“Fire!”

The bell clanged on slowly over his head, but otherwise there was no response.  Stumbling along, blinded, suffocated, not knowing at any moment whether he might not be precipitated down some steep flight of stairs or over some high gallery in the building, he struggled to follow what seemed to be a cooling breath of air which streamed through the smoke as though blowing in from some open door, and as he felt his way with his hands on the wall he suddenly heard the organ.

“Thank God!” he thought, “I am near the chapel!  The fire has broken out in this part of the building—­the monks do not know and are still at prayer.  I shall be in time to save them all! . . .”

A small tongue of red flame flashed upon his eyes—­he recoiled—­then pressed forward again, seeing a door in front of him.  The organ music sounded nearer and nearer; he rushed to the door, half choked and dizzy, and pushing it open, reeled into the organ loft, where at the organ, sat the monk Ambrosio, shaking out such a storm of music as might have battered the gates of Heaven or Hell.  Varillo leaped forward—­then, as he saw the interior of the chapel, uttered one agonized shriek, and stood as though turned to stone.  For the whole place was in flames!—­everything from the altar to the last small statue set in a niche, was ablaze, and only the organ, raised like a carven pinnacle, appeared to be intact, set high above the blazing ruin.  Enrapt in his own dreams, Ambrosio sat, pouring thunderous harmony out of the golden-tubed instrument which as yet, with its self-acting machinery, was untouched by the flames, and Varillo half-mad with terror, sprang at him like a wild beast

“Stop!” he cried “Stop, fool!  Do you not see—­can you not understand—­the monastery is on fire!”

Ambrosio shook him off, his brown eyes were clear and bright,—­his whole expression stern and resolved.

“I know it,” he replied.  “And we shall burn—­you and I—­together!”

’Oh, mad brute!” cried Varillo.  “Tell me which way to go!—­where are the brethren?”

“Outside!” he answered “Safe!—­away at the farther end of the garden, digging their own graves, as usual!  Do you not hear the bell?  We are alone in the building!—­I have locked the doors,—­the fire is kindled inside!  We shall be dead before the flames burst through!”

“Madman!” shrieked Varillo, recoiling as the thick volumes of smoke rolled up from the blazing altar.  “Die if you must!—­but I will not!  Where are the windows?—­the doors?—­”

“Locked and bolted fast,” said Ambrosio, with a smile of triumph.  “There is no loophole of escape for you!  The world might let you go free to murder and betray,—­but I—­Ambrosio,—­a scourge in the Lord’s hand—­I will never let you go!  Pray—­pray before it is too late!  I heard the devil tempt you—­I heard you yield to his tempting!  You were both going to ruin a woman—­that is devil’s work.  And God told me what to do—­to burn the evil out by flame, and purify your soul!  Pray, brother, pray!—­for in the searching and tormenting fire it will be too late!  Pray!  Pray!”