Say and Seal, Volume II. Warner Susan

of the bookshelves. Short time evidently there was for the family to remove their treasures from its destructive sweep. One corner of the room was in a light blaze; one or two lamps mockingly joined their light to the glare; the smoke was curling in grey wreaths and clouds over and around almost everything. Here an exquisite bust of Proserpine looked forlornly through it; and there a noble painting of Alston's shewed in richer lights than ever before, its harmony of colouring. The servants were, as Faith had said, engaged in endeavouring to keep the roof of the house from catching; only one old black retainer of the family, too infirm for that service, was helping them in the labour of rescuing books and treasures of art from the tire, which must take its way within the library. The wall it could not pass, that being, as Faith had also said, proof against it.

      "Stay where you are," Mr. Linden said, "and I will hand things to you"—adding under his breath, "if you love me, Faith!" And passing into the room he snatched Proserpine from her smoky berth and gave her to the old servant, handing Faith a light picture.

      "Don't let your sister come in here, Harrison," he said, springing up the steps to the upper shelves of the bookcase nearest the fire—"and don't let everybody do everything,—keep half in the passage and half here."

      "Yes, Sophy," said the doctor, "that is much better—don't you come in here, nor Miss Faith. And don't work too hard," he said gently to the latter as she came back after bestowing the picture. "I won't ask you not to work at all, for I know it would be of no use."

      "Just work like monkeys," Mr. Linden said from his high post, which was a rather invisible one. "Reuben!—I am glad of your help."

      "Reuben!" exclaimed Faith joyously. "How good that is. Give me those books, Reuben."—

      And after that the work went on steadily, with few words. It was too smoky an atmosphere to speak much in; and the utmost exertions on the part of every one of the workers left no strength nor time for it. "Like monkeys" they worked—the gentlemen handing things out of the smoke to the willing fingers and light feet that made quick disposition of them. Quick it had need to be, for the fire was not waiting for them. And in an incredibly short time—incredible save to those who have seen the experiment tried,—books and engravings were emptied from shelf after shelf—compartment after compartment—and lodged within the house. Not a spare inch of space—not a spare second of time, it seemed, was gone over; and the treasures of the library were in quick process of shifting from one place to another. It was rather a weary part Faith had to play, to stop short at the doorway and see the struggle with smoke and fire that was going on inside; and an anxious eye and trembling heart followed the movements of one of the workers there whenever she returned to her post of waiting. She would rather have been amid the smoke and the fire too, than to stand off looking on; but she did what she was desired—and more than she was desired; for she said not a word, like a wise child. Only did her work with no delay and came back again. Two excellent workers were the doctor and Mr. Linden; Reuben was a capital seconder; and no better runners than the two ladies need have been found; while the old Judge and his old serving man did what they could. There was every appearance that their efforts would be successful; the fire was to be sure, greatly increased and fast spreading, but so also the precious things that it endangered were already in great measure secured. Probably very little would have been lost to be regretted, if the workers had not suffered a slight interruption.

      Mr. Linden was in the middle of the room unlocking the drawers of the library table, which was too large to be removed. Old Nero, the black man, had taken one of the lamps which yet remained burning, a large heavy one, to carry away. He was just opposite the table, when a stone bust of some weight, which had stood above the bookcases, detached by the failure of its supports, came down along with some spars of the burning wood and fell against a rich screen just on the other side of Nero. The screen was thrown over on him; he struggled an instant to right himself and it, holding his lamp off at an awful angle towards Mr. Linden; then, nobody could tell how it was, Nero had saved himself and struggled out from the falling screen and burning wood, and Faith and the lamp lay under it, just at Mr. Linden's feet. Yet hardly under it—so instantly was it thrown off. The lamp was not broken, which was a wonder; but Faith was stunned, and the burning wood had touched her brow and singed a lock of hair.

      In such a time of confusion all sorts of things come and go, unseen but by the immediate actors. Dr. Harrison and Reuben were intent upon a heavy picture; the Judge and his daughter were in the other room. And Faith was lifted up and borne swiftly along to the drawing-room sofa, and there was cold water already on her brow, before the others reached her. She was only a little stunned and had opened her eyes when they came up. They came round her, all the gang of workers, like a swarm of bees, and with as many questions and inquiries. Faith smiled at them all, and begged they would go back and finish what they were doing.

      "I'll stay here a little while," she said; "my fall didn't hurt me a bit, to speak of. Do go! don't anybody wait for me."

      There seemed nothing else to be done; she would own to wanting nothing; and her urgency at length prevailed with them, however reluctantly, to leave her and go back to the library. But Mr. Linden stood still as the others moved off.

      "Where are you hurt?" he said in a low voice.

      "I suppose the fall bruised me a little bit. It didn't do me any real harm. Don't wait here for me."

      "Where?" Mr. Linden said.

      "Where it bruised me? A little on my head—and elbow—and side; altogether nothing!"

      He sat down by her, passing his hand softly over the scorched hair; then said, "Let me see your arm."

      "Oh no!—that's not necessary. I said I was bruised, but it isn't much."

      "Faith, you have not told me the whole."

      Her eye shrank from his instantly, and her colour flitted from red to pale.

      "There is nothing more I need tell you. They will all be back here—or some of them—if you stay. I'll tell you anything you please to morrow," she added with a smile. But he only repeated, "Tell me now—I have a right to know."

      Her lip took its childish look, but her eye met him now. "Don't look so!"—she said, "as if there was any reason for it. I think some of the fluid from that lamp ran down on my arm—and it smarts. Don't stay here to look grave about me!—it isn't necessary."

      He bent his head and gave her one answer to all that—then sprang up and went for Dr. Harrison. Faith tried to hinder him, in vain.

      There was little now to detain anybody in the library, he found, and a good deal to drive everybody out of it. The fire had seemed to take advantage of its unwatched opportunity and had put it pretty well out of any one's power to rescue much more from its rapacity. Reuben and Dr. Harrison were carrying out the drawers of the table, which Mr. Linden had been unlocking; and the doctor dropped the one he held the instant he caught the sense of Mr. Linden's words. He went through the other way, summoning his sister.

      Faith was lying very quietly and smiled at them, but her colour went and came with odd suddenness. She would not after all let the doctor touch her; but rising from the sofa said she would go up stairs and let Sophy see what was wanting. The three went up, and Mr. Linden was left alone.

      He stood still for a moment where they left him, resting his face upon his hand, but then he went back to the burning room; and stationing himself at the doorway, bade all the rest keep back, and those that could to bring him water. Reuben sprang to this work as he had done to the other; some of the servants had come down by this time; and Mr. Linden stood there, dashing the water about the doorway and into the room, upon the floor, the great table, and such of the bookcases as he could come near. The effect was soon evident. The blazing bits of carved moulding as they fell to the floor, went out instead of getting help to burn; and the heavier shelves and wainscot which being of hard wood burned slowly, began to give out steam as well as smoke. The door and doorway were now perfectly safe—the fire hardly could spread into the passage, a danger which had been imminent when Mr. Linden came, but which the family seemed to have forgotten; secure in their fireproof walls, they forgot the un-fireproof floor, nor seemed to remember how far along the passage the cinders might drift. When there was really nothing more for him to do, and he had given the servants very special instructions as to the