CHAPTER V.
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.