'Drive on, then,'--said Rollo, turning to put Wych Hazel into
the coach.

The man mumbled, that he did not know whether his horses would
go through the fire.

'_I_ know. They will. We will go straight on. You are not
afraid,' he said, meeting Hazel's eyes for a moment. It was
not more than half a second, but nature's telegraph works well
at such instants. Wych Hazel saw an eye steady and clear,
which seemed to brave danger and not know confusion. He saw a
wistful face, with the society mask thrown by, and only the
girl's own childish self remaining.

'Afraid to go on? no,' she said; and then felt a scarcely
defined smile that warmed his eyes and brow as he answered,
'There is no need'--and put her into the coach. In both touch
and tone there lay a promise; but she had no time to think of
it. The coach was moving on again; the women were very
frightened, and cried and moaned by way of relieving their
feelings at the expense of other people's. Mrs. Saddler, who
has hitherto used only her eyes, now clasped her fingers
together and fell to the muttering of short prayers over and
over under her breath, the urgency of which redoubled when the
coach had gone a little further and the fire and smoke began
to wreathe thicker on both sides of the road.

'There is no occasion, Mrs. Saddler,' said Mr. Falkirk
somewhat sternly. 'Be quiet, and try to show an example of