uin, when he was seized
in the strong arms of Henry Stuart, who, with the assistance of Ole
Thorwald, forcibly prevented him from doing that which would have
resulted in almost certain death.

The pastor's head sunk on his breast; the excitement of action and hope
no longer sustained him; with a deep groan he fell to the earth
insensible.

CHAPTER NINE.

BAFFLED AND PERPLEXED--PLANS FOR A RESCUE.

While the men assembled round the prostrate form of Mr Mason were
attempting to rescue him from his state of stupor, poor Corrie began to
shew symptoms of returning vitality. A can of water, poured over him by
Henry, did much to restore him. But no sooner was he enabled to
understand what was going on, and to recall what had happened, than he
sprang up with a wild cry of despair, and rushed towards the blazing
house. Again Henry's quick arm arrested a friend in his mad career.

"Oh! she's there! Alice is _there_!" shrieked the boy, as he struggled
passionately to free himself.

"You can do nothing, Corrie," said Henry, trying to soothe him.

"Coward!" gasped the boy in a paroxysm of rage, as he clenched his fist
and struck his captor on the chest with all his force.

"Hold him," said Henry, turning to John Bumpus, who at that moment came
up.

Bumpus nodded intelligently, and seized the boy, who uttered a groan of
anguish as he ceased a struggle which he felt was hopeless in such an
iron gripe.

"Now, friends--all of you," shouted Henry, the moment he was relieved of
his charge, "little Alice is in that house--we must pull it down! who
will lend a hand?"

He did not pause for an answer, but seizing an axe, rushed through the
smoke and began to cut down the door-posts. The whole party there
assembled, numbering about fifty, rushed forward, as one man, to aid in
the effort. The attempt was a wild one. Had Henry considered for a
moment, he would have seen that, in the event of their succeeding in
pulling down the blazing pile, they should in all probability smother
the child in the ruins.

"The shell is in the out-house," said Corrie, eagerly, to the giant who
held him.

"Wot shell?" inquired Bumpus.

"The shell that they blow like a horn to call the people to work with."

"Ah! you're sane again," said the sailor, releasing him; "go, find it,
lad, and blow till yer cheeks crack."

Corrie was gone long before Jo had concluded even that short remark. In
another second the harsh but loud sound of the