" repeated Gerald. "Both? At the same time? Is that
the way you keep house in Joppa?"

"Oh, they like running out together, and we never want any thing in the
evenings, you know. The front door always stands ajar, and visitors let
themselves in."

"And you make your own fires and bring in your own oily lamps; or do your
evening guests assist you perhaps in lieu of the servants?"

"But we don't generally have fires," laughed Phebe, greatly amused at
Gerald's disgust. "Only to-night it would be too chilly for Aunt Lydia
here without one. I feel cool too. I was not so sensible as you, and put
on too thin a dress. Isn't it a pretty blaze? Wait just till I throw on
another log. How it snaps and crackles!"

"Take your time," said Gerald, turning back to the window. "But what
a way to manage! Why should you hire servants, if you do their work
for them?"

Phebe only laughed, and a little shower of sparks flew over her from the
hearth as if the fire laughed too.

"It's being needlessly indulgent," pursued Gerald. "One can give servants
proper liberties without making one's self a slave to their caprices. If
you yield to them in one instance because it chances to be convenient,
they'll certainly exact it of you another time when it is not convenient.
Gracious heavens! Phebe, what is it?"

There was a sudden outburst of light behind her, and a sharp scream of
mingled terror and pain, and she turned to find Phebe standing the centre
of a pillar of fire. Her light dress had ignited from the flying sparks,
and the devouring flames seemed to burst forth in a hundred places at
once and rush exultantly together. Phebe gave another wild cry and
started for the door in that blind agony of despair which seems to hasten
people at such times to their doom, as if by aimless flight they could
escape the awful demon who possesses them. Too horror-stricken to utter a
sound, Gerald sprang at her, and seizing her with fearless hands, forced
the poor struggling girl by main strength down on to the floor. No one
near to help! No water at hand! Not so much as a rug or a shawl to throw
over her and stifle the flames! Yes! there was the table-cover, heavy and
thick, as if created for this very life-service. Gerald tore it
off,--books, boxes, china cups, and glass vases crashing to the ground
together,--and flinging it over Phebe, threw herself on top of it,
pressing it close in every direction with hands and limbs, and smothering
the flames res