at one end—­it came down with a lump of brickwork after it.  There was a scream from the women all huddled in the doorway to look at us—­a shout from the men—­two of them down but not hurt.  Another tug all together—­and the beam was loose at both ends.  We raised it, and gave the word to clear the doorway.  Now for the work! now for the rush at the door!  There is the fire streaming into the sky, streaming brighter than ever to light us!  Steady along the churchyard path—­steady with the beam for a rush at the door.  One, two, three—­and off.  Out rings the cheering again, irrepressibly.  We have shaken it already, the hinges must give if the lock won’t.  Another run with the beam!  One, two, three—­and off.  It’s loose! the stealthy fire darts at us through the crevice all round it.  Another, and a last rush!  The door falls in with a crash.  A great hush of awe, a stillness of breathless expectation, possesses every living soul of us.  We look for the body.  The scorching heat on our faces drives us back:  we see nothing—­above, below, all through the room, we see nothing but a sheet of living fire.

“Where is he?” whispered the servant, staring vacantly at the flames.

“He’s dust and ashes,” said the clerk.  “And the books are dust and ashes—­and oh, sirs! the church will be dust and ashes soon.”

Those were the only two who spoke.  When they were silent again, nothing stirred in the stillness but the bubble and the crackle of the flames.

Hark!

A harsh rattling sound in the distance—­then the hollow beat of horses’ hoofs at full gallop—­then the low roar, the all-predominant tumult of hundreds of human voices clamouring and shouting together.  The engine at last.

The people about me all turned from the fire, and ran eagerly to the brow of the hill.  The old clerk tried to go with the rest, but his strength was exhausted.  I saw him holding by one of the tombstones.  “Save the church!” he cried out faintly, as if the firemen could hear him already.

Save the church!

The only man who never moved was the servant.  There he stood, his eyes still fastened on the flames in a changeless, vacant stare.  I spoke to him, I shook him by the arm.  He was past rousing.  He only whispered once more, “Where is he?”

In ten minutes the engine was in position, the well at the back of the church was feeding it, and the hose was carried to the doorway of the vestry.  If help had been wanted from me I could not have afforded it now.  My energy of will was gone—­my strength was exhausted—­the turmoil of my thoughts was fearfully and suddenly stilled, now I knew that he was dead.

I stood useless and helpless—­looking, looking, looking into the burning room.

I saw the fire slowly conquered.  The brightness of the glare faded—­the steam rose in white clouds, and the smouldering heaps of embers showed red and black through it on the floor.  There was a pause—­then an advance all together of the firemen and the police which blocked up the doorway—­then a consultation in low voices—­and then two men were detached from the rest, and sent out of the churchyard through the crowd.  The crowd drew back on either side in dead silence to let them pass.