e large things of the night and the distant
glory of the stars were the only environment that he could bear.

Passers-by, had they been mean enough to pause and listen outside the
sheltering yew-hedge near which they sat, might have questioned the
poetry of their love-making, and have condemned an avowal of devotion
punctuated by barbarous slang; but the silence that fell between them
was full of tenderness and more easily understood than speech, and
perhaps the moon--an inquisitive person at the best of times--as she
peeped over the grey turrets of the house saw the dawn of a love as
single-hearted and as genuine as many sentiments which have been more
carefully analysed and described.

These were two happy, light-hearted persons, without very much to
recommend them except a certain straightforwardness of vision which
abhorred, as by a natural instinct, circuitous or crooked things, a
transparent honesty, and a simple acceptance of those obligations which
race and good-breeding demand.

At the present moment, out in the garden on the stone seat set in the
embrasure of the high yew-hedge, they were oblivious of everything in
the world except each other and the absorbing discovery of love.

They were the last to hear the cry of 'Fire!' which rang out from the
house, and they were still sitting undisturbed while men ran with hose
and buckets, and a clamour arose in the stable-yard for more water, and
a clatter of horses' hoofs could be heard as a groom galloped off for
the nearest fire-engine. The yew-hedged garden where they sat was
distant a long way from the house, and it was not until a heavy cloud
of smoke rose up against the sky that Peter's attention was attracted,
and he realized that the Norman tower was on fire.

He started up and ran to the place where grooms and helpers, gardeners
and strangers' coachmen, and waiters and guests were standing, with
hose and buckets, pouring a ridiculous little stream of water against
the burning pile. The fire had begun in the roof, and the smoke was
pouring from the narrow windows in the tower. No flames had shot up
yet, and the fire-engine from Sedgwick, prompt and well-served as it
always was, might be here any minute. The oak roof would burn slowly
and the walls were secure, but the tapestry in the lower room was dry
and old, and would fire like a bundle of shavings. An effort was made
by a body of men to force an entrance into the lower room and save what
they co