In a very few minutes there were sounds of doors opening, a confusion of tongues, and Eric shouted:—
"The fire is in the east wing! Get help quickly! Someone come with me, for Celia's locked into her room, and I can't make her hear!"
Suddenly remembering that he could gain admittance to his sister's room through his mother's, Eric waited no longer at the swing door, but hurriedly retraced his footsteps, conscious that the smoke was becoming denser and denser. He entered his mother's room and rushed to the door leading into Celia's apartment, the dread thought in his mind that that, too, might prove to be locked; but, no! it opened immediately, and the following moment he was almost driven back by the volume of smoke which met him on the threshold.
"Celia!" he called, his heart imploring help from God, "Celia, where are you? Why don't you answer me? Celia!"
There was no reply. Eric sprang forward, and looked wildly around him. At first he thought the whole room was in flames, for tongues of flame were leaping around the bed, and creeping across the floor towards him.
"Celia!" he cried, hoarsely, "Celia!"
He rushed to the bed, expecting to find sister there, but she was not; instead, she was lying back in an easy chair close by, wrapped in her dressing-gown, her feet on an ottoman, and her golden head resting on a pillow. A paper-covered novel lay upon her lap, and the remains of a candle flared on the ground close to the smouldering valance of the bed.
"ERIC GRASPED THE SLEEPING GIRL BY THE SHOULDER."
Eric saw what had happened in a minute. His sister had settled herself comfortably in the easy chair to read by the light of a candle which she had placed on a small round table at her elbow. She had fallen asleep, and unconsciously had knocked the candle off the table, and thus had set fire to the room. Fortunately the candle had fallen away from her towards the bed, or she would have, in all probability, paid for her folly and carelessness by her life.