His tall form moved through the crowd, elbowing its way until it was lost to sight, before the Greys fully realized that he was going. Moments passed, a quarter of an hour, and Mrs. Grey, held fast on either hand by her girls, watched with them the mounting flames, tense, silent with the misery that made each second seem an hour. Bruce did not return, the fire licked and burst its awful way around the eaves, around Cousin Peace's chamber window! Wythie hid her face, shuddering; she could not look. Suddenly a great roar went up from the crowd, and many voices together shouted words which the onlookers could not catch. They cheered mightily, and then a deadly stillness settled upon the mass of human beings. "What is it?" Rob asked of a man who pushed his way towards them. "Shut up!" Wythie heard another man mutter to this new-comer, and on this hint the latter snarled: "I don't know. Nothin', I guess." But Rob felt sure that the snarl was to conceal something, and that it did not spring from bad temper. Suddenly the crowd seemed to go stark mad. Swaying, surging, pushing, it began to yell, hoarse, loud, frightful, like some sort of a monster. "Come out, come back! The roof's caving! It's going! Come out!" the crowd roared, plainly articulate to the group on its edge, which was most vitally interested. "Some one's in there, in that horrible fire!" gasped Rob. With one instinctive movement Basil and Bartlemy turned and looked at each other, reading each in the other's eyes the same thought. It was so exactly like Bruce! Rob caught the look, saw the boys' hands meet in a tight clasp, saw their faces turn paler than before. Instantly she guessed, and shared their fear. "Not he! Not Bruce!" she groaned. Before the boys could answer a great shout rent the air, a shout that was triumphant. For an instant Rob forgot Cousin Peace. "He's out!" she cried, and Basil and Bartlemy dropped each others' hands to steady her as she swayed. "I shan't faint," she cried. "I never faint. They're cheering. He's out, he's out!" "You must let me go," said Basil, and Bartlemy made no demur, though it must have been hard to stand at his post on guard with the mother and girls while Basil pushed his way to the front. The roof fell in with a great plunge and a fierce up-leaping of flames which burned rapidly for a brief time. Then the fire began to fade out as it consumed the last remnants of the pretty old home. "If we do not hear something soon I think I shall die or go mad!" cried Wythie. The waiting was getting unbearable. "Don't you think you all ought to go home and wait there?" suggested Bartlemy. "You are shivering, and we shall hear about Miss Charlotte there as soon as here." "I couldn't go, dear Bartlemy," Mrs. Grey said, and Bartlemy did not insist.