"No, we did not," promptly replied Miss Diana, answering for Mrs. Chattaway as well as for herself, which she believed she was perfectly safe in doing. "He was not in until eleven, I hear; we went up to bed long before that." "Then who did let him in?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway. "One of the servants, of course," rejoined Miss Diana. "But they say they did not," he answered. "Have you asked them all?" No. Mr. Chattaway remembered that he had not asked them all, and he came to the conclusion that one of them must have been the culprit. He turned to the window again, standing sulkily as before, and vowing in his own mind that the offender, whether man or woman, should be summarily turned out of the Hold. "If you have been to Blackstone, you have heard that the inquest is over, James," observed Mrs. Chattaway, anxious to turn the conversation from the subject of last night. "Did you hear the verdict?" "I heard it," he growled. "It is not an agreeable verdict," remarked Miss Diana. "Better you had made these improvements in the mine--as I urged upon you long ago--than wait to be forced to do them." "I am not forced yet," retorted Chattaway. "They must----Halloa! What's that?" His sudden exclamation called them both to the window. A bright light, a blaze, was shooting up into the sky. At the same moment a shrill scream of terror--the scream from Bridget--arose with it. "The rick-yard!" exclaimed Miss Diana. "It is on fire!" Mr. Chattaway stood for an instant as one paralysed. The next he was leaping down the stairs, something like a yell bursting from him. CHAPTER XXXVI THE FIRE There is a terror which shakes man's equanimity to its foundation--and that terror fell upon Trevlyn Hold. At the evening hour its inmates were sitting in idleness; the servants gossiping quietly in the kitchen, the girls lingering over the fire in the drawing-room; when those terrible sounds disturbed them. With a simultaneous movement, all flew to the hall, only to see Mr. Chattaway leaping down the stairs, followed by his wife and Miss Diana Trevlyn. "What is it? What is the matter?" "The rick-yard is on fire!" None knew who answered. It was not Mr. Chattaway's voice; it was not their mother's; it did not sound like Miss Diana's. A startled pause, and they ran out to the rick-yard, a terrified group. Little Edith Chattaway, a most excitable girl, fell into hysterics, and added to the confusion of the scene. The blaze was shooting upwards, and men were coming from the out-buildings, giving vent to their dismay in various exclamations. One voice was heard distinctly above all the rest--that of Miss Diana Trevlyn. "Who has done this? It must have been purposely set on fire."