l to the
west it was burning brightly and running speedily to meet that swift
line of fire coming down the northern side of the square--death. One
narrowing avenue of escape was for the moment open. The lines on the
north and the west had not met. For some minutes, a pitifully few
minutes, there would be a gap between them. The horse, riderless and
running by the instinct of his kind might make that gap in time. With
a rider and stumbling under weight, it was useless to think of it.

With simple, characteristic decision, the Bishop slid a tired leg over
the horse and came heavily to the ground.

"You have done well, boy, you shall have your chance," he said, as he
hurried to loosen the heavy saddle and slip the bridle.

He looked again. There was no chance. The square of fire was closed.

"We stay together, then." And the Bishop mounted again.

Within the four walls of breathing death that were now closing around
them there was one slender possibility of escape. It was not a hope.
No. It was just a futile little tassel on the fringe of life. Still it
was to be played with to the last. For that again is the law, applying
equally to this bishop and to the little hunted furry things that ran
through the grass by his horse's feet.

One fire was burning behind the other. There was just a possibility
that a place might be found where the first fire would have burned
away a breathing place before the other fire came up to it. It might
be possible to live in that place until the second fire, finding
nothing to eat, should die. It might be possible. Thinking of this,
the Bishop started slowly down the hill toward the west.

Also, Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of Alden, thought of death. How should a
bishop die? He remembered Saint Paul, on bishops. But there seemed to
be nothing in those passages that bore on the matter immediately in
hand.

Joseph Winthrop, a simple man, direct and unafraid, guessed that he
would die very much as another man would die, with his rosary in his
hand.

But was there not a certain ignominy in being trapped here as the dumb
and senseless brute creatures were being trapped? For the life of him,
the Bishop could no more see ignominy in the matter or the manner of
the thing than he could see heroism.

He had come out on a bootless errand, to save the lives of certain
men, if it might be. God had not seen wisdom in his plan. That was
all. He had meant well. God meant better.

Into these quiet ref