become fiercer and more fierce
every moment; "Joyce, what are they burning?"

"I cannot tell," she said. "I think it must be the Palace; but it looks
like the whole city. It is very terrible."

"Draw back the curtain for a moment, and let me look."

She obeyed him, and lifted also the curtain which shaded the window
nearest the bed.

Gilbert raised himself for a moment, and then fell back.

"I ought to be there," he said, "not here. Those poor people! those poor
people! Is there none to help?"

"It seems as if God had forgotten to be gracious," Joyce said, faintly.

"We must not say that, darling, for we know that there is a cause. This
may arouse many to think, who have never thought before, of the great
needs of the ignorant and uncared-for masses in great cities like
Bristol. They know not what they do. Close the curtains again, I cannot
look any longer."

He lay back on his pillow, and Joyce, drawing the curtain, resumed her
post by the window.

About ten o'clock, the gardener, who kept guard in the hall, came
upstairs.

"Mistress," he said, "Mr. Bengough is here, and would like to know how
the master is."

Joyce raised her hand to enjoin silence, hoping that Gilbert slept, and
went down into the hall.

Mr. Bengough's face was blackened, and his clothes smelt of smoke and
fire.

"It is an awful scene," he said, supporting himself against the wall,
while Joyce went to fetch him a glass of wine; "the palace is burnt to
the ground, and the lead on the cathedral is positively melting with the
heat. The deanery escaped by the pluck of the old Dean. He came out and
harangued the rioters, saying, 'Wait a bit, let's have three cheers
first--one cheer for the king, one cheer for the people, and one for
the old Dean!' The mob cheered lustily, and turned off to find other
prey. They say Park Street is to follow, and those houses which are
doomed are to have a white mark for a sign; but there is no order
amongst them, and every one of the chief rioters is drunk with the
Bishop's wine, taken from the cellars, which they have sold for a penny
a bottle! Now they have set fire to Queen's Square, and the Mansion
House is one blazing pile. The Mayor has come up to Berkley Square,
where I must follow him. The special constables were separated from him
in the crowd, and, can you believe it, Brereton's troops, after parading
round Queen's Square, have retired to their quarters. Confusion
everywhere, and no one knows wh