"Bruton? I don't know. Tired out, I suppose."
"What!" said the General; "didn't you know?"
"Nothing; only that we have all been working like slaves to put that
fire out."
"Great heavens, Preston, didn't you hear?"
"Hear?" cried the colonel, excitedly; "is he wounded?"
"Not wounded, but badly hurt, I fear. Didn't you see a man fall from
the roof right into the flames?"
"Yes, but--"
"It was Bruton."
"Ah!"
I felt as if I should have dropped, but at that moment, as I was trying
to get over the horrible feeling of sickness, and to make my way to the
place the doctor had been forced to take as his temporary hospital, I
felt a thrill of delight run through me, for a voice exclaimed--
"Gentlemen, are you all mad?"
"Bruton!" exclaimed Preston, hoarsely; "then you are not badly hurt?"
"Badly enough," said my father; "but look--look! Of what are you
thinking?"
"Thinking?" cried the General. "We can do no more; the place is
doomed."
"But are we to be doomed too, man?" cried my father, furiously; and he
looked as if he might have had the question he had first asked put to
him. For his face was blackened and wild, his long hair burned, and a
terrible look of excitement was in his starting eyes.
"Doomed?" exclaimed the General and the colonel in a breath, as the men
gathered round.
"Yes; the women--the children. This enclosure will be swept away. Have
you forgotten the powder--the magazine?"