le of the stream which had no
voice at all by day. Yes. One other sound there was, a sound as of some
one moving uneasily in a creaking chair. Creak, creak, creak It grew
momently. Crackle, crackle, crackle. Still it grew. A tongue like the
tongue of a snake--so light and fine and swift was it--flashed out of
a crevice, and flew back again, flashed out again, and again withdrew.
Then the snake's body flashed out after it, and melted on the moonlit
air. Another, and another, and another. Then a low roaring noise, and
all the windows of the basement shone out ruby-coloured, and the moon
looked bleared by contrast.

A distant voice from the village called out 'Fire!' There was a crash
of opening windows, a tumult of clapping doors, a storm of barking dogs,
excited voices, hurrying feet.

Old and young, male and female, robed anyhow, ran hard towards the
farmhouse, and poured in a thunderous stream across the echoing wooden
bridge which spanned the river. The farmhouse was a tower of flame,
fantastic turrets springing here and there. The dry timbers, centuries
old, made the best of food for fire, and the place flamed like a
tar-barrel. The screams of doomed horses came with hideous uproar from
the stables in the rear.

The farmer and his wife, the men servants and the maid servants, were
in the garden, all pale with fear and helpless; but the mother tore the
night with calling on her daughter's name.

Bulldog John and his rival came last of all, though they ran like
hounds, and they crossed the bridge and dashed through the crowd
together.

'Oh, John,' cried the agonised mother, clutching at him as though he
were an ark of safety. 'You'll save her--won't you? God help her! You'll
save her--won't you, John?'

One figure, black as night against the fierce glow of the flame, dashed
across the space between the crowd and the farmhouse. It was hardly
seen, and scarce believed in by those who thought they saw.

'John,' cried the wretched mother, 'you'll save her! You as loved her
so! You'll save her!'

There is no manhood in the world that needs to be ashamed to hang back
from an enterprise so hopeless and so terrible. The woman shrieked and
prayed--the man stood motionless with white face and staring eyes.

Then came one wild cry from half a dozen throats at once, and next
upleapt a roar that struck the noise of the fire out of being for an
instant. For the figure, black against the fiery glow, was back again,
by som