Once or twice she had seen the unearthly glory of confident innocence and supernal peace upon his countenance, once or twice his mind had revolted against the charm of her compelling eyes and waving hands; he had apologized for this, as if his will was gone beyond his own control; once or twice she chanced to look at him and met his eyes, and incontinently he fell into a deep slumber.
Vashti’s soul fainted within her. How would it end?
Since the Sunday she had avoided any suggestion of making him sleep.
Sidney paused to speak pleasantly with Mrs. Smilie, but that good woman did not wish to compromise herself in the eyes of the neighbours by seeming to “side” with the preacher, before she had any idea as to the probable state of the poll. “It will be the first division in the church since long before Mr. Didymus’s day,” she soliloquized as she proceeded on her way. “I don’t believe there would be any division if Temperance and Nathan and Mabella and Lanty wouldn’t act up stubborn—but them Lansings!”
These reflections took her as far as her friend’s house. The afternoon wore on and Mrs. Smilie was thinking regretfully that it was time for her to get home, and Mrs. Simpson was persuading her to stay with much sincerity, for her larder was full, and Mrs. Smilie was primed with the latest gossip, when there came the sound of voices to the two ladies, and the next moment Mr. Simpson entered accompanied by Mr. Smilie. This solved the problem, both should stay to supper. Mrs. Simpson bustled about with the satisfaction of the housekeeper who knows she can load her table, and presently they sat down and enjoyed themselves hugely over the cold “spare-ribs” and hot biscuits.
After the table was cleared they sat talking some time.
The hour for “suppering up” the horses came. Mr. Simpson rose and Mr. Smilie said they might as well be going, and went with him to get his horse. As they opened the door a faint, yellow glare met their eyes. It lighted up the moonless sky weirdly, and growing every moment brighter, was at length pierced by a long spear of lurid flame.
“Wimmen!” shouted old Mr. Simpson. “Come on; Lanty Lansing’s being burned out!”
The two men and women fled along the quiet road in utter silence. A strange hush seemed to have fallen upon the scene, as if all nature’s voices were silent before the omnipotent flames which leaped ever higher and higher, as if threatening even the quiet skies. The men and women felt themselves possessed by that strange, chilling excitement which thrills the bravest hearts when confronted by unfettered flame. In the country fire is absolutely the master when once it gains headway, it roars on till it fails for lack of fuel. As they passed the few houses along the way they paused to cry in short-breathed gasps, “Fire! fire!”
