At sight of the single light-robed figure standing there in the dull radiance from the hall, the shrieking, struggling conglomeration swerved back. There came a lull; then the wild shouts went up anew.
“As no Helmont’s to have it, let’s burn down the house!” cried a dominating twang, which Ursula recognized. A yell of approval swelled high around the words. The logic of this tribute to the family immediately enchanted every one; and all the half-grown boys and raw youths in the horde howled with delight at the prospect of so grand a conflagration. The tumult for some time, however, rendered action of any kind impossible. Then followed the inevitable ebb.
“There is no necessity for burning anything,” said Ursula, in far-reaching tones; “the house is full of defenceless women. I am here. What do you want?”
Another roar answered her, and, with re-echoing cries of “Burn it!” the mob swayed forward to the steps.
Suddenly the fierce note of fury changed to a shrill surprise. Ursula felt a hand upon her arm. Removing her eyes for the first time from the turmoil in front of her, she saw the little Dowager standing by her side.
“Go in, mamma—go in,” she whispered, hurriedly. But the little Dowager did not remove the hand.
“Hurrah for the old Baroness?” screamed a drink-sodden voice. The response was lost in an uproar of terror, as the darkness momentarily vanished, and the whole scene—the massive building, the soaring beeches, the upturned distorted faces, the two figures on the threshold—all stood out white for one brilliant instant before the opening heavens crashed down the full weight of their pent-up derision in torrents of mingling rain and thunder on the wasps’ nest beneath them which men call the world.
Mechanically the two women fell back under shelter. The rush of water poured past them like a falling curtain amid the tumult of the elements. The startled and blinded crowd, as flash followed flash, sought an insecure refuge under the great trees of the park, still restrained by that pair of locked and steadfast women from roughly invading “the House.” The whole place was wrapped as in a whirlpool of contending fire and water. Vaguely the half-sobered drunkard realized that the young Baroness stood inviolable, girdled by God.
House and park were black and still in a widespread drip and shine of water, when Theodore van Helmont, drenched to the skin, sprang from his flecked and foaming steed and rang softly at a side-door. He ran to the corridor, where Ursula met him, lamp in hand.