But he had hardly commenced this perilous transit before he felt himself pulled back by his father, who said, in a strange, muffled voice: 

“It is useless, Reuben; we can do nothing.  We must leave her to her fate.  Either she is truly a witch, as men say, or else her brain is turned by the fearsome sight.”

And Reuben, following his father’s glance, saw that the redoubtable Lady Scrope had drawn forth a pistol from pocket or girdle, and was pointing it full at him, with a light in her eyes which plainly betokened her intention of using it if he dared to thwart her beyond a certain point.

When she saw the action of James Harmer, she smiled a sardonic smile.

“Farewell, gentlemen,” she said, with a wave of her hand.  “I thank you for your good offices, and for your kindly thought for me.  But no man has ever yet moved me from my purpose, and no man has laid hands on me against my will—­nor ever shall.  Go! farewell!  Save yourselves, and take my blessing and good wishes with you; but I move not an inch from where I stand.  I defy the fire, as I defied the plague!”

It was useless to remain.  Words were thrown away, and to attempt force would but bring certain death upon whoever attempted it.  The fire was already almost upon them.  Father and son, after one despairing look at each other, darted down the stairs again, and had but just time to make their escape ere a great wave of flame came rolling along overhead, and the house itself was wrapped in the fiery mantle.

Dorcas, waiting with the men in the boat, devoured them with her eyes as they appeared, and uttered a little cry of horror and amazement when she saw them appear, choked and blackened, but alone.

“She would not come! she would not come!  Oh, I feared it from the first; but it seemed so impossible!  Oh, how could she stay there alone in that sea of fire!  O my mistress! my mistress! my poor mistress!  She was always kind to me.”

Neither father nor brother spoke as they got into the boat and pushed off into the glowing river.  It was terrible to think of that intrepid old woman facing her self-chosen and fiery doom alone up there upon the roof of that blazing house.

“She must have been mad!” sobbed Dorcas; and her father answered with grave solemnity: 

“Methinks that self-will, never checked, never guided, breeds in the mind a sort of madness.  Let us not judge her.  God is the Judge.  By this time, methinks, she will have passed from time to eternity.”

Dorcas shuddered and hid her face.  She could not grasp the thought that her redoubtable mistress was no more; but the weird sight of the fire, as seen from the river, drew her thoughts even from the contemplation of the tragedy just enacted.  The great pall of smoke seemed extending to a fearful distance, and the girl turned with a sudden terror to her father.

“Father, will our house be burned?”