Lady Fleetwood's valuable life. She had the news by word
of mouth from the lovely Mrs. Kirby-Levellier, sister-in-law to the
countess. We are convinced we have proof of Providence intervening when
some terrific event of the number at its disposal accomplishes the thing
and no more than the thing desired. Pitiful though it may seem for a
miserly old lord to be blown up in his bed, it is necessarily a subject
of congratulation if the life, or poor remnant of a life, sacrificed was
an impediment to our righteous wishes. But this is a theme for the Dame,
who would full surely have committed another breach of the treaty, had
there not been allusion to her sisterhood's view of the government of
human affairs.

On the day preceding the catastrophe, Chillon's men returned to work.
He and Carinthia and Mr. Wythan lunched with Henrietta at Stoneridge.
Walking down to Lekkatts, they were astounded to see the figure of the
spectral old lord on the plank to the powder store, clad in his long
black cloak, erect. He was crossing, he told them, to count his barrels;
a dream had disturbed him. Chillon fell to rapid talk upon various
points of business, and dispersed Lord Levellier's memory relating to
his errand. Leaning on Carinthia's arm, he went back to the house, where
he was put to bed in peace of mind. His resuscitated physical vigour
blocked all speculation for the young people assembled at Stoneridge
that night. They hardly spoke; they strangled thoughts forming as larvae
of wishes. Henrietta would be away to Lady Arpington's next day, Mr.
Wythan to Wales. The two voyagers were sadder by sympathy than the two
whom they were leaving to the clock's round of desert sameness. About
ten at night Chillon and Mr. Wythan escorted Carinthia, for the night's
watch beside her uncle, down to Lekkatts. It was midway that the
knocks on air, as of a muffled mallet at a door and at farther doors of
caverns, smote their ears and shook the ground.

After an instant of the silence following a shock, Carinthia touched her
brother's arm; and Chillon said:

'Not my powder!'

They ran till they had Lekkatts in sight. A half moon showed the house;
it stood. Fifty paces below, a column of opal smoke had begun to wreathe
and stretch a languid flag. The 'rouse' promised to Lord Levellier by
Daniel Charner's humorous mates had hit beyond its aim. Intended to give
him a start--or 'One-er in return,' it surpassed his angry shot at the
body of them in ef