“No one knows how it broke out,” said another.
“They have saved all the prisoners, poor wretches!” exclaimed a woman.
“They’ll soon bring the fire under, too,” observed a man.
No one noticed Malcolm hurrying along with his beloved burden enveloped in a dark shawl. All eyes were fixed on the ignited building, upon the walls of which the fire-engines, which had now arrived, were playing freely.
Malcolm reached the thicket in safety. He sat down for a moment to rest Eudora and uncovered her face to give her air. He thought that she had swooned, but this was not so. She was pale, and weak, and limber, but breathing and conscious. She was the first to speak. Raising her eyes to his, she asked:
“What is all this? What has occurred?”
“You are saved, dearest Eudora!”
“How?”
“I scarcely know myself. Ask no questions yet, dear one, but rally all your strength to fly with me.”
He placed her gently on a bank, where she could rest against the trunk of a tree. He led his horse to the spot, stooped and raised her to the seat before him, and rode slowly and carefully until he was out of the wood. Then putting spurs to his horse, he galloped swiftly towards the sea-coast. As his horse rushed onward Malcolm turned to look at the fire, and was gratified to see that the flames were certainly in process of extinction. With a lighter heart he galloped along the beach until at length he reached the cove, where his hired vessel lay at anchor.