Chapter XVI: Across the Way

COLONEL SMYTH came down the ladders quickly, though stepping with caution, even with difficulty. On reaching the ground, his first words were, "Where is my little girl?"

"She's all right, sir,—taken to a house near. You'd best stand back," one of the men said. "Is there nobody else in the house?"

Colonel Smyth half answered in the negative, and checked himself. "I do not know. There is a servant girl,—sleeping downstairs, I believe. What of her?"

"Pulled out of her bed just in time, sir,—found first of all, when the alarm was given. Nobody else, you are sure?"

"Quite sure. Thank God!" the Colonel said involuntarily. "Then all are saved. No, I am forgetting,—how about the girl I let down from the window?"

"Fell to the ground and broke her leg," the informant answered. "A doctor has seen to her, and sent her straight off to hospital. He is the same that carried the little girl away too."

"No hope of rescuing any of my belongings, I suppose," the Colonel said, looking up regretfully at his flame-wreathed drawing-room windows. "Well—let them go. Life is worth more than books and pictures. Where is the child?"

A hand was laid on his arm, and a voice said, "You had better come farther back. There is danger here?"

Colonel Smyth obeyed the touch mechanically, and the other continued, "I have taken your little girl to a friend of mine in this street. Will you come there too?"

"Thanks," the Colonel replied. "Yes, the sooner the better. I don't seem to be of any use here."

It was well they had not far to go. Mrs. Montague's house-door was no longer on the latch, but Mr. Wynne had provided himself with a latch-key, and they entered without ringing. Colonel Smyth staggered, and dropped into a chair.

"Never mind me. It is nothing," he said hastily, as if ashamed. "Where is Rhona? Not hurt, is she?"

"No, not at all. But you are," Mr. Wynne said.

"Rather scorched, I believe. I'll go to Rhona. The child must be frightened. By-the-by, what of my landlady?"

"Uninjured, but a good deal excited at the loss of her property."

"With some reason, perhaps. And the daughter—broken leg, they say."

"That, and other injuries. Gone to hospital at once; and the mother has been taken in two doors from this."

"And—yes—Bertha—what of her? I lost sight of the girl after we came down."

"She has been received in the same house as Mrs. Burrell. After seeing to your hurts, I must take a look at her,—but I am told that she does not seem much the worse for her adventure."

"Capital girl, plucky to a degree. I shall not lose sight of her, if I can help it. Has anybody any notion how the fire originated?"

"There is some idea. The servant girl was found asleep on her bed, fully dressed. The mischief evidently began in the neighbourhood of the kitchen; and she confesses to a vague recollection of leaving her candle on the lid of a box which contained shavings, meaning to go back and fetch it. She says she was so tired that she dropped down across her bed for two minutes' rest, before finishing what had to be done. The remainder may be imagined. It is a marvel that she was not burnt in her bed, before help came."

"Heinous carelessness!" muttered the Colonel. "But the poor thing was worked off her legs and out of her proper senses, I do believe. Well—Mrs. Burrell has to pay a heavy penalty. I hope her property is insured."

"I cannot say. I have not spoken to her yet. I am going to send word upstairs that you are safe; and then I must see to your hurts."

"Send word? I'm going myself," Colonel Smyth answered, starting up. "I want to satisfy my own eyes with a sight of the child."

Mr. Wynne looked doubtful, but made no protest. They were speedily within the bedroom, where Rhona lay, anxiously watching.

At the first glimpse of Colonel Smyth, she sprang up in bed with a cry of joy, sharpened into almost a scream.

Colonel Smyth was startled at the energy with which the child flung herself upon him. Mrs. Montague had arrayed her in a dressing-gown of deep pink flannel, but Rhona's cheeks outdid the hue of her pretty wrapper.

"Gently, my dear!" Mr. Wynne said, noting the Colonel's sudden wince.

He loosened her clutch with a firm hand, and laid her back on the pillow. "You must keep still, or we shall have to leave you."

Rhona had no sign of stillness about her. She remained obediently, as placed, but with eyes that shone like stars, and with breath that came in hysterical catches.

"Oh, I'm so glad, so very very glad," she said. "It is almost 'too' good. I didn't really think you could have got down. O uncle—uncle—"

"Hush, hush, my little girl; you will be ill if you excite yourself so," said Colonel Smyth, stooping to kiss her. "That is not like my gentle good Rhona."

"I don't feel gentle to-night, not a bit—and not good either," said Rhona, speaking rapidly, and flashing her large eyes to and fro. "I felt good up in that room, when we thought we should all be burnt, but not now. I suppose it is because I am so very very glad you and Bertha are safe—poor nice Bertha. And Mrs. Burrell too,—only I don't like her so much—not nearly so much. Uncle, you don't know how dreadfully frightened I was about you. And the kind doctor went to see if he could do anything."

"I found him on the ground, quite safe," said Mr. Wynne.

"Quite safe from the flames!" said Rhona, with a shudder. "I keep seeing those flames all the while. Dear, dear uncle! Only think if you hadn't come down in time! Oh, are you quite sure the flames won't catch this house, and burn us all up?"

"No fear of that," said Colonel Smyth, with an involuntary contraction of his brow, as she clasped his left hand.

"But I am so afraid—suppose they should!" said Rhona, shivering. "And we mightn't all keep awake, and mightn't know in time."

Mr. Wynne was noting the two faces carefully. He bent a little over the child, and said,—"There was a wise man once, little Rhona, who could say,—

"'What time I am afraid, I will trust in THEE!'"

"That was King David," said Rhona hurriedly, with a brilliant smile. "It's in the Psalms, and mother did love that text so. She used to say it often."

"Then you must try to say it now."

He had not meant lip-utterance, but Rhona took the advice literally. It touched them to see the slender hands clasped, while a look of earnest gravity came over the broad brow.

"'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"

The words were not spoken to Mr. Wynne, or for Mr. Wynne's hearing. Rhona's eyes had a far-away look for a moment, before coming back to his face.

"Must I say it again?" she asked with curious simplicity.

"No, my dear," said Mr. Wynne. "You must 'think' it now; and keep yourself from talking. Colonel Smyth is coming into the next room with me for a little while."

Colonel Smyth obeyed the hint. He went straight to the window of the front room, looked out and remarked, "The glare seems lessening." Then he turned and said, "Will you help me off with my coat—carefully, please."

"Your hands are a good deal scorched," said Mr. Wynne.

"Yes, rather, but the shoulder is worst. I gave it a wrench somehow—getting out of the window—slipped and nearly fell, I believe, and saved myself by one hand. It was touch and go! Whew!" Colonel Smyth winced and paled at the light touch of Mr. Wynne's fingers. "Yes, just there. I did not know how bad it was till Rhona threw herself upon me. But no use minding. The coat has to come off somehow."

"Not that way," Mr. Wynne said, with a restraining gesture. "Wait a moment."

He was gone quickly, and reappeared with a large pair of scissors. The coat-sleeve was speedily ripped up from wrist to shoulder, Colonel Smyth submitting with only one remark,—

"Do you know I don't possess another coat in the world?"

"There are tailors in London," said Mr. Wynne.

And after a brief examination, he uttered one word—"Dislocated."

"Well, I am an old soldier, and can stand a good pull," said the Colonel. "By-the-by, are you a surgeon?"

"Yes."

"Seems a lucky event that you happened to be on the spot. You live near, I suppose?"

"No; I was called up late to a patient in this neighbourhood, and happened to be passing the end of the street on my way home, just when the alarm was first given."

"That poor girl, Bertha, will need you presently, I suspect, Doctor,—by-the-by, I have not the pleasure of knowing your name. May as well put my shoulder straight first, if you don't object."

"I am not wanted there. Dr. Marsden, living in the next street, has made his appearance, and will see to her at once. My name is Arbuthnot Wynne,—Mr., not Dr. as yet."

Colonel Smyth's movement of surprise was marked.

"You seem to recognise it," Mr. Wynne said.

"I remember a certain Dr. Wynne many years ago,—a man nearly of my own standing."

"My father probably. He is in full practice still, and we live together."

"Your patients being his, and vice versa, I suppose. Well, the sooner this little business is attended to the better. I can stand a wrench fairly well. You don't advise chloroform, do you?"

"I don't think it is necessary," said Mr. Wynne. "Will you lie down here, if you please?"