Then at last she fell off into a kind of fitful slumber that was a mass of confused and hideous dreams. She was in some vague, indefinite kind of trouble, tangled up with a scheme of Mayfield's, and across a yawning gulf Ralph Darnley was holding out his hands to save her. And then it seemed to her that Ralph kissed her, and that she did not in the least mind it. After that they drifted apart again, and once more the baleful influence of Mayfield was uppermost. They were falling together down a deep pit with flames at the bottom; the fumes were so great that Mary could not breathe. She woke up with a gasp and a cry, struggling for breath. The whole thing had been so vivid that Mary could not realise for a moment that she was sitting up in bed. Yet there she was, with the early morning sun shining through the blinds, and still she held her hand to her throat and fought for the breath that would not come. Surely there must be something wrong here! Why was the room so insufferable, where did that stifling air come from? Then a draught of air came from somewhere, and the bedroom was almost instantly filled with a maze of thin smoke and vapour. There was no longer room for doubt. With a quick cry Mary sprang from her bed, for the Hall was on fire! CHAPTER XIX. A GUARDIAN ANGEL There was no longer any question as to the house being on fire. Very rapidly Mary proceeded to don her clothing; her idea afterwards was to alarm the house. The girl was not conscious of any feeling of fear, though she was trembling from head to foot. She had had but a poor night's rest, and the strain of the previous day had tried her. And now as she huddled into her clothing, she was conscious of a kind of relief, the feeling that if the house was burnt down a way had been found out of her troubles. There was an emotion almost of gladness in the thought. But the pride of race and place came back, and Mary hastened to her task. Dashwood Hall must be saved at any cost--the historic house must not be allowed to perish. There were pictures and works of art there that had almost a national interest. Mary flung the door open and strode boldly into the corridor, but she did not gain a yard before she was driven back by a dense mass of suffocating smoke. The corridor was filled with it, thick, black, and overpowering. It was absolutely impossible to force a way through that blinding cloud. Mary screamed at the top of her voice, but no reply came. Already her brain began to reel, already her lungs almost ceased to work. There was only one thing for it--to shut the door and seek for some other exit.