Although there was a good deal of noise in the house for some time,
Burrel fell sound asleep in the midst of it. Whether he dreamed or
not, I can not tell; but after he had been in the arms of slumber for
a long while, as it appeared to him, he awoke, and heard still some
sounds of moving to and fro, although less loud than before.
Moralizing upon that strange thing, sleep, and its power of taking
from us all consciousness of time's passing, he turned himself round
to court the drowsy god again; but though the slight noises that had
roused him ceased in a moment altogether, the charm was dissolved, and
he could not close an eye. His only resource was to think of Miss
Delaware; and although he was obliged to own that the blessing of
Heaven--in keeping her out of London and London life--had brought
forth all those natural graces and charms which he so much admired,
yet he could not but think it hard that such a flower should be born
to blush unseen; neither could he help fancying that it would be no
very unpleasant thing to transplant her to a more happy soil. Feeling
all this, and feeling that he was feeling it, Burrel saw better than
ever that it was necessary to take care what he was about; and, as the
first step, he applied himself vigorously to go to sleep again. The
night was oppressively warm, however, and it would not do. He began
also to fancy that there was a marvelous smell of wood smoke; and he
thought that, if Mrs. Darlington's housekeeper had begun already to
provide for the _manger_ of the next day, Mrs. Darlington's cook must
have a hard place of it. So, stretching out his hand, he reached his
watch, struck it, and found that it was just half-past two.
He now began to think the smell of smoke odd as well as disagreeable;
and, raising himself on his arm, he found that it was more potent than
he had at first perceived. There was also a sort of faint rushing
sound, as of a draught of wind through long passages, and Burrel
thought he heard a crackling noise also, which, after listening for a
moment or two, determined him to rise and make a voyage of discovery.
To guard against all contingencies, he partly dressed himself, put on
his dressing-gown, and then opened the door. A loud roaring sound, and
a still greater volume of smoke, immediately met him; but he found
that there was yet another door between him and the corridor; and, as
he was seeking for the lock, it was thrown open, by his own servant,
so violently as almost to knock him down.
It wanted not the man's cry of "Sir, sir, the house is on fire!" to
show Burrel what had happened. A red fearful glare of bright flame,
shining through dense volumes of smoke, was seen below, from the edge
of the sort of gallery on which he stood, while along the cornices and
moldings a number of detached spots of fire appeared running on before
the great body of the conflagration, like light troops thrown forward
to skirmish. The roaring and crackling, too, which, as well as the
suffocating smoke, had been, in a great measure, excluded from his
bed-room by the double door, was now sufficiently distinct; and at one
glance he perceived that the whole foot of the great oak staircase,
near the top of which his apartment opened, was in flames. At the same
time, as he looked along the corridor to the left, he saw another door
open, which seemed to lead to the top of a different flight of steps;
for he could distinctly see two or three figures, in every state of
dishabille, running down as fast as possible, while his servant pulled
him that way, begging him to come to the stone stairs.
All this was gathered in a moment, and Burrel demanded, "Have you seen
any of the family?--Mrs. Darlington--"
"I saw her this moment, sir, running down with Dr. Wilton," replied
the man.
"And Miss Delaware?" demanded his master.
"I don't know, sir--I don't know!" replied the man, hastening away
himself. "The house will be down, sir, if you don't make haste."
A good sturdy housemaid, however, hurrying away from some of the
up-stair rooms, caught Miss Delaware's name, and cried out--without
stopping in her flight, however--"Oh, dear! oh, dear! poor young
lady--she will be burned to a certainty!"
"Which is her room?" demanded Burrel. But it was not till he had
repeated his question in a still louder tone that the woman paused to
point with her hand, exclaiming, "Up there, at the end of the
wing?--she will be burned!--oh, dear, she will be burned!"--and off
ran the housemaid.
Burrel ran along the corridor like light. It was evident that--as is
always the case in houses on fire--all the inhabitants had lost their
wits for the time, and no one had even thought of Miss Delaware.
Without ceremony, Burrel threw open the last door that he came to, in
the direction which the servant had pointed out, but the glare of the
flames was quite sufficient to show him that it had not been slept in
that night. He tried the next, and instantly perceived all the little
articles of a lady's toilet spread upon the table, while, by the drawn
curtains of the bed, he doubted not that the sleep of its fair tenant
had been undisturbed by the sounds which had awoke himself.
The violence with which he threw open the door woke Blanche Delaware
from the first sweet sleep of innocence and youth; and her voice
demanding in alarm, "Who is there?" immediately struck his ear.
He knew that not a moment was to be lost; and though he approached her
bedside with a feeling of real pain, from the shock he was about to
give her, there was but one course to be pursued: and, springing
forward, he drew back the curtains. "Forgive me!" he cried, "but the
house is on fire--not a moment is to be lost! Your life is at stake,
and you must pardon me if I use but scanty ceremony!"
"Leave me! Leave me, then, Mr. Burrel, and let me rise!" she
exclaimed, gazing in his face with all the wild surprise natural to
one wakened from their sleep by such tidings.
"Miss Delaware, moments are life!" replied Burrel, hastily. "Even
while I speak our only chance may be cut off."
The gathering smoke and the rushing sound of the flames bore to his
own ear, as well as to that of the fair girl who lay pale and
trembling before him, the certainty that he spoke no more than truth;
and, without farther pause, he stooped over her, wrapped the
bedclothes round her as tenderly and delicately as a mother would wrap
her young infant from the wintry wind, and, catching her up in his
arms, he bore her out into the corridor. All before them was a scene
of mingled smoke and flame. The wainscoting of the corridor, the
balustrades, the cornices, were all charred, blackened, and catching
fire in a thousand places. The blaze was rushing up from below, toward
the skylight, which had unfortunately been left open, and gave an
additional draught. Wherever an open door presented itself, the flames
were seen rushing in, licking the door-posts and the wainscoting; the
heat was scorching; the smoke was suffocating; and every step that
Burrel took forward, he felt uncertain whether the beams over which he
trod would not give way beneath his feet. Still, however, he strode
on, till he reached the spot where the flames were rushing up the
great staircase more furiously than any where else, from the
additional mass of fuel that there supplied the fire. His foot was on
the edge of the landing, to cross over toward the stone stairs, and he
had just time--warned by a sudden crash--to draw back, when the whole
staircase and part of the corridor above it gave way, and fell into
the vestibule below. It was a fearful sight; but he was not a man to
leave any chance of safety to be snatched from him by terror. The rest
of the corridor beyond the gap appeared more sound than that he had
already past. He remembered having seen a side-door in his own room,
which he had just left behind; and re-treading his steps, he entered
the chamber, drove in the door he had remarked--which was but weakly
fastened--with a single kick, and running through a room, the tenant
of which had made his escape, he passed on into a dressing-room, and
thence regained the corridor, beyond the point where it had been
connected with the great staircase.
The fall of so much lime-rubbish had in a degree deadened the fire;
and, striding on, Burrel reached the door which opened on the stone
staircase. The rush of cool air and the joy of escape revived him,
almost suffocated as he was with the heat and smoke; and, bending down
his head over his fair burden, he said--the most natural thing in the
world--"Dear girl, you are safe!"--Ay, though he had only seen her
twice in all his life!
Though they were now in comparative security, the fire had made
sufficient progress even there to render haste imperative, and Burrel
lost not a moment till he reached a small door which led out upon the
lawn by some ascending steps. At about the distance of fifty or
sixty yards were assembled the whole of the late inmates of the
dwelling--mistress, visitors, and servants, with twenty or thirty
country men and women--all engaged in the laudable occupation of
seeing the house burn.
Dr. Wilton was the only one in a state of activity; and he, in his
shirt and breeches, which, with the exception of his shovel hat, were
the only articles of apparel he had saved, was endeavoring to
instigate some of the servants and peasantry to get up a ladder to the
window of Miss Delaware's room, which--what between fear, wonder, and
stupidity--they were performing with extraordinary slowness. At the
same time, one of the Molly Dusters was corroborating to the rest of
the company the assertion of Burrel's servant, who informed them that
his master had gone to fetch Miss Delaware; and the very likely
consummation that they would both be burned together was prophesied
manfully, just as he was making his way across the green toward them,
to prove that he did not intend to participate in such a holocaust.
On seeing Burrel, and guessing what it was that he carried in his
arms, Mrs. Darlington, who was really a good-tempered woman, gave way
a great deal more to her feelings than her usual _bienseance_
permitted, and literally screamed for joy. Since her escape she had
found time to get cool in body if not in mind and, indeed, the latter
part of the mixed whole was by this time sufficiently tranquillized to
admit the vision of a pretty little quiet romance to cross her mind
concerning Burrel and Blanche Delaware, and to suggest the propriety
of letting her house burn away in peace, while she took shelter, and
guarded against taking cold, in the cottages just below the lodge.
Thither, too, she requested Burrel, who would give up his fair burden
to no one, to follow her; and she herself led the way, with a thousand
encomiums on his heroic gallantry, mingled with thanks to Heaven that
all her title-deeds were at the banker's, and manifold aspirations
concerning the fire-resisting powers of the plate-chests.
Burrel thought of nothing but her he carried in his arms. It was not
love he felt, but it was intense interest; and I will defy any man to
carry a beautiful girl that he has already admired and liked, though
dangers such as those, pressed close to his own bosom, and with her
heart beating against his, without feeling very differently toward her
from what he ever did before. He had, however, a quality which few
young men possess much of--considerable delicacy of mind; and, as soon
as he had placed Miss Delaware in safety in the cottage, he left her
with Mrs. Darlington, without any of the troublesome inquiries about
her health and comfort which some foolish people might have made.
He then hastened back as fast as possible toward the house, with a
determination of doing all that he rationally could to save whatever
portion of it remained, but without the slightest intention in the
world of bringing his life into jeopardy, or enacting wonders worthy
of a demi-god, either to preserve the property of a rich old widow
lady, about whom he did not care a sixpence, or to astonish worthy Dr.
Wilton and half-a-dozen lackeys and cowherds who were looking on. When
he arrived at the spot, however, he found that the occupation which he
had proposed to himself had been already seized by a stout agile young
fellow, in a sailor's jacket and trowsers, who had arrived on the
ground during his absence, and had inspired one or two of the
peasantry with some activity.
The efforts of this young man were energetic, bold, and cleverly
executed; but, from being ill-directed, did little comparative good,
while his own life was every moment hazarded. Indeed, personal
security seemed the last thing that he considered; and perhaps this
somewhat superabundant display of daring might do some good, if only
by stirring up the more slothful to a tolerable degree of activity.
Burrel paused and looked on for an instant, but not from either
over-prudence or laziness. What is best to be done may be always
better considered before doing any thing than after, provided too much
time is not bestowed upon it; and, in the single moment that Burrel
gave to consideration, he perceived that the young sailor was not only
doing no good, but running himself and others into certain
destruction, by continuing to labor at the center of the house--the
interior of which was completely consumed, and the roof of which
threatened to fall--while, by cutting off the communication between
the _corps de logis_ and the wings, a considerable part of the
building might be saved. The moment his mind was made up, he entered
the principal door, and catching the young sailor by the arm, as he
stood in what had been the vestibule, he called upon him to desist.
The lad, for he was scarcely a man, turned round upon him for a moment
with a countenance, which haste, heat, and impetuosity of disposition,
rendered somewhat furious at the interruption; but a few calm,
reasonable words from Burrel, at once showed him the rationality of
what he proposed, and after a single oath, escaping, as it were, by
the safety valve of his tongue, he agreed to follow. Burrel then
hastened to get out of the stifling heat and smoke; but finding that
the other still lingered, he turned again at the door. The sailor had
paused to recover a bucket, and was at the very instant taking his
first step after Burrel, when a small quantity of heated rubbish came
pattering from above, and then, with a considerable crash, a thick
beam detached itself from the roof, caught upon the ruins of the
staircase, and swung blazing for a single instant above the vestibule.
The young man sprang forward toward the door; but he was too late to
escape entirely. The beam came thundering down--it struck him, and he
fell.
Something more was now at stake than the bed and table linen of an old
woman. A life is always worth the peril of a life, and Burrel at once
plunged in again, and dragged him out, though certainly at the risk of
much more than he would have hazarded to save Mrs. Darlington's abode,
or any inanimate thing it ever contained. He was scarcely clear of the
doorway when the roof fell in, and the rush and the roar, and the
subsequent silence, and the suddenly smothered flame, showed him what
he had escaped, and made him pause for an instant with a thankful
exclamation to that Being, before whose eyes a sparrow falls not to
the ground unheeded.
Henry Burrel then drew the man he had rescued forward, beyond the
influence of the heat. I say drew, because he evinced a strange
inaptitude to voluntary locomotion, from which Burrel did not augur
very favorably; and being within an inch of six feet high, with a very
tolerable proportion of sinew and muscle, he was not quite so portable
in one's arms as Blanche Delaware.
"Now, my good friends," said Burrel, laying the lad down upon the
smooth turf of the lawn, and addressing those who crowded round, "if
you want really to render any assistance, get what axes, picks, crows,
and other things of the kind you can, and break down entirely yon
little gallery which lies between the house and the right wing. You
run no risk; for the fire has not yet caught the gallery, and you will
save the wing. Never mind this young man, I will attend to him.
Here, Harding," he added, speaking to his servant, "you are a
cowardly--. Take care of yourself, the next time I meet you in a house
on fire, that I do not throw you into the flames, to prevent your
running away when I want your assistance."
The man replied nothing, as usual, and his master proceeded, "Have you
a penknife in your pocket?"
"No, sir," answered the servant; but Dr. Wilton supplied the
deficiency.
"Here is one!" he cried, groping in his breeches pocket; "what are you
going to do, my dear Harry? The poor lad seems dead."
"Only stunned, I hope," replied Burrel, "but, at all events, the best
thing one can do for him is to cut the artery in the temple, and let
him bleed freely. If he be dead, it can do him no harm; if there be
any life left, it will recall it."
Thus speaking, with little ceremony, he drew the penknife sharply
across the artery, much to the wonder of the bystanders, some of whom
thought him a fine, bold gentleman; some concluded that he was but
little troubled with that civil understrapping virtue of discretion.
The effect, however, soon become visible. The blood at first hardly
flowed, but, in a moment after, it burst forth with rapid jerks. A
deep sigh followed from the hurt man, and in an instant after he
looked faintly round.
"I thought I was gone!" he cried, raising himself, and looking toward
the fire. "My head's bad enough still; but I rather think I owe you my
life, sir. Well, there is an old woman down in the village will pray
God bless you!"
Burrel now endeavored to stanch the blood; but, like many other
persons, he had not previously calculated all the consequences of what
he was going to do; and he might have found the undertaking somewhat
difficult, had it not fortunately happened that the flames of Mrs.
Darlington's villa had alarmed the whole of the little town and
neighborhood of Emberton, and thus people were flocking up both on
foot and on horseback. Among the first that arrived was, of course,
her late guest, the village surgeon--one at least of the learned
professions being more peculiarly and unhappily obnoxious to
Rochefaucault's sneering assertion, that there is always something
pleasant to ourselves in the misfortunes of our friends. The surgeon,
then, was among the first, of course, sparing not his horse's breath,
in order to condole and sympathize, and look grave, and set a limb or
tend a bruise, or dress a burn, or, in short, perform any of those
small acts which are the sources of emolument, present or future, to a
country apothecary. His arrival happened at a fortunate moment for
Burrel's patient; and, after having ascertained that no one of more
consequence was hurt, he complimented the young stranger highly on his
prompt and skillful treatment of poor Wat Harrison, as he called him,
suffered the bleeding to continue for another moment, merely to show
how much he approved of what had been done, and then proceeded to stop
it.
The adventures of the night were now soon concluded. By Burrel's
directions, and the exertions of the peasantry, stimulated at last to
some degree of activity, one wing of the house, as well as the
stabling and offices, was saved; and from the part thus preserved,
apparel was procured sufficient to clothe the half-naked bodies of
those who were its late denizens. This apparel, indeed, was of
somewhat an anomalous description, and the metamorphoses produced were
rather strange; for though Miss Delaware came out most beautifully as
a pretty dairymaid, and Mrs. Darlington did not look ill as a
housekeeper, yet Dr. Wilton had a somewhat fantastic air when a
footman's greatcoat was added to his black breeches, silk stockings,
and shovel hat. Burrel himself adhered to his own dressing-gown,
though many a hole was burnt in the gay flowers that covered it, and
many a stain and scorch obscured the original colors. A general smile,
which even the serious calamity that had reduced them to that state
could not repress, played upon the lips of the whole party, as they
met in such strange attire at the door of the cottages, just as the
pale light of the morning was pouring faint and bluish through the
air. On the countenance of Blanche Delaware, however, that smile
mingled with a flickering blush as she answered Burrel's inquiries
concerning her health; and Burrel, though he could not but think it as
beautiful a thing as ever the eyes of the morning rested on, hastened,
by quiet and easy words of deep but unceremonious respect, to remove
the glow, with the embarrassment that caused it.
By this time all sorts of chaises and vehicles had arrived from
Emberton, and Mrs. Darlington's own carriage and horses had been
brought up from the stables. Burrel handed the two ladies in to
proceed to the village, the inn of which place, Mrs. Darlington
declared, should be her abode for the next day or two. He declined,
however, a seat beside them; and bidding his servant take care of his
horses, and bring them down afterward, he himself--the fire having
nearly expended itself--got into a hack chaise for Emberton, and,
accompanied by the young sailor who had been hurt, drove slowly down
into the valley.
Dr. Wilton, whose living lay at a considerable distance in a different
direction, had before taken leave of him, with many a pressing
invitation to the rectory, and had preceded him in departing. One by
one, the people of the town returned, and the peasantry dropped away;
and, with one man left to keep watch, the ruins of Mrs. Darlington's
house remained smoldering in silent solitude, like the history of a
battle, which, full of fire, confusion, and destruction while it
lasts, leaves, after the lapse of a few years, nothing but vacancy,
ruin, and the faint smoke of fame.