"Look where?" cried Mrs. Lively, whirling around.
"There."
"Where is there?"
"Dead-house."
"The dead-house! Good Heavens! it's afire!"
"This fire-demon," said the doctor, "isn't going to let any of us off. It strikes at the living through their dead."
The dead-house, fortunately empty, was consumed, the headboards and crosses were burned, the trees were scorched and blackened, the graves were seared: all the life which the years had drawn from the entombed ashes was laid again in ashes.
After a horrible suspense these graveyard campers saw the fiery tide recede from their quarters and sweep on to the north. Then came on the weird, elfinish night, that mockery of day, when, except in the direction of the lake, great mountains of fire loomed up on every side against the horizon, so that one felt environed, besieged, engirdled by horrors.
"Try to get some sleep," said Dr. Lively to his wife when the torrent had swept by to the north.
"Sleep!" said Mrs. Lively. "How can anybody sleep with these terrible fires all around? It seems to me as if I were in some part of the infernal regions. I shall always know after this how hell looks."