Suddenly she sat up in bed and opened her eyes. The room was filled with smoke and there was a glare and a roar around her. Were the Germans here, attacking The Village? Then her senses awoke. The sounds that she heard were not the bursting of bombs, but fire crackling and voices shouting.
She sprang up and ran to the door. Smoke poured in, and through it she saw leaping flames, a great column of fire rising from the stairway between her and her cousin’s room.
“Cousin Agnes! Cousin Agnes! Ruth! oh, Ruth!� she called at the top of her voice.
There was no answer. There was only the horrible roar of the mounting flames. She slammed the door to shut out the noise which was more terrifying than the smoke and the flames. She ran to a front window. The yard was full of people, her friends and cousins, who seemed very far away and strange, with their excited, anxious faces lighted by the red glare of the conflagration.
Some one saw her as soon as she opened the shutter and raised a shout of relief. “There she is! There’s Anne!�
“Anne, Anne! Oh, Anne!�
There was an agonized screech from old Emma. The words were lost in the roar of the fire or unheeded in the excitement; but Dick knew afterward that he heard her yell, “That old devil! he’s burnin’ up little Miss Anne!�
For a minute Anne stood dazed and motionless at the window. But now the fire had eaten through the door; the air was stifling with lurid smoke; the roaring, crackling flames came nearer. She was gasping, choking. She climbed on the window sill.
“Don’t jump! don’t jump! We’ll get you in a minute!� called Dick.
She stood still. It was a fearful distance; she might break her arm, leg, neck; but—she moved restlessly—anything would be better than being caught by those awful flames.