Sir Patrick gave instant information to the civil authorities at
Harrowgate, respecting the dangerous madman now in the neighborhood;
and when every particular of his adventure had reached Agnes, she felt
an undefined sensation of disappointment that the end had not been of a
more exciting nature. Never happy unless her mind were in a complete
foam of excitement, she lived for sensation, and would have bought it
at any price, being heard often to complain, that now nothing ever
happened. Every day she considered as a chapter in her own life, into
which she wished as many incidents crowded as possible, caring little
whether joy or sorrow prevailed among those around, if the weary vacuum
in her thoughts were but filled up. A few elopements or murders made a
newspaper extremely acceptable; while even public riots she would have
allowed to a certain pitch, provided she could pull the check-string as
soon as they became at all inconvenient or alarming to herself; while
she often remarked, in a querulous tone, that a revolution had been a
thing threatened and talked of all her life, without ever seeming any
nearer. The world, in short, if arranged to suit her taste, would have
been one shifting scene of accidents and offences, fires, overturns,
explosions, narrow escapes, marriages, births, deaths, mournful
catastrophes, and astonishing vicissitudes.
On the evening after the pic-nic at Studley, Sir Arthur having gone
early to bed, at his lodgings near the Granby, Marion accompanied her
sister and Mrs. O'Donoghoe, to fulfil a dinner engagement at the Crown
Hotel; and on their way home, the lively widow rallied Agnes on her
prospect of walking at the next coronation, saying, that Lord Doncaster
had evidently laid down twenty years of his life, lately; and that she
had once seen the Doncaster diamonds, then considered the finest family
jewels in Britain, which Queen Charlotte herself was supposed to have
coveted, and the box containing which required two footmen to carry it.
"The tiara would shine like glow-worms in your dark hair, and the
bandeau round your waist would be exquisite! I have heard it remarked,
that people in this perverse world will not be happy; that those who
have every wish gratified, and not a want upon earth, invent a
grievance for themselves, and live upon it; but I wonder where the
Marchioness of Doncaster could find one. You might drive away care in
that beautiful pony carriage, kill time with your grand pianoforte, and
read your own happiness in the envy of every one around. Even your
sister seems scarcely so happy at your good fortune as might have been
expected!"
"There is no earthly blessing I do not with my whole heart desire for
Agnes," replied Marion warmly, when thus appealed to. "But if she has
any plans such as you speak of, let no one ask me what I think, as it
is quite enough that she should herself know my utter abhorrence of
them."
Tears of indignant sorrow sprang into Marion's eyes, and she gazed
earnestly out of the window, trying to conceal and to conquer her
emotion, while Mrs. O'Donoghoe exclaimed, in a tone of satirical
burlesque,
"For of the choice, what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thrones without!"
As their carriage drove on, the night being clear and moon-lit, the
wind sweeping over the earth with a rushing sound, and ten thousand
stars twinkling in the blue vault above, Agnes remarked, in accents of
surprise, that crowds of people were running eagerly on the road, with
animated looks, and an appearance of most unusual excitement. Soon
after she heard a rumbling noise behind, as of some heavy vehicle
hurtling and thundering along the road; and the next moment a
fire-engine passed at full speed, amidst the cheers and vociferations
of a dense multitude, who assisted and followed its progress, with
looks of mingled curiosity, delight, and apprehension.
Marion hastily thrust her head far out of the carriage, and perceived
that a lurid glare burned on the sky, evidently reflected from High
Harrowgate, while bright spiral flames shot upwards into the flaming
arch above, and burning flakes of fire descended in showers of
terrifying brilliancy. Every now and then a fresh burst of dazzling
light blazed to the very heavens, while Marion watched the flickering
flames with intense and solemn interest; but Agnes, after the first
surprise was over, sank lazily back into the carriage, saying, with a
look of peevish disappointment,
"It is only a fire somewhere! Fires are so common now, that they excite
scarcely any sensation! One might fancy, Marion, that you had a
valuable uninsured house at High Harrowgate!"
"It looks, even at this distance, very awful!" replied Marion. "The
hills are like molten fire, while the broad red reflection on those
massy clouds makes the very heavens seem on fire! What gleams of fiery
light! What sheets of flame! It is fearfully grand! We should pray,
Agnes, that no lives may be lost!"
"Fires are never fatal now! Years ago, they were said to be sometimes
really frightful; but now any one I ever saw might be extinguished with
a tea-cup. I never so much as read the accounts in one of the
newspapers. We shall of course be asked to subscribe for the
sufferers," added Agnes, in a tone of contemptuous pity, "poor
creatures!"
"What a strange look of terrified enjoyment is depicted on the
countenances of all who hurry past," exclaimed Marion. "It is curious,
that probably some of those people who are ready to risk their lives in
extinguishing the flames, would yet feel quite disappointed and
ill-treated on arriving, to find that there was actually no
conflagration. There are no limits to the love of excitement. When
people have made up their great minds to a catastrophe, they feel
really cheated if it does not occur; and I often think, that old people
especially wish their few remaining days to be crowded with events,
like the last pages in a novel."
The noise and the mob had greatly increased: loud shouts, hoarse yells,
and clamorous cries of fire resounded on every side, with the heavy
trampling of a hundred feet, when suddenly Sir Arthur's coachman
whipped the horses violently, and proceeded forward with unprecedented
rapidity, till Marion fancied the horses must have taken fright at the
ignited sparks, which were now borne along in the air, and that
maddened with terror, they were actually running off.
Agnes, now really in a state of excitement, thrust her head again out
of the window, believing that the coachman must be drunk, and that a
catastrophe, though not exactly what she would have selected, might
actually occur, and Marion continued anxiously gazing around, till
gradually a horrid sensation of doubt and fear gathered upon her mind,
as she looked in the direction from which the light came. The curtain
of night was withdrawn--the surrounding scene seemed one mighty
furnace--and the roaring noise of the flames was now distinctly
audible. At a turn of the road the whole became distinctly visible; and
Marion, suddenly uttering a wild cry of horror and amazement, covered
her face with her hands, and sank back, almost fainting, in the
carriage; for she had at once become aware that the fire must be among
the houses where Sir Arthur lodged. The garden around them was one
vivid blaze of burning light--the stems of the trees were visible in
dark relief, on a drapery of fire--while a brilliant pillar of flame,
like a gigantic serpent, twirled its enormous coils upwards into the
very sky. Forked flames appeared bursting from every window, and
sweeping over the whole house, which was one great reservoir of fire,
while a black volume of smoke rolled far away to the distant horizon.
"Is there no mistake?" exclaimed Marion, wringing her hands with
terror, and bending her head almost to her knees in unendurable grief.
"Is there no hope? Tell John to drive on faster--faster! O let me
out--let me fly to the house! This is dreadful! fearful! Shall we never
reach the spot! Listen to their cries! Let me out! let me out!"
"Dear Marion! there are crowds giving assistance! He must have
escaped," said Agnes, in trembling accents. "I feel certain he has
escaped. He has surely heard the noise, and called for help!"
A dense mass of persons round the crashing house, wild with agitation,
and vehement in their attitudes and gestures, prevented the carriage
from advancing farther; but Marion instantly opened the door, sprang
out, and with an impetuosity which nothing could resist, rushed
onwards. She was not one whose faculties could be prostrated by terror
or danger; for it was then that her quick judgment and generous spirit
became most active; and while crowds were standing around, in vacant,
helpless wonder, she reached the spot where a tottering ladder had been
placed against the walls, and where the engines were playing upon the
blazing roofs, while flames spouted forth in every direction, and a
confused din of cries and vociferous oaths became audible on every
side.
Timid and easily frightened on slight occasion, all emotion now
appeared to be dead within the breast of Marion, who paused, while,
with bloodless cheek, and a face as rigid as death, she seemed turned
into stone; yet every word whispered around fell with frightful
distinctness on her ear.
"The last house that caught fire is uninhabited, I believe?" asked a
stranger, calmly. "I am informed that the whole conflagration was
raised by a madman--a perfect Guy Fawkes, who afterwards escaped. There
are crowds of servants belonging to the heiress Miss Howard, and he had
some scheme of carrying her off; but most mercifully she and her
attendants were all saved."
"Very fortunate indeed, as the stair-case is now falling in," added
another, while crash followed crash in frightful succession. "Some one
talked of a blind gentleman being there, but that is probably a
picturesque addition, to give the story interest, for that tall house
seems really empty."
At this moment, a low murmur of grief and horror arose among the crowd,
followed by a death-like silence. In a part of the building high above
what had yet been consumed by the flames, though already undermined,
the shutters of a window were slowly opened, the sash hastily thrown
open, and the venerable figure of Sir Arthur appeared there, his grey
hair streaming in the wind, and his head stretched forward in the act
of listening. He raised his hand to his forehead, as if bewildered, and
seemed evidently calling for help; but his feeble voice was lost amid
the war of elements, the crackling and blazing of all around, and the
loud crash of falling timber.
No one had a hope of his being rescued, and the most selfishly
indifferent looked on with breathless dismay, while Agnes threw herself
on the grass in an agony of horror and despair; but Marion rapidly
grasped her hand with convulsive energy, saying, in a low deep whisper,
"I shall save him, or die with him."
Using the speed of thought she flew forward, while every voice was
raised in loud shouts to stop her; and several persons, as soon as they
became aware of Marion's rash intentions, followed vehemently in
pursuit, determined to force her back; but eluding their grasp, she
wrapped her large cloak around her, and ascended the crackling beams of
the staircase, beneath a shower of glowing sparks, while blazing flames
were running round the cornices and ceiling, with a sound like
incessant thunder.
The smoke nearly blinded her--the smell of burning wood became
suffocating--and the heat was nearly unbearable. Long wreaths of fire
and smoke soon shut Marion out from the view of those who followed, and
none could pursue with their eyes the fearful progress of her
enterprise, while she hurried onwards, having one only thought in her
heart, that Sir Arthur, blind and alone, was calling for help, and
might yet perhaps be saved. A wooden gallery, leading from the stair to
Sir Arthur's room, though fringed with an intense and devouring flame,
which had almost entirely burned it away, showed yet a plank remaining
close to the wall, charred and blackened, while shrivelling and
crackling in the devouring element. Over this Marion quickly but
cautiously glided; and opening the Admiral's door, she tried to compose
her voice, saying in a clear, distinct tone--
"I am here, uncle Arthur! come away quickly! give me your hand!"
"What is the matter, Marion? What is all this?" replied he, turning
round with a quivering lip, and in a tone of piercing agitation. "The
blessings of your blind and helpless uncle be upon you! I am so
agitated and confused! Where is the fire? Every body had forgotten me
but you!"
"Uncle Arthur!" answered Marion, hurrying with him towards the door,
where they were almost suffocated by a dense cloud of dust and smoke;
"you were always brave and determined. All our courage is necessary
now. Be firm and we may escape. You are now at the door. This wooden
gallery is nearly burned away. It could not sustain us both, and no
earthly power shall persuade me to go first. You can only impede me by
speaking of it. Lose not a moment, then, for that will but increase our
danger. Cling close to the wall; feel it all the way. I shall call out
when you are safely over. Then remember the fifty steps we always
counted to the first landing-place. After that, turn to the right, and
you are safe. May the Almighty protect and guide you!"
"But Marion! my dear child! you are coming this way too?"
"Yes! or perhaps some other!" said she, assuming a tone of
indifference, while she despondingly gazed at the rapidly consuming
beam, and the thick smoke, which arose like mist before her sight.
"Go on, dear uncle, and pray for yourself and me."
Marion led Sir Arthur to the very brink of the yawning gulf, and
cautiously placed him on the tottering gallery, deaf to his entreaties
that she would seek her own safely first, and imploring him not to
render her enterprise unavailing by delay. Flames were leaping upwards
in the dark abyss beneath, dust and mortar fell in clouds on every
side, while the heat and noise of the flashing light became more and
more terrific; but still she spoke calmly to him, in tones of
confidence and encouragement, giving directions while he remained in
sight, and anxiously watching, as he slowly and cautiously groped his
way. All Sir Arthur's firmness of look and voice had now returned, as
he questioned or thanked her, when suddenly a deafening crash took
place over head, an impending fragment of the roof was precipitated
with a roaring convulsion upon the spot where a moment before the
Admiral had stood, and nothing now remained beneath the eye of Marion
but a hideous gulf of smoke and ruins, one bewildering medley of
crackling beams and falling floors, a mighty mass of horror, which it
made her giddy to behold.
Marion ceased now to speak, fearful that her voice might induce Sir
Arthur, if yet alive, to return; and nearly hopeless of his having
escaped, she now felt that no duty was so imperative, as, if possible,
to seek her own safely. Yet what resource remained? Her heart beat
hurriedly, stopped and beat again, while a choking sensation arose in
her throat, when for the first time she fully contemplated her own
instant danger. The noise was like that of a mighty wind, while the
flames swept the very heavens, with a sound more appalling than the
loudest thunder, and she hurried almost breathlessly back to Sir
Arthur's apartment, which had not yet been attacked by the devouring
element.
The heat was even there so intense, that she hastened to a window for
air, and a shuddering groan burst from the surrounding multitude when
they beheld her; but no succor was near, while the door became
instantly blockaded by shivered beams and smouldering ruins, which had
fallen at the entrance, setting it on fire, and she saw around long
aisles of flame, and deep caverns filled with surges of fire and smoke.
Marion felt now that death impended in its most terrifying form. It was
no new thing with her to prepare for the certain approach of
dissolution; yet often as she had tried to realize the idea of that
mighty change, never did it appear before with the appalling
distinctness, which now filled her spirit with unutterable awe, while
standing as it were between earth and heaven, all beneath full of
boundless terror, but all above promising peace, and full of hope.
No effort of her own could avail. Marion looked at the long line of
tall houses on her left, untouched by the flames. She glanced at the
crowd below, all anxiously gazing upwards, in death-like stillness, and
at the garden, which seemed paved with faces; but while the consuming
flames pursued their desolating track, not a hope of rescue appeared. A
storm of burning ashes fell on every side, and all around was a
whirlwind of fire and smoke.
Marion's figure became conspicuously seen at the window, every pane of
which was already so heated by the blazing conflagration behind, that
she leaned against the shutters, and gazed towards heaven, as if
already lost to all connection with the world around.
"Martyrs have willingly died in a scene like this," thought she. "Let
me also testify the faith in which I die."
Marion clasped her hands, while now her spirit rose superior to danger,
and, seeing the hundreds gazing at her in silent, horror-struck
sympathy, she calmly pointed upwards, that all might remember the
comfort derived from a hope full of immortality.
The heat had become so intense, that Marion, choked almost to
suffocation, leaned farther than ever out of the window, trying to
catch one breath of air, when to her astonishment she now perceived the
figure of a man descending from the window of a house far to the left,
and having planted his foot on a narrow ledge of stone, which ran along
all the buildings as an architectural ornament, he pressed his hands
firmly against the wall, to preserve his balance, and, with a degree of
skill and intrepidity scarcely to be credited, rapidly traversed that
shelf towards the place where she stood, carrying one end of a rope in
his hand, the other extremity of which had been already fixed to the
window from which he came out.
"Marion! dear Marion!" cried the voice of Richard Granville, which even
at this awful moment thrilled to her heart with deep emotion, "we must
live or die together. Trust yourself to me! Here is a firm footing. Try
it! At the worst you cannot be in greater danger than now."
While yet speaking, he had securely fixed the rope to the window-frame,
thus forming a temporary balustrade, and after carefully assisting her
out, he slowly led Marion with one hand on the rope, and her face to
the wall, safely towards a house as yet untouched by the fire.
A low, whispering murmur of intense interest arose among the
spectators, when they saw hopes of her being preserved, but not a voice
was raised till they perceived her safe, when a deafening cheer burst
from the spectators, which rang through every ear like a trumpet. Again
and again it resounded, louder and louder still, but Marion heard it
not, for no sooner was she out of danger, than, with a cry of
thankfulness, she rushed into the expanded arms of Sir Arthur, and
fainted.
When Marion recovered to consciousness, her first evidence of returning
life, was the deep blush with which she extended her hand to Mr.
Granville. Tears now streamed from the blinded eyes of Sir Arthur,
while he spoke to her with every term of affectionate endearment,
saying, in a voice that yet quivered with emotion--
"My child! my dear Marion! I thank God that your life, young and full
of hope, has not been sacrificed to keep my grey hairs a few hours
longer from the grave. Would that I were able to thank you as you
deserve."
"Never thank me for anything, dear uncle Arthur. I owe you more than my
existence, for I owe you, under Providence, all the happy days I have
ever known in it, and long, long, may I be able to show you my grateful
affection."
"My very dear girl, aged as I am, and shattered now by this night's
alarms, I have little more hold of life than of the gale that blows
along the ocean, but existence would yet be precious to me, if I could
only live to see my Marion as happy as she merits."
"Already I am!" replied Marion, affectionately embracing her uncle,
while a torrent of joyous, agitated tears rushed into her eyes. "I am
too happy, dear uncle Arthur! You are saved, we are restored to all we
love, and my life is doubly precious to me, preserved by the generous
courage of--of----"
"Of one whose first earthly wish is to render it happy," said Mr.
Granville, warmly. "I trust that for many long years we shall testify
together our gratitude to God for the mercies of this night."
A smile and a tear struggled hard for the mastery in Marion's downcast
countenance, while Richard continued to speak with confidence and hope
of the happy future, trusting that their engagement, though unavoidably
postponed, could not be long delayed, and that if Clara recovered in a
more favorable climate, to which she must set out the next evening, he
might speedily return, to resume his duties and occupations, with new
motives of hope, while Sir Arthur expressed, in brief and powerful
language, his fervent wish that nothing might interfere with a prospect
which secured the happiness of his beloved Marion.
"Yet," observed Sir Arthur, next morning, when Mr. Granville called to
take leave, "I dislike long engagements, and never would recommend one.
If you both remain constant, it is unnecessary, and if either of you
change, it would be little worth to obtain from a sense of honor what
should only spring from affection."
"There is nothing to fear on that score," replied Mr. Granville,
exchanging a smile with Marion. "We are most apt in general to doubt
where we have most at stake, but I have lately become almost
presumptuously confident. I would not wish, Sir Arthur, that Marion
should feel engaged one hour after she ceased to love me more than she
could love any other, or if there were any man on earth who could value
her more, and make her happier. One thing I ask of you, dear Marion,
and only one," added he, his eyes flashing with animation--"That till
we meet again, nothing shall make you doubt my unalterable affection;
and in asking this, I ask only what I intend in return towards you,
that our mutual confidence may be for ever unbroken, from the first
hour we met."
"To trust you once is to trust you for ever," answered she, in a low,
scarcely audible voice. "All my happiness in life depends on one, who,
I am certain, never will change."
"Then, as surely as day follows night, I hope our present parting shall
be followed by a happy re-union; and months will seem like hours, till
I return to claim you as my own, till I once more hear your voice, and
till this hand is again clasped in mine."
Marion listened with a quivering smile on her lip, while a tear
trembled in her eye. For a moment, the blood forsook her cheek, and
returned again in rushing torrents over her whole countenance, while
the eloquence of the heart was in her eyes, though she attempted not to
reply; and Mr. Granville continued, in accents of the deepest
tenderness,--
"It grieves me more and more every day to think of leaving you, but my
duty to Clara must not be postponed any longer. Her strength is
gradually diminishing, and though she does not idly or selfishly
indulge her feelings, yet here, above all places, she seems least
likely to forget a sorrow, which is, I trust, not incurable. We, who
are Christians, know that there is some good purpose in her affliction,
and that the lightest straw which casts its balance into our lot, is
ordained by the infinite power, and the infinite goodness of One who
cannot err."
"Yes," replied Marion. "In going through life, I feel myself reading a
book by the best of all authors. Many of the incidents, as we advance,
surprise and disappoint us; but, knowing that the whole is on a plan
which could not be improved, we feel certain that all shall turn out
right and best in the end."
"It is a conviction such as you describe, Marion, which allays the
torturing and almost feverish anxiety I should otherwise suffer
respecting those around whom my warmest affections are kindled,"
observed Mr. Granville. "Religion is indeed the best of all anodynes
for pain of every kind; otherwise, who can tell how greatly I should
have suffered in our sorrowful uncertainty respecting Clara's recovery,
and in leaving you, my Marion, to whom I am now bound by every tie that
can unite heart to heart. I will not,--I cannot say, farewell; but let
us live in hope of better days to come."
Mr. Granville at length took leave; and, as he hurried for the last
time across the common, Marion leaned against the window, and followed
him with her eyes till he vanished out of sight; while Sir Arthur's
countenance shewed that his kind heart was full of anxiety and sorrow;
for he had seen many vicissitudes in human life and human attachment,
therefore he trembled for the possibility of sorrow hereafter, to one
whom he loved with all the unbounded warmth of his nature.
Marion closed her eyes that night with the pleasing conviction, that
the world contained not a happier being than herself. She felt
conscious how much Mr. Granville had elevated her mind by his
conversation, what a treasure of interesting thoughts and pleasing
hopes he had left her; and, while following him in imagination through
every mile of his journey, and sadly counting the many days that must
intervene till they could meet again, she resolutely turned her mind
towards all the pursuits and occupations calculated to render her
worthy of Richard Granville, when he returned to claim her as the
partner and companion of his future existence.
"Discerning mortal! do thou serve the will
Of time's Eternal Master, and that peace
Which the world wants, shall be to thee confirm'd."