The next instant I was in the nursery, but, oh, merciful heavens! the sight that met my eyes. Hannah had just opened the door. Rolf and Joyce were huddled together on the window seat, beside themselves with terror, and there stood Reggie in the middle of the room with his pinafore and white frock in flames! I must have uttered a scream that roused the house, and then it seemed to me as though I knew nothing, and felt nothing except the smarting pains in my arm and shoulder. I had thrown the child on the floor and covered him with my body, and the woollen shawl was between us, and I was crushing the dear life almost out of him with that terrible pressure. I seemed to know instinctively that nothing else could save him. Happily, I wore a stuff dress, for there was no rug or carpet in the nursery, and, with the open door and windows, another moment would have been too late. I could hear Reggie’s piteous cries, but I dare not release him; I must crush and smother the flames. There was the terrible smell of burning, the singeing of stuff, a sudden uproar round me, confused voices and exclamations. I seemed to hear Gay’s voice crying, “Oh, Merle! you will smother the child!” And then strong arms lifted me off Reggie. I knew it was Mr. Hawtry; no one else could have done it. His grasp gave me intense agony, and I tried to free myself. “Let me go; I must see if he is hurt.” But Gay had him already in her lap, and I knelt down beside her and examined him carefully. His frock and pinafore were hanging in blackened shreds around him, but there was only a large hole burnt in his flannel petticoat, and one of his dear little legs was scorched; not a curl of his hair was singed, and only one hand had sustained a slight injury. They said there were bruises on him that I had caused by my violence, but that was all, Mrs. Markham assured me; there were tears in her eyes, and her face was as white as death as she said it. “The little fellow will soon be all right,” observed Mr. Hawtry, kindly; “he has been frightened and hurt that makes him cry so. But now it is time your wounds should be dressed, Miss Fenton.” I looked at him as though I failed to comprehend his meaning, but he pointed to my arms with such a pitying expression on his face, that I looked too. My sleeves were hanging in shreds like Reggie’s frock, and there were large burns on each arm; my right shoulder felt painful, too; a faint sickening sensation seemed creeping over me. I must have got my arms under him or I should not have been so badly burnt, and some of my hair was singed. When Gay touched me gently I shuddered with pain, and they all looked at me very gravely. “We must have Dr. Staples, Roger,” observed Mrs. Markham; “her arms must be properly dressed.” “I will go for him at once,” returned Mr. Hawtry, “but I advise you to give her a little wine or brandy; she looks faint with pain.” And then he went away, and we could hear him galloping down the avenue and along the road.