that Tom Croftly?" "Here I be, master," said a gruff voice, and a grim, half-naked man, with the chest of a giant, came trembling forward, wiping the reek and sweat from his brow. "You clumsy, bull-headed fool," roared the founder, dashing at him and delivering so sturdy a blow from his stalwart arm that the man staggered back, tried to recover himself, and then fell heavily, to sit up slowly the next moment, applying his hand to his cut forehead and gazing meditatively at the blood. "You bean't going to stand that, Tom Croftly," whispered one who was bending over him. "Get up and pook him well, if you bean't a coward." The foundryman gazed in Abel Churr's foxy eyes, and shook his head.