There was another shout. The fire-escape was in position. Some one was mounting rapidly. But just as Philip Darnell's arm was grasped by Sebastian Mouncey, Gus on the other side relaxed his hold, staggered, and fell to the ground.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
A REVELATION.
WHEN they lifted Gus from the ground they found that he had broken his thigh, and it was feared that he might have sustained still more serious injuries. Mr. Mouncey helped to carry him to the vicarage, which was nearer than the cottage in which he lived, and the village surgeon was soon in attendance on him.
Philip Darnell, too, was made welcome to the vicarage, and to all he stood in need of that Mr. Mouncey could supply. He was unnerved by the sudden shock and the narrow escape he had experienced, but otherwise uninjured.
Meanwhile, the best efforts that could be made with the one small engine were powerless to check the progress of the fire. After a while two fire-engines from neighbouring districts arrived on the scene; but by that time the fire had gained such a hold that it was impossible to save any portion of the house. It burned on till midday, and when evening fell the ruins were still smouldering. On the morrow, little save the outer shell of the house remained. The fire which destroyed the Mill House was a never-to-be-forgotten event in the annals of Rayleigh.
A thorough investigation was made, but the origin of the fire could not be traced. No one appeared to have known anything about it till Gus gave the alarm. Yet Philip Darnell was convinced that it was the work of an incendiary; and though Sebastian Mouncey would fain have believed otherwise, he thought it only too probable that this was the case. He had heard many a muttered threat of revenge.
What more likely than that some of the most lawless of the strikers, finding themselves baffled at every turn, and powerless to win an advantage by any overt act, should have chosen this way to strike a blow at their oppressor? But though detectives came from London to search out the matter, nothing transpired that could lead to the conviction of the criminal and his confederates, if such there were. The affair remained a mystery.
For Sebastian Mouncey, Gus formed the most absorbing interest of the next few days. The lad's injuries were so great that at first it seemed almost impossible that he could recover. Whilst he lay unconscious, Mr. Mouncey was constantly beside his bed, sharing the watch of the skilled nurse, and manifesting the devotion of a father towards the orphan lad. All the village there appeared to share his anxiety. In almost every home were those who were hoping and praying that Gus' life might be saved.
And yet, perhaps, none desired his recovery more than did Philip Darnell. He felt that if Gus died, his face would haunt him to the end of his days, like that of an accusing angel with eyes full of reproach. Was it a frenzied fancy, born of his terror and anguish, or had the boy indeed uttered that name as they stood on the window-sill, the name of the man whom he would never willingly recall, yet could not banish from his memory? Ah, he would give anything now to be able to forget the man whom he had pushed down in the world's mire, and over whose prostrate form he had then stepped to his own advancement!