She leaped to her feet, her heart once more renewing its old-time measure. “Mammy!” she called--“Mammy! that’s th’ mill stable! th’ mill stable’s on fire! O God above! Th’ pore horses--an’ Bonnibel! O pore Mr. Jack--pore Mr. Jack! Ef Bonnibel’s hurt, it’ll break his heart.” She had forgotten everything in her thought for him. Her own sin, his harsh words--all that had passed between them since first he gave Bonnibel into her glad keeping. “Here!” she called, tossing on her clothes with nervous, eager fingers, “han’ me my shoes--quick!--Lord God!--ef only I ken git thar in time!” She was down-stairs and out of the house almost before the old negress knew what she was about to undertake. Out at a side gate she dashed, and down a grassy hill at the back of the house. Some catalpa-tree roots caught at her flying feet with their knotty fingers as though, fiend-like, they would hinder her on her errand of mercy. On, on; her breath came quick and laboring. She was on the open road now, straining with all her might up a steep, stone-roughed hill. All the northern heavens were ablaze with an angry orange. As she gained the top of the hill a little fan of lilac flames burst from the stable roof against the night. There was yet time--Bonnibel was in a loose-box near the door. O God, the other horses! Must they roast alive--the beautiful, agile creatures that he so loved? Below, in the placid breast of the large pond, the lurid mass above was reflected with an effect as incongruous as when some world-tossed soul pours out its hot confession into the calm keeping of a saintly heart. The shallow stream shoaled into fire among the black stems of the water-reeds, and tossed the flames upon its mimic waves. She gained the rough bridge which spanned it; her feet passed with a swift, hollow sound across it. She was there--at the stable, and her breath had not yet given out. Then all at once she remembered. Oh, joy! joy! If she saved Bonnibel, and was herself hurt to death, would not that be atonement? Might he not forgive her then? Poor little savage child--poor, sweet, uncivilized, true heart! I think indeed he would forgive you if he knew. There were men running frantically about--omnipresent--useless: they had delayed so long to set about extinguishing the fire that it was now beyond all bounds. The wild, dull trampling of the hoofs of the terrified horses made horror in the air. They whinnied and nickered like children pleading for help. One of the English grooms was dashing into the smoke and heat. Virginia seized him by the arm. “I’m coming with you,” she said; “let me keep hold of your coat.”