"Fire! fire! fire!" The cry, loud and clear, came as she turned and fled, he after her down the dark pa.s.sage, led by the glimmer of her white gown.

Had she gone mad, or had she really seen something?

There was a little outside door, once the postern gate of the old Keep, which opened at the angle of the wing and the main part of the house. He followed her through that, losing her almost immediately in the dense white fog which clung to the damp walls. The windows of Sir Geoffrey's study were open, and as he ran past them, following the path, he heard something which sent the blood in a wild leap through his veins. It was a furious insistent ringing of the telephone call bell, which Sir Geoffrey, in his first delight with his new toy on the point, had put in so that he might be constantly in touch with the workmen.

Then something _was_ wrong. What? As he spurted ahead towards Helen's ghost-like figure seen in the clearer atmosphere beyond, he asked himself how she could have known.

"Where are you going?" he called breathlessly, "that isn't the way to the hotel."

She turned for a moment, then ran on, her voice coming back to him, "It is the light--the light on Betty Cam's chair--the light for the ship."

"Helen! Helen! go back, what good can you do? Let me go and see," he called, striving desperately to overtake her; but she was as swift as a hare, and so dimly seen, too, dodging about among those huge boulders. And everywhere the sea-fog hung thick. "Helen! Helen!" His cry came back to him, but no other sound did he hear save the rising roar of the waves as he neared the cliff.

Right ahead of him rose Betty Cam's chair. Well! if she was going there he would catch her up then; and he would see--yes! he would see from there if anything was wrong.

For a moment he saw her above him,--on the sky-line was it? And, if so, why was the sky so clear? Was there a glow? Great G.o.d! there was!

a glow in the sky and at her feet.

"Helen! Helen!" he cried as he sped on. "Tell me, what is it?"

There was no answer, but the next instant he had gained the crest, and could see. It was fire, but fire seen through fog. The strangest sight--a huge vignette, a magic-lantern slide, sharp in the centre, fading to an aureole. Close as they were, he could see nothing save dim shadows in the blaze of light.

"The ship! the ship! It is coming so fast--oh! so fast," said a monotonous voice beside him. Helen--Good G.o.d! how ill she looked, all unlike herself--was seated on Betty Cam's chair, pointing with her right hand far out to sea.

"Nell!" he said swiftly, "Come! I can't leave you here, and I must get down at once, the road's just below us, they will need all the help----"

As he spoke he knew some was coming, for a live spark showed swift curving through the white fog where the road should be, racing like a great fuse to the heart of a mine. It must be a motor--Hirsch's most likely--Thank Heaven he was at least a man of action! Yes, that was his voice coining back as the light flashed, raced, disappeared.

"For G.o.d's sake, be calm, sir, we've done all we could, we'll do all we can!"

Not true! not true! except the last. "Helen!" he cried roughly, "your father--come!"

Did she smile? He did not wait to make certain, but leaving her, dashed down the hill. Halfway he turned doubtfully, hoping she had followed him; but, already almost lost in the mist, he saw the lonely figure with the faint glow about it still seated on Betty Cam's chair.

As he dashed on again a curious shuddering boom rolled through the fog. He wondered vaguely what it was, but his whole mind was set on that nebulous circle of flaming light. He was nearer now, the vignetting grew sharper, towers and balconies began to loom luridly, beset by tongues of flame. It must be all on fire--a wide sweep from end to end.

Again that shuddering boom--what was it? My G.o.d! Could Helen be right again, and was it a ship in distress? As he ran, he counted ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, fifty-five, sixty. A ship! a ship, indeed! Was there to be no ending or horrors? He was on the upward rise now. The aureole had gone. He could see the flames leaping while the crowd stood still.

A large crowd, thank G.o.d! so they must be all out surely!

He met a man running back, calling as he ran, "A ship in distress on the rocks--the life-boat--more help needed there, come!"

"Are they all out?" he shouted, and the man nodded as he ran.

A relief, indeed!

He slackened speed, as more fisher-folk ran past him back to _their_ work, _their_ trade.

All out! my G.o.d! what a relief! No! by Heaven! There was a sudden stir in the crowd, and high upon the furthermost seaword balcony, as yet untouched by the flames, a little white figure showed bending over the bal.u.s.trade, and calling to some one below.

The answer reached him, making him leap forward--

"All right, little lady! I'm coming!"

There was a struggle ahead of him, a tall figure breaking loose from hands that would have held it back; and then his uncle----

"For G.o.d's sake," he shouted as he ran--"think of Helen!"

The voice arrested Sir Geoffrey for a second, and Ned never forgot the look of that scared, kindly, distraught face he saw for a moment.

"I am thinking of her," came the answer. Then the pause ended.

Ned was after him without a moment's consideration; life seemed so small a thing to him that he could not stop to think of it; but Ted Cruttenden sprang forward, also, to hold him back. The Fates did that, however, for as he would have plunged into the burning house, the upper hinge of one of the wide hall doors gave way, and as it swung inwards with a crash, just touched Ned's forearm, and snapped it like a bulrush.

As he staggered, Ted had hold of him. "You can't," he said. "He knows every turn, and may do it yet if the stairs stand. It's madness for you. And my G.o.d! there's Mrs. Tresillian. Why did they let her come?

we didn't tell her on purpose----"

Ned, dazed with a pain he had hardly located, had only time to wonder stupidly how she had managed to change her dress--she wore a coat and skirt--before she was beside him clinging to his unhurt arm.

"Father!" she said. "Ned, where is father?"

He shook his head. "Doing his duty, I suppose," he muttered; "I tried to follow, but got hurt. Try to keep calm if you can, Nell, there's a chance still."

Yes! a chance, if the fire-proof stairs were fire-proof. She stood quiet, silent; only once he heard her say to herself, "Why did I wait--oh! why didn't I come at once?"

So the minutes pa.s.sed, and the crowds of Camhaven fisherfolk giving up hope of more excitement here tonight, sought it elsewhere, though already a murmur had come out of the fog that there was no immediate danger; a big ship was on the sunken rocks, and had established communication with the sh.o.r.e. That was all.

And still the minutes pa.s.sed, and Ned stood holding Helen's hand in his.

Yet there was no sign of returning feet upon the fireproof stair.

A little breeze springing up had drifted the smoke south-west, obscuring the balcony so they could see nothing.

Those who knew her began to look at her with pitying eyes. Then in an instant something in which all else was forgotten--a sharp sound like the crack of a rifle, a quick upburst of sparks, then a great crash, and for a few moments silence and darkness.

The roof had fallen in.

"I'll take her home, Lord Blackborough," said Peter Ramsay, for all her height lifting her easily. "You will be wanted here. Mr. Hirsch, I may use your motor?"

"Broken," replied Mr. Hirsch, who was as white as a sheet, the tears almost running down his cheeks. "I drove it myself, and I didn't understand, but the Wrexham's is here. My G.o.d! what a frightful thing--_shrecklich! schrecklich!_" His voice shook; these things were not in the bond.

Yet one bond had been kept, for in an hour's time, when the flames had eaten their full of the frail thing which had dared to usurp Cam's point, they found Sir Geoffrey half-way down the stair caught in a trap between two gaps in what had been scheduled as a fire-proof staircase.

He held the child in his arms, her head, wrapped in his coat to preserve her from the smoke, nestled close upon his breast.

"For ever never an-naye!" That promise anyhow had been kept as a Pentreath should have kept it!