Then that fearful robe of fire, thick sown with spangling cinders, seemed sweeping against the window panes.
Only that terrible light over all the town.
"O, what does it mean?" said Bel.
"It is Chicago over again," the young man answered her, with a grave dismay in his voice.
"See there,—and there!" said Miss Smalley, at the window. "People are up, lighting candles."
"But Aunt Blin is sick!" said Bel. "We must take care of her. What shall we do?"
"I'll go and send a doctor; and I'll bring you news. Have you a candle? Stop; I'll fetch you something."
He sprang up-stairs, and returned with a box of small wax tapers. They were only a couple of inches long, and the size of her little finger.
"I'll get you something better if I can; and don't be frightened."
The great glare, though it shed its light luridly upon all outside, was not enough to find things by within. Bel took courage at this, thinking the heart of it must still be far off. She gave one look into the depth of the street, shadowed by its buildings, and having a strange look of eerie gloom, even so little way beneath that upper glow. Then she drew down the painted shades, and shut the sky phantom out.