It was late when they separated. Good-byes were said, and tender-hearted little Agnes cried as she said good-bye to Doctor Frank. The priest and the physician walked to the little village together, through the cold darkness of the starless winter night.
At the presbytery-gate they parted, Father Francis going in, Doctor Danton continuing his walk to the distant cottage of a poor sick patient. The man was dying. The young doctor lingered by his bedside until all was over, and morning was gray in the eastern sky when he left the house of death.
But what other light was that red in the sky, beside the light of morning? A crimson, lurid light that was spreading rapidly over the face of the cloudy heavens, and lighting even the village road with its unearthly glare? Fire! and in the direction of Danton Hall, growing brighter and brighter, and redder with every passing second. Others had seen it, too, and doors were flying open, and men and women flocking out.
"Fire! Fire!" a voice cried. "Danton Hall is on fire!"
And the cry was taken up and echoed and reëchoed, and every one was rushing pell-mell in the direction of the Hall.
Doctor Frank was one of the first to arrive. The whole front of the old mansion seemed a sheet of fire and the red flames rushed up into the black sky with an awful roar. The family were only just aroused, and, with the servants, were flocking out, half-dressed. Doctor Frank's anxious eyes counted them; there were the Captain and Grace, Harry and Agnes, and last of all, Kate.
The servants were all there, but there was one missing still. Doctor Frank was by Grace's side in a moment.
"Where is Eeny?"
"Eeny! Is she not here?"
"No. Good Heaven, Grace! Is she in the house?"