A full yard of bricks and rubble fell outward with a mighty crash; and I, lurching forward, saw below me, touched by slanting rays of white moonlight, the wet steps of a winding stone stair. For some seconds I was too weak, from sheer thankfulness, to move. Then, not without an effort—for I felt childishly fearful of losing sight of those cool wet steps for however brief an interval—I turned and raised Alice Dynevor from the ground, bidding her wake, telling her all was well, that we were saved; and gathering her in my arms, I put her, feet foremost, through the jagged, blessed cleft in the wall. As I did so, my ears were greeted by a cheer, and a dozen gownsmen swarmed up the slippery stairway, strong young hands outstretched to help, eager young voices pouring forth rejoicing and generous praise. How good it was, how beautiful, how sustaining after the vision of hell, which I had met, battled with, and, God be thanked, overcome and left behind! They would have borne us away in triumph in their enthusiasm; but Alice Dynevor stood up, shrinking and drawing the blanket closer round her. ‘No,’ she faltered. ‘Take me—you take me—I am frightened—let no one touch me but you.’ So, not a little affected by her trust in me, I gathered her up once more, staggered down, and out into the sweet clear open air, while the young men held me right and left. She had twined her arms tight round my neck, still quivering and trembling in every limb. In the courtyard the crowd fell apart, cheering, as the Master came to us. He was calm and collected; but his face worked with emotion as he lifted Alice Dynevor off my shoulder. And as he did so, I felt upon my cheek, upon my lips—was it my fancy?—surely not—a kiss, warm and ardent. A living woman’s kiss—the first I had ever known since my mother’s kisses in childhood, long years ago. I was somewhat of a stoic—stoic by ill-health and cold blood; stoic by long self-restraint; yet that kiss made me start and shudder, not with pain. I could not forget it. The sensation of its impress remained with me for many hours. I ascertained that, although the Master’s Lodge was practically gutted, a fair proportion of its contents in the way of books and furniture was saved. The fire, successfully checked right and left, had spared both the Chapel and Hall. With that assurance, worn out both in body and mind, bruised, scorched, begrimed, a sorry enough sight, I managed to slip out of the kindly and excited throng unobserved. Assuredly I had earned my sleep to-night! But another disquieting episode was in store for me before I got it.