ise than the porter, and while
he was coming she heard a voice at a window of the train say that
something was "a good bit off--a mile from the town." That was just what
Poynton was. Then her heart stood still at the white wonder in the
station-master's face.

"You've come down to it, miss, already?"

At this she knew. "Poynton's on fire?"

"Gone, miss--with this awful gale. You weren't wired? Look out!" he
cried in the next breath, seizing her; the train was going on, and she
had given a lurch that almost made it catch her as it passed. When it
had drawn away she became more conscious of the pervading smoke, which
the wind seemed to hurl in her face.

"_Gone?_" She was in the man's hands; she clung to him.

"Burning still, miss. Ain't it quite too dreadful? Took early this
morning--the whole place is up there."

In her bewildered horror she tried to think. "Have they come back?"

"Back? They'll be there all day!"

"Not Mr. Gereth, I mean--nor his wife?"

"Nor his mother, miss--not a soul of _them_ back. A pack o' servants in
charge--not the old lady's lot, eh? A nice job for care-takers! Some
rotten chimley or one of them portable lamps set down in the wrong
place. What has done it is this cruel, cruel night." Then as a great
wave of smoke half choked them, he drew her with force to the little
waiting room. "Awkward for you, miss--I see!"

She felt sick; she sank upon a seat, staring up at him. "Do you mean
that great house is _lost_?"

"It was near it, I was told, an hour ago--the fury of the flames had got
such a start. I was there myself at six, the very first I heard of it.
They were fighting it then, but you couldn't quite say they had got it
down."

Fleda jerked herself up. "Were they saving the things?"

"That's just where it was, miss--to get _at_ the blessed things. And the
want of right help--it maddened me to stand and see 'em muff it. This
ain't a place, like, for anything organized. They don't come up to a
_reel_ emergency."

She passed out of the door that opened toward the village and met a
great acrid gust. She heard a far-off windy roar which, in her dismay,
she took for that of flames a mile away, and which, the first instant,
acted upon her as a wild solicitation. "I must go there." She had
scarcely spoken before the same omen had changed into an appalling
check.

Her vivid friend, moreover, had got before her; he clearly suffered from
the nature of the control he had to exercise.