pplanted stupor; and through the
deep hush of the fire could be distinguished the blows of axe and
hammer, wielded lustily by stalwart and devoted arms, eager to clear a
way of life and liberty for the captive.

But this was a work of time, and louder crackled and hissed the flames.
A fiercer blaze filled the sky, and glittered back from the waves; the
serpent tongues drew together, and shot up through the room in a yellow
pyramid. In vain! in vain! The zealous labourers panted in the sickness
of horror and the chill of great awe.

"A boat! a boat!" called a voice from the outer circle. The thinker, the
scorner, stood on the verge of the rocks above the illuminated sea, his
head bare, his coat stripped off. "Let Mademoiselle cast herself from
the casement instantly; it is her only hope. I can swim; I will hold her
up until a boat is launched. _Courage, Mademoiselle!_ trust in God and
in me."

"Yes, Marquise," he whispered for a second to his countrywoman near him;
"I have lost God for many a day; I have found him again in this hour. A
_Te Deum_ for my requiem!" and looking aghast upon his face in the great
light, the Marquise crossed herself, and averred ever afterwards that
it was transformed like unto that of his patron saint, St. Francis. The
next moment he plunged into the midnight sea. Those who witnessed the
action declared that the reflection of the burning was so strong that he
seemed to sink into a lake of fire, where he rose again presently, and
breasted the waters stoutly.

The girl saw the design; she comprehended it, and the hoarse murmur of
encouragement that hailed its presence of mind. The concentration of the
flames, which threatened every moment to bring down a portion of the
ponderous roof in one destroying crash, left a freer passage. She
advanced quickly--she put her foot on the smouldering sill; she paused,
hesitated. It was a fearful alternative.

"Leap down, leap down, Miss Alice; a drowning man has two lives, a
burning man but one. Down, down, or you are lost!"

But another cry mingled with the vehement appeal--a piercing, confident
cry, that would have vibrated on the dull ear of the dying, though it
said only, "I am coming. Alice Boswell: I am coming!"

He was there, on his panting, foam-flecked horse: he flung himself from
his saddle; he heard her answer, "Hector Garret, save me, save me!"

He broke the circle as Samson burst the green withes: he paralysed all
remonstrance; he vanish