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.

'What's he doing? what are we waiting for? Can you see?' he
asked impatiently.

'Yes--they are trying to find out which way to go, sir.'

Mr. Falkirk made a movement as if to get out himself; then
checked it, seeing the helpless bevy of women who were
dependent on him and now in the utmost perturbation. Standing
still tried their nerves. To keep order withinside the coach
was as much as he could attend to. Cries and moans and
questions of involved incoherency, poured upon him. Would they
ever get home? would the fire catch the coach? would it
frighten the horses? what were they stopping for?--were some of
the simplest inquiries that Mr. Falkirk had to hear and
answer; in the midst of which one of the ladies assured