had appeared. Suddenly Catharine cried--

"But where is Tom?"

Tom was the assistant, and slept in an offset at the back. Underneath
him was the kitchen, and beyond was the lower offset of the scullery.
Catharine darted towards the window.

"Catharine!" shrieked her mother, "where are you going? You cannot; you
are not dressed."

But she answered not a word, and had vanished before anybody could arrest
her. The smoke was worse, and almost suffocating, but she wrapped her
face and nose in her woollen gown, and reached Tom's door. He never
slept with it fastened, and the amazed youth was awakened by a voice
which he knew to be that of Miss Furze. Escape by the way she had come
was hopeless. The staircase was now opaque. Fortunately Tom's casement,
instead of being in the side wall, was at the end, and the drop to the
scullery roof was not above four feet. Catharine reached it easily, and,
Tom coming after her, helped her to scramble down into the yard. The
gate was unbarred, and in another minute they were safe with their
neighbours. The town was now stirring, and a fire-engine came, a machine
which attended fires officially, and squirted on them officially, but was
never known to do anything more, save to make the road sloppy. The
thick, brick party walls of the houses adjoining saved them, but Mr.
Furze's house was gutted from top to bottom. It was surrounded by a
crowd the next day, which stared unceasingly. The fire-engine still
operated on the ashes, and a great steam and smother arose. A charred
oak beam hung where it had always hung, but the roof had disappeared
entirely, and the walls of the old bedchamber, which had seen so much of