Then following Julius out into the hall as he met his brother, Rosamond clung to him, entreating, “Please, please don’t run into any dangerous places.”
“Never fear, dearest; I am not likely.”
“Don’t let him, pray!” she said, turning to Raymond. “Make him remember how blind he is.”
“I’ll take good care of him, Rosamond,” said the elder brother kindly; “I’m used to it.”
“And send for the ---th,” she added. “There is nothing like soldiers at a fire.”
“The glare must have given notice,” said Julius, “but we’ll send if needful. Let go, you foolish girl; I’m not leading a forlorn hope.”
Did Raymond, as he mounted his horse, turning from the contact of the white and black heads, admire the reasonableness of the Cecil who had never shown any fears for his safety, nor any tendency to run about the passages in her robe de chambre, though she was now dressing with all speed?
The women-folk had to depend on their own eyes for intelligence, for every male, not only of the household but of the village, between the ages of five and seventy, started for Wil’sbro’, and a good many females followed their example, including the cook and her suite.
However, Susan remained, to find her mistress flown, and in her fright, give Lady Rosamond as round a scolding as if she had been Charlie, for her rashness in attempting a transit, which Dr. Hayter had pronounced to be as much as her mistress’s life was worth. Having thus relieved her mind, and finding that Mrs. Poynsett was really very comfortable, or else too eager and anxious to find out if she was not, the good woman applied herself to the making of coffee.
Anne and Cecil had found their way to the leads, and were thence summoned to partake of this hasty meal, after which they proposed going to look from the brow of the hill; and Mrs. Poynsett insisted that Rosamond should not stay behind on her account; and, glad to appease the restlessness of anxiety, out went the ladies, to find the best view of the town,—usually a white object in the distance, but now blurred by smoke thick and black in the daylight, and now and then reddened by bursts of flame.