BY THE LATE CHARLES KINGSLEY, REVISED AND COMPLETED BY HIS DAUGHTER, LUCAS MALET. Copyright by Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. in the United States of America. CHAPTER XXVII. I drew aside the curtain, unlatched the casement, and leaned out. Upon the elms in the Fellows’ Garden, the lawns, and laurel shrubberies, moonlight lay soft and white. But looking upward I saw, above the angle of the parapet, a great column of smoke, dashed with fiery flakes, surging into the wind-swept sky. I hurried into my dressing-room, which overlooked the inner court, and there a strange scene met my eyes. A red glare, jets of smoke and angry flame deformed the opposite façade; while, over the grass plats and paved ways of the little quad and about the fountain in the centre, dark shapes rushed to and fro, raised hands and upturned faces showing unnaturally pale and distorted in the dreadful light.—A living page torn from Dante’s Inferno, it seemed. The fire was here, then, close at hand, within the precincts of the College itself. Shocked and alarmed, I searched for my keys—I was always a careful and methodical person—that I might lock away Hartover’s letter in my desk. But my study lamp had burned low, and, between agitation and the semi-darkness, I failed to put my hand on them; so thrust the letter between the pages of a big lexicon lying on the writing-table, and ran out, dragging on my gown. When I got on to the landing I found I had not brought my sporting key. I would have gone back for it; but the noise increased below, while men, racing down from the upper stories, shouted, in passing, that the Master’s Lodge was alight and lives endangered. I remembered that Mrs. Dynevor, the Master’s sister, and her daughters—the young lady who had made herself so innocently pleasant to me at dinner—were still his guests, and this added to my alarm. After all, who would think of entering my rooms at such a moment as this? I ran on, leaving my outer door unfastened. The whole population of the College seemed to be congregated in the small quadrangle, from vice-master and senior fellows—‘grave and reverend signors,’ equally able and ready to appreciate good wine, a good dinner, an apt Greek quotation or pawky Latin joke—to gyps, scullions and cooks. Under the direction of the city fire brigade, a chain of willing workers had been formed passing buckets from hand to hand from the fountain to the side door of the Lodge. But it was only too evident the fire had firm hold, and the means of arresting it were sadly inadequate. Anxious to know if the ladies were in safety, I made my way towards the Master, who, calm and dignified, tried to pacify a little group of terrified women—among whom I gladly recognised Mrs. Dynevor and her younger daughter—torn from their sleep only half-clothed, and wrapped in shawls and coverlets. But just as I reached him a cry of horror went up from the crowd.