As she lay there wondering, it seemed to get a little lighter. Yes, it was certainly getting lighter, surely it could not be morning yet. She lay for a few minutes, things in the room were rapidly becoming visible, but that was surely not daylight; no, it was not daylight. She jumped up and looked out. “Gramercy, the castle is on fire.” She looked again; it was the wing where Joan slept. She crossed the room and woke Shiona. “Quick,” she said, “the castle is on fire. Wake them all--tell Ian--Joan will be burnt--I must go.” She dashed down the stairs, as she was, without staying to put anything on, and ran across the court yard. There she met the terrified servants rushing from the building. “Where is Joan, have you seen her?” she asked. “No, Mistress,” they said, “she must still be in her room.” Aline ran to the foot of the stairs. “You must not go up,” they screamed, “you must not go up, the stairs will fall.” It was an unfortunate fact that at some time, when alterations were being made, a wooden stairway had been substituted for the original stone one, which now existed only in a ruinous condition. But Aline ran on without heeding the warnings and started to climb the stairs. The fire had broken out on the second floor and the flames were raging through to the staircase. Could she get past? She caught up her nightrobe in a tight bundle on her breast to try to keep it from the fire and made a rush. The flames scorched her skin and she burned her bare feet on the blazing boards. But she managed to get past. One sleeve even caught alight, but she was able after she had passed through to crush it out with her other hand. “Joan, Joan,” she shouted, as she made her way into Joan’s room. Joan was still asleep, partly stupified by the smoke. Aline roused her and they rushed back to the stairs, but in the interval the whole stairway had become a bellowing furnace and the flames roared up it, so that they could not look down. Joan gave a little pitiful cry. “We are lost, oh, Mistress Aline, we are lost.” “No, not yet, Joan, keep up a stout heart; let us try if there be not another way.” They ran through two rooms in the opposite direction to the stair and came to a door. But it was locked. They tried in vain to open it. They beat upon it, but it was beyond their strength to break, so they went back to Joan’s room. “Can you climb, Joan?” asked Aline. “No.” “Then I must try and let you down.” She seized the bedclothes as she spoke and knotted them together. Alas, they could not possibly reach. She remembered how Ian had saved Wilfred by the rope under the bed and feverishly threw off the mattrass. The bed had wooden laths!