"Good heavens! what means that light?" cried Clarence. "The town's on fire!" exclaimed Harry. On rushed the iron horse, and as they entered the town the street was illuminated by a conflagration. Around the mansion of Colonel Hazlewood are collected excited crowds of people. Flames are bursting from the roof, and nearly the whole interior is in a blaze. The inmates had been aroused by the cry of fire, in the middle of the night, and all have escaped. No; not all! Where are Imogen and Claribel? Their shrieks are heard; they are in the burning house, and surrounded by the crackling flames. "My child! my child!" cries the gray-haired Colonel Hazlewood in an agony. He rushes into the building, and attempts to ascend the stairway, which is on fire. Suffocated by the dense smoke, he falls back insensible, and is dragged from the door. "Bring ladders! bring ladders!" is shouted by a number of voices; but no ladders are at hand. "Oh, God! oh, God! must they perish? Can nobody save them?" are the exclamations heard on every side. Several men rush into the house and are driven back by the smoke and the intense heat. While all stand still, with horror depicted in their countenances, two men come running with frantic speed to the spot. In an instant they seem to comprehend the danger of the young females, whose shrieks are heard from an upper chamber. Into the midst of the smoke and flames they rush, ascend the stairway, regardless of the scorching heat, and in a moment are seen leaping through a window upon the roof of a portico, each holding in his arms the form of a woman who has fainted. A loud shout goes up from the crowd. A ladder has been brought, and the two men descend, and rush to the opposite side of the street with their lovely burdens in their arms, as, with a terrific crash, the burning roof falls in. Colonel Hazlewood, recovering from his swoon, staggers across the street to utter his thanks. "Harry Vincent!" he exclaimed. And Imogen opens her eyes and beholds her long-lost lover, while Claribel is still unconscious in the arms of Clarence Hastings. CHAPTER LIII. The happiest month of Tom Seddon's life had rolled round,--the month preceding his marriage with the beautiful Ida. Toney Belton also seemed happy, and so did Rosabel, and the only discontented person in the Widow Wild's mansion was the widow herself. Nothing had been told her about the sale of the sand-hill; and the eight thousand dollars, the amount of gold which Toney acknowledged he had gathered by hard labor in the mines, made but a small portion of the sum necessary to constitute a fortune for a gentleman. The widow was dissatisfied with Fate on account of her hard dealings with Toney Belton.