A sort of gloating sigh took the upturned faces like a wind; a pale fanatic creature screamed. The house by now was such a charred and crumbling ruin within the furnace that consumed it, it seemed impossible that any human being could find a foothold there. Was he going to take a last desperate chance by leaping from its walls? Even as they wondered, a second figure, a woman’s, was seen on the roof. The other seemed to turn to it--to turn away--to make a movement to spring. Too late. The next moment she had seized it in her arms and dived with it into the roaring abyss of flame. A silence, as of riven air after a thunderclap, fell upon the people. CHAPTER XXXIII. BEREAVEMENT Stupefied, overwhelmed by the tragedy of the sight before him, Brion sat motionless a moment. Then aware, down the vista of the track, of a swarm of dark shapes issuing from the gate, with an oath he clapped spurs to his horse, and in one wild rush covered the distance. Hangdog, threatening, sullen, loweringly defiant now the deed was done and themselves committed beyond recall, the mob stood to meet the onset, and to counter-strike if need be. He pulled up before them, his eyes blazing, his hands vicious on the reins. ‘Ye bloody devils!’ he roared. ‘What deed is this and wherefore?’ Then anguish caught at his heart in a sick spasm. ‘My Uncle!’ he cried--‘Where is he? What have ye done to him?’ They were coming out by twos and threes, while the flames still crackled and reverberated behind them, tossing and devouring the last blazing sticks of ruin; they were coming in a haste now to get away before the soldiers arrived. Fear added to guilt sped their footsteps, and they were in no temper to be delayed. Some one bade him, with an ugly snarl, to stand away, whoever he was, if he valued his life. ‘At a dozen of yours,’ he cried, and swift as a flash his sword was in his hand. They fell from him, scowling, while he faced them all. He heard a sound behind him, and looked round. ‘Go back, Joan!’ he cried--‘Go back--do you hear?’ It was but an instant, but enough for their mood and purpose, and with a dash they were upon him. Trying to get play with his blade, a furious stroke from a cudgel broke it in his hand. His horse rearing at the same moment, and plunging wildly, cleared a space about him; but the next instant, slipping on a stone, it was down, and he with it. And as he fell, unhurt but helpless, there came a thud of hoofs, and the girl had pulled up between him and his assailants. Her cheek was flushed; her breast heaved. ‘Dare, now!’ she cried. ‘I will know all your faces, and remember them.’ ‘Joan!’ he commanded. He had staggered to his feet, and was tumultuously urging his horse to his. ‘Go back--go away--and leave them to me!’ The mere shame of her womanhood had held them off for a moment: at Brion’s words, with a deep growl of fury, they were beginning again to close in, when a sudden shout brought them to an instant stop:-- ‘The soldiers!’