takable smell pervaded the room--the
smell of singed and burning clothing. A cloud of blackened rags
fluttered to the ground as the last fold of the curtain was unloosed,
and among them--most pitiful sight of all--were stray gleams of gold
where a severed lock of hair lay on the carpet, its end still turned in
glistening curl.

"Rosalind! Rosalind!" gasped the poor mother, clutching the arms of her
chair, and looking as if she were about to faint herself, as she gazed
upon the pitiful figure of her child. The lower portion of Rosalind's
dress was practically uninjured, but the gauze skirt and all the frills
and puffing round the neck hung in tatters, her hair was singed and
roughened, and as the air touched her skin she screamed with pain, and
held her hands up to her neck and face.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I am burning! Cover me up! Cover me up! I shall die!
Oh, mother, mother! The pain--the pain!"

She reeled as if about to faint, yet if anyone attempted to approach she
beat them off with frantic hands, as if in terror of being touched.

One of the ladies ran forward with a shawl, and wrapped it forcibly
round the poor scarred shoulders, while the gentlemen hurried out of the
room to send for a doctor and make necessary arrangements. One of the
number came back almost immediately, with the news that he had failed to
discover the cause of the accident. There was no sign of fire upstairs,
the ballroom was dark and deserted, the servants engaged in setting the
entertaining rooms in order. For the present, at least, the cause of
the accident remained a mystery, and the distracted father and mother
occupied themselves in trying to pacify their child.

"I'll carry you upstairs, my darling. We will put something on your
skin which will take away the pain. Try to be quiet, and tell us how it
happened. What were you doing to set yourself on fire?"

"Peggy! Peggy!" gasped Rosalind faintly. Her strength was failing by
this time, and she could hardly speak; but Lady Darcy's face stiffened
into an awful anger at the sound of that name. She turned like a
tigress to her husband, her face quivering with anger.

"That girl again! That wicked girl! It is the second time to-night!
She has killed the child; but she shall be punished! I'll have her
punished! She shall not kill my child, and go free! I'll--I'll--"

"Hush, hush, Beatrice! Take care! You frighten Rosalind. We must get
her to bed. There is not a momen