His tone was so calm the women took courage from it, and ventured to use their eyes again.  The stage-coach had left the burning road; they were going across the woods in another direction; the air was soon visibly more free of smoke.  The driver was hopeful, and sending his horses along at a good pace.  The shower withinside dried up; and Rollo throwing himself back upon the seat gazed steadfastly out of the window.  Wych Hazel had gazed at him while he spoke to the others, with a sort of examining curiosity in her brown eyes that was even amused; but now she became as intent as himself on affairs outside of the coach.

For a while all was quiet.  Mrs. Saddler sat in brown stupefaction after having received such rebukes, and no more apples were brought forward on the front seat.  The women whispered together and watched their fellow-travellers—­Rollo especially.  But at length it became evident to the keener observers of the party that the air was thickening again; the smell of burning woods which filled the air was growing more pungent, the air more warm; those visible waves of the blue atmosphere began to appear again.  Once Mr. Falkirk leaned forward as if to address Rollo; he thought better of it and fell back without speaking.  And on they went.  The smell of burning and the thick stifling smoke became very oppressive.

‘There is a large tract on fire, Rollo,’ Mr. Falkirk remarked at length.

‘Probably.’

In another minute the coach halted.  Rollo put his head out of the window to speak to the coachman, and the cool tone in which he asked, ‘What is it?’ Wych Hazel felt at the time and remembered afterwards.  The driver’s answer was unheard by all but one.  Rollo threw himself out.

‘Stay where you are,’ he said to Mr. Falkirk as he shut the door.  ‘You keep order and I’ll make order.’

He went forward.  The coach stood still, with that fearful wreathing of the blue vapour thicker and nearer around it.  The smell became so strong that the thought forced itself upon every one, they must have come upon the fire again.  The woman wanted to get out.  Mr. Falkirk dissuaded them.  Wych Hazel kept absolutely still.  In a moment or two Rollo appeared at Mr. Falkirk’s side of the coach, and spoke rather low.  ’I am going to make explorations.  Keep all as you are.’

Mr. Falkirk spoke lower still.  ‘Is the fire ahead?’

The answer was not in English or French.  Looking from her window as far as she could, Wych Hazel now saw Rollo cross the road and make for a tall pine which stood at a little distance.  She saw him throw his coat and hat on the ground; then catching one of the long lithe branches he was in a moment off the ground and in the tree; yes, and making determinately for the top of it.  The ‘red squirrel’ had not learnt climbing for nothing; agile, steady, quick, he mounted and mounted.  She grew dizzy with looking.  Mr. Falkirk had not the same view.