“And no mistake,” said he drily. “But I thought if I told you before her you might scold me.”
“Scold you, love? Never. Hush! I'll come to your room by-and-by.”
Soon after this they all bade each other good night; and presently Mrs. Dodd came and tapped softly at her son's door, and found him with his vest and coat off, and his helmet standing on the table reflecting a red coal; he was seated by the fire in a brown study, smoking. He apologised, and offered to throw the weed away. “No, no,” said she, suppressing a cough, “not if it does you good.”
“Well, mother, when you are in a fix, smoke is a soother, you know, and I'm in a regular fix.”
“A fix,” sighed Mrs. Dodd resignedly, and waited patiently all ears.
“Mamma,” said the fire-warrior, becoming speculative under the dreamy influence of the weed, “I wonder whether such a muddle ever was before. When a man is fighting with fire, what with the heat and what with the excitement, his pulse is at a hundred and sixty, and his brain all in a whirl, and he scarce knows what he is doing till after it is done. But I've been thinking of it all since. (Puff.) There was my poor little mamma in the mob; I double myself up for my spring, and I go at the window, and through it; now, on this side of it I hear my mother cry, 'Edward come down;' on the other side I fall on two men perishing in an oven; one is my own father, and the other is, who do you think? 'The Wretch.'”
Mrs. Dodd held up her hands in mute amazement.
“I had promised to break every bone in his skin at our first meeting; and I kept my promise by saving his skin and bones, and life and all.” (Puff.)
Mrs. Dodd groaned aloud. “I thought it was he,” she said faintly. “That tall figure, that haughty grace! But Mrs. Archbold told me positively it was an attendant.”
“Then she told you a cracker. It was not an attendant, but a madman, and that madman was Alfred Hardie, upon my soul! Our Julia's missing bridegroom.”