The room was illuminated
by a red and angry light. Almost at the moment of our entrance, a
tower of flame arose in front of the window, and, with a tingling
report, a pane fell inwards on the carpet. They had set fire to
the lean-to outhouse, where Northmour used to nurse his negatives.
"Hot work," said Northmour. "Let us try in your old room."
We ran thither in a breath, threw up the casement, and looked
forth. Along the whole back wall of the pavilion piles of fuel had
been arranged and kindled; and it is probable they had been
drenched with mineral oil, for, in spite of the morning's rain,
they all burned bravely. The fire had taken a firm hold already on
the outhouse, which blazed higher and higher every moment; the back
door was in the centre of a red-hot bonfire; the eaves we could
see, as we looked upward, were already smouldering, for the roof
overhung, and was supported by considerable beams of wood. At the
same time, hot, pungent, and choking volumes of smoke began to fill
the house. There was not a human being to be seen to right or
left.
"Ah, well!" said Northmour, "here's the end, thank God."
And we returned to MY UNCLE'S ROOM. Mr. Huddlestone was putting on
his boots, still violently trembling, but with an air of
determination such as I had not hitherto observed. Clara stood
close by him, with her cloak in both hands ready to throw about her
shoulders, and a strange look in her eyes, as if she were half
hopeful, half doubtful of her father.
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