"I hope all the visitors' things will be safe. Some of those old ladies, you know, have wonderful lots of things in their portmanteaus. I believe that in point of mere money's worth, old Lady Brabazon's boxes are more valuable than all Wenderholme and its furniture too, by Jove!" "I must ask the ladies to sleep at the cottage," said Mrs. Stanburne. "They are at the summer-house, watching the fire," said the Adjutant. "I believe it amuses them." "You are uncharitable," said Mrs. Stanburne; "nobody can help watching a fire, you know. A fire always fascinates people." "I wouldn't let old Lady Brabazon have her boxes, and she's furiously angry with me." "Well, but why wouldn't you?" "If I let one, I must let another, and there would be no end to the confusion and breakage that would ensue. I have refused Lady Helena herself, but she took it very nicely and kindly. It's different with Lady Brabazon; she's in a rage." "I'll go with my mother to the summer-house, and come back to you, Eureton, in ten minutes." The summer-house in question presented rather a curious picture. It was not strictly a "house" at all, but simply a picturesque shed with a long bench under it, which people could sit down upon at noon, with their backs to the south, well sheltered from the summer sun by a roof and wall of excellent thatch, whilst the stream purled pleasantly at the foot of a steep slope, and seemed to cool the air by its mere sound. The back of the seat was towards the steep wooded hill, and the front of it looked towards the south wing of the house, including a very good view of the front. It was decidedly the best view of Wenderholme which could be had; and when artists drew Wenderholme for those well-known works, "Homes of the Landed Gentry," and "Dwellings of the English Aristocracy," and "Ancient Seats of Yorkshire," here they always rubbed their cakes of sepia and began. The ladies were not playing the harp or the fiddle, as Nero is said to have done during the burning of Rome; but they were enjoying the spectacle as most people enjoy that which greatly interests and excites. Lady Adisham, John Stanburne's august mother-in-law, was not there; she was in close conference with her daughter, in a part of the grounds yet more private and remote. But Lady Brabazon was there, and some other splendidly adorned dames, who were passing an opera-glass from hand to hand. As the Colonel and his mother approached, they had the pleasure of overhearing the following fragment of conversation. "Quite a great fire; really magnificent! Don't you think so? We're safe here, I believe." "Yes; Captain Eureton said we should be safe here." "I wonder if Mr. Stanburne has insured his house. They say he's not at all rich. Pity his little daughter was burnt--really great pity; nice little girl!" "Where are we to sleep to-night, do you think?"