Hour by hour the tumult increased; forked flames shot up into the gray, autumnal sky, as the governor's house at the gaol and the chapel were set on fire by the rioters; and, as the benches in the interior of the chapel had been rubbed with pitch, the whole was soon devoured. The county prison followed, and, at half-past eight on Sunday evening, the lurid glare in the heavens was awful to witness. Poor little Falcon, clasped in his mother's arms as she sat in the window-seat, hid his face in her breast and at last, worn out with terror and excitement, fell asleep. Then she carried him to a room at the back of the house, where Mrs. Arundel and the maids had taken refuge, and returned to watch by Gilbert's side. In her secret heart she was thankful that the "blow at a venture" had prevented her husband from being in the seething crowd below. How terrible would have been her watch had she known that he was there, in the very thick of the fray. Gilbert lay very still, and often slept, though, in spite of the thick curtains drawn round the large four-post bed, the red glare from without was distinctly visible. "Joyce," he said, when this glare had become fiercer and more fierce every moment; "Joyce, what are they burning?" "I cannot tell," she said. "I think it must be the Palace; but it looks like the whole city. It is very terrible." "Draw back the curtain for a moment, and let me look." She obeyed him, and lifted also the curtain which shaded the window nearest the bed. Gilbert raised himself for a moment, and then fell back. "I ought to be there," he said, "not here. Those poor people! those poor people! Is there none to help?" "It seems as if God had forgotten to be gracious," Joyce said, faintly. "We must not say that, darling, for we know that there is a cause. This may arouse many to think, who have never thought before, of the great needs of the ignorant and uncared-for masses in great cities like Bristol. They know not what they do. Close the curtains again, I cannot look any longer." He lay back on his pillow, and Joyce, drawing the curtain, resumed her post by the window. About ten o'clock, the gardener, who kept guard in the hall, came upstairs. "Mistress," he said, "Mr. Bengough is here, and would like to know how the master is." Joyce raised her hand to enjoin silence, hoping that Gilbert slept, and went down into the hall. Mr. Bengough's face was blackened, and his clothes smelt of smoke and fire.