Down the river, in the full glare of the conflagration, floated the little convoy. The smoke was not so dense about them now; it hung high above, and rolled in dark billows far beyond. The stream was crimson with the reflection, and the faces of the party looked pallid in the lurid glare—always excepting those two sable faces, turned, with awe and dread, toward that sublime picture of devastation.
Suddenly Alice, who was in advance, dropped back.
"I must return to the house," she cried, as she came along side of the boat containing Ben and the old servants.
"No, you mus'n't," shouted Ben; "it's too late. It's getting mighty warm here now; and them flyin' branches 'll hit ye."
"I can't help it," replied Alice, firmly. "There's something in the garret I must have. Father would never forgive us for forgetting that trunk, Pallas."
"Law, suz! dat trunk! sure enough," groaned Pallas.
"I must get it," said the young girl.
"How can you, chile? it's locked, so yer can't get out the things, and of course you couldn't carry it down. Come back! oh, come back, dear chile, won't yer? What's forty trunks to yer own precious life, chile? and them sparks 'll set your dress on fire, and the heat 'll smother yer all up."
"I've got a hatchet, and I'll break it open," shouted Alice, now fast rowing back toward the cabin.
"That girl's right down crazy," said Ben Perkins; "here Saturn, take these oars, and make 'em fly. I'm goin' after her."