‘Sure it was only my fancy,’ she thought, ‘when I seemed to see a light yonder. ’Twill only be some of the poor mountain cattle sheltering from the storm.’
But at that moment a red gleam came from the room below, and before she could spring from her bed and look down the gleam had become a flame, lighting up the place like dawn. Conscious now of a real and awful peril, she endeavoured to descend the ladder, but a column of mingled smoke and flame drove her back, suffocating.
The room below was a sheet of fire, and piled against the walls was a heap of dry hay and straw, burning brightly, with flames that leapt up and caught the rotten timber. With a scream she again attempted to descend, but was instantly driven back. Then, scarcely knowing what she did, she closed the trap-door, and rushing to the window, threw it open.
She realized the truth now. The sounds she had heard, the light she had seen, had been made by human beings, and whether by design or by accident, the mill had been set on fire. Poor soul, she did not yet understand that there were men living in the world who would do even a deed like that to compass a fellow-creature’s death.
As she stood terror-stricken, a tongue of fire crept through the floor and caught the loose straw with which it was strewn. At this fresh horror she uttered a piercing shriek, for escape seemed impossible. As her voice rose on the night, it was answered by another from the darkness.
‘Mother! mother!’
Her heart stood still. Was she dreaming? Whose voice could it be that uttered that holy name? She leant out over the mill-wheel, and saw beyond her in the darkness the glimmer of a lanthorn.
‘Help! help!’ she cried; and as she cried the whole place seemed rocking beneath, and thick clouds of smoke and tongues of fire came up through the heating floor. Then again she heard the voice, crying and imploring.
‘Mother! mother!’
‘Who’s that?’ she cried.