But nothing was further from my thoughts, or from my wishes, than turning back. A strange exhilaration possessed me. The heavy weight of trouble about the dear boy, of trouble about Nellie, was lifted off me. I felt strong and free in the choking red darkness of the burning house, almost as I felt strong and free when I saved the pack, under the open sky, on the crest of the fells high above royal Hover. The student, the man of thought and of books, had given place to the man of action, of adventure and practical achievement. I knew full well that I took my life in my hand. What did that matter? If I lived, I lived; if I died, I died; and—equally in either case—might God have mercy on my soul! But, honestly I can declare, I never felt more at peace, more happy, than as—half-asphyxiated by nauseous vapours—I groped my way along the smoke-hidden wall, found the handle, turned it, and, opening the door, passed into a comparatively clear atmosphere. Slamming the door to behind me, I crossed the room and thrusting some furniture aside, began hewing at the wall, with a singular light-heartedness of fury. Mercifully the wall was only lath and plaster. In less than five minutes I cleared a way into the fateful blue bed-chamber beyond. Ah! what a cruel sight! On my right flames flickered up the half-burned door. The plaster was dropping from the ceiling. Blue tongues of fire ran along the skeleton uprights. All one side of the room glowed red in hideous decay. The bed-hangings were just flashing into a blaze. Where was she, the innocent friendly young girl, with whom I had conversed and to whose simple singing I had listened, so far from all hint of tragedy and danger, but a week or two ago? Crouched below the window, faint whether from that agonised crying for help, or from terror, she had curled her limbs together and laid her down to burn piecemeal. There was nothing to be seen among the white robes but a long tress of brown hair and her poor little bare feet, which quivered convulsively as though in momentary expectation the flame would reach them and the torture begin. ‘Alice—Miss Dynevor,’ I called, but she did not move. I tore a blanket from the bed, wrapped her in it, lifted her up and bore her back through the opening in the wall, rudely enough.