"You must let me go," said Basil, and Bartlemy made no demur, though it must have been hard to stand at his post on guard with the mother and girls while Basil pushed his way to the front.
The roof fell in with a great plunge and a fierce up-leaping of flames which burned rapidly for a brief time. Then the fire began to fade out as it consumed the last remnants of the pretty old home.
"If we do not hear something soon I think I shall die or go mad!" cried Wythie. The waiting was getting unbearable.
"Don't you think you all ought to go home and wait there?" suggested Bartlemy. "You are shivering, and we shall hear about Miss Charlotte there as soon as here."
"I couldn't go, dear Bartlemy," Mrs. Grey said, and Bartlemy did not insist.
It was taking all the force the boy possessed to keep himself to his present duty when every muscle twitched to follow his brothers, and anxiety for Bruce was added to his previous fear for Miss Charlotte.
At last the strained watchers saw a movement in the crowd; it seemed to be falling away, and a path was opening towards them. Through this path they soon saw Basil's head towering above his surroundings, and behind him another even taller than he—Bruce? Ah, thank God, thank God! The relief of seeing him was so great that both Rob and Bartlemy groaned with the pain of it. Mrs. Grey and Wythie looked at them in new terror; they had not known the fear for Bruce shared by the other three.
Bruce was being helped along by Basil; he was hurt. Behind them came—yes, Dr. Fairbairn, and he was carrying something in his arms. A woman? It certainly was. The Greys clasped each other close, their throats tightening.
It was Miss Charlotte.
"You mustn't look like that," called Dr. Fairbairn in his booming voice as soon as he could make it reach the group that he was approaching. "I forbid it! Charlotte is safe; not a hair harmed. Mary, don't you dare to faint away! Wythie, pull yourself together! Rob, be sensible."