who possesses them.  Too horror-stricken to utter a sound, Gerald sprang at her, and seizing her with fearless hands, forced the poor struggling girl by main strength down on to the floor.  No one near to help!  No water at hand!  Not so much as a rug or a shawl to throw over her and stifle the flames!  Yes! there was the table-cover, heavy and thick, as if created for this very life-service.  Gerald tore it off,—­books, boxes, china cups, and glass vases crashing to the ground together,—­and flinging it over Phebe, threw herself on top of it, pressing it close in every direction with hands and limbs, and smothering the flames resolutely beneath it.  It was but a moment, though a moment of lifetime horror, and all was over.  There was only the fire on the hearth hissing and leaping as if in anger at its defeated design.

“Phebe!” whispered Gerald, hoarsely; “Phebe!”

Phebe had ceased to struggle, and lay perfectly motionless, apparently scarcely breathing, but she opened her eyes and smiled faintly as Gerald called her.  The fright and the pain had taken her speech away.  She could not find it at once.  But the smile gave new hope and energy to Gerald.

“Never mind talking,” she exclaimed, springing briskly to her feet.  “If you are only alive it’s all right.  Don’t attempt to stir.  I’ll get some one.”

“Aunt Lydia—­don’t let her know,” Phebe managed to gasp.

“No, no, of all people!” cried Gerald.  She paused an instant.  Not a servant in the house! whom was she to summon?  A vague idea seized her of running into the street and catching hold of the first passer, when at the moment the door opened, and Mr. Halloway appeared on the threshold.

“Is there any one at home?  Shall I come in, please?” called the bright, cheery voice.

“Mr. Halloway! oh, thank Heaven!” And seizing him by the arm, Gerald dragged him over to where Phebe lay.  “Help me to take her up-stairs to her room.”

Denham staggered back unutterably shocked and horrified as he recognized the prostrate form at his feet, the fire-light playing mockingly over it and revealing the white face and loosened hair.  For the instant he thought her dead.  He caught his breath and put his hand up over his eyes.  “My God! what has happened?”

“Her dress took fire—­she is burned, no, not badly I am sure, but let us get her up-stairs without losing time.  Quick!”

Denham put Gerald aside almost roughly, and stooping down lifted Phebe tenderly in his arms.  She moaned as he touched her, but smiled up at him as she had done at Gerald.

“Do I hurt you, dear?” he asked, with infinite pity and tenderness in his voice.  “I will be as gentle as I can.  Poor child! poor child!”

“Let me help you,” said Gerald.  “The stairs are steep and I am very strong.”

She came nearer, but he shook his head.  “I need no help.”

“This way, then,” said Gerald, shortly.  “And don’t speak.  Miss Lydia mustn’t know.”