vise and correct my beliefs one of these days when I
have thought a little further.' She suddenly breathed a sigh and
added, 'How transitory our best emotions are! In talking of myself I am
heartlessly forgetting Charlotte, and becoming happy again. I won't be
happy to-night for her sake!'

A few minutes after this their attention was attracted by a noise of
footsteps running along the street; then a heavy tramp of horses, and
lumbering of wheels. Other feet were heard scampering at intervals, and
soon somebody ascended the staircase and approached their door. The head
waiter appeared.

'Ma'am, Stancy Castle is all afire!' said the waiter breathlessly.

Somerset jumped up, drew aside the curtains, and stepped into the
bow-window. Right before him rose a blaze. The window looked upon the
street and along the turnpike road to the very hill on which the castle
stood, the keep being visible in the daytime above the trees. Here
rose the light, which appeared little further off than a stone's throw
instead of nearly three miles. Every curl of the smoke and every wave
of the flame was distinct, and Somerset fancied he could hear the
crackling.

Paula had risen from her seat and joined him in the window, where she
heard some people in the street saying that the servants were all safe;
after which she gave her mind more fully to the material aspects of the
catastrophe.

The whole town was now rushing off to the scene of the conflagration,
which, shining straight along the street, showed the burgesses' running
figures distinctly upon the illumined road. Paula was quite ready to act
upon Somerset's suggestion that they too should hasten to the spot, and
a fly was got ready in a few minutes. With lapse of time Paula evinced
more anxiety as to the fate of her castle, and when they had driven as
near as it was prudent to do, they dismounted, and went on foot into
the throng of people which was rapidly gathering from the town and
surrounding villages. Among the faces they recognized Mr. Woodwell,
Havill the architect, the rector of the parish, the curate, and many
others known to them by sight. These, as soon as they saw the young
couple, came forward with words of condolence, imagining them to have
been burnt out of bed, and vied with each other in offering them a
lodging. Somerset explained where they were staying and that they
required no accommodation, Paula interrupting with 'O my poor horses,
what has become of them?'

'