“Yes, indeed.  I should so like to see them marry me to that ogre Grim!”

She pressed the cloth up to her face, and put it away, and, still smiling to herself, retired to rest, to dream of her dear playmate.

She dreamed of being in his ship on the open sea, the scene idealized to supernatural beauty and sublimity, as all such scenes are in dreams; and then she thought the ship took fire, and she saw, and heard, and felt the great panic and horror that ensued.

She woke in a terrible fright.  A part of her dream was true!  Her chamber was filled with smoke, and the house was chaotic with noise and confusion, and resounded with cries of “Fire!  Fire!” everywhere.  What happened next passed with the swiftness of lightning.  She jumped out of bed, seized a woolen shawl, and wrapped it around her head, and even in that imminent danger not forgetting her most cherished treasure—­Cloudy’s suit of uniform—­snatched it from the wardrobe and fled out of the room.  Her swift and dipping motion that had gained her the name of “Lapwing” now served her well.  Shooting her bright head forward and downward, she fled through all the passages and down all the stairs and out by the great hall, that was all in flames, until she reached the lawn, where the panic-stricken and nearly idiotic household were assembled, weeping, moaning and wringing their hands, while they gazed upon the work of destruction before them in impotent despair!

Jacquelina looked all around the group, each figure of which glared redly in the light of the flames.  All were present—­all but the commodore!  Where could the commodore be?

Jacquelina ran through the crowd looking for him in all directions.  He was nowhere visible, though the whole area was lighted up, even to the edge of the forest, every tree and branch and twig and leaf of which was distinctly revealed in the strong, red glare.

“Where is uncle?  Oh! where is uncle?” she exclaimed, running wildly about, and finally going up to Mrs. Waugh, who stood looking, the statue of consternation.

Jacquelina shook her by the arm.

“Aunty! aunty!  Where is uncle?  Are you bewitched?  Where is uncle?”

“Where?  Here, somewhere.  I saw him run out before me.”

“No, you didn’t!  You mistook somebody else for him.  Oh, my Lord! he is in the burning house! he is in the house!”

“Oh, he is in the house! he is in the house!” echoed Henrietta, now roused from her panic, and wringing her hands in the most acute distress.  “Oh! will nobody save him! will nobody save him!”

It was too late!  Commodore Waugh was in the burning mansion, in his bedchamber, near the top of the house, fast asleep!

“Good heaven! will no one attempt to save him?” screamed Henrietta, running wildly from one to the other.

They all gazed on each other, and then in consternation upon the burning building, every window of which was belching flame, while the sound of some falling rafter, or the explosion of some combustible substance, was continually heard!  To venture into that blazing house, with its sinking roof and falling rafters, seemed certain death.