whisking on the stairs; and Raymond presently appeared to ask
whether his mother were ill, and, when reassured on that score,
hurrying to ascertain whether she were alarmed, before he started
for the scene of action.

"Let me come and stay with her," said Rosamond, a striking figure,
in a scarlet dressing-gown, with a thick plait of black hair hanging
down to her waist on either side.

"Thank you, it will be very kind," said Raymond, running down before
her, and meeting Susan waddling out in a fringe of curl-papers, for
some mysterious instinct or echo had conveyed to her and her
mistress that there was fire somewhere--perhaps at home. Mrs.
Poynsett was not a nervous woman, and from the time she saw her
eldest son come in, all fright was over, and she could have borne to
hear that the house over her head was burning, in the perfect trust
that he would save her from all peril; nor had he any difficulty in
committing her to Rosamond, when he hurried away to finish dressing
and repair to the spot.

Nothing could be seen from her room, but the little ante-room
between it and the drawing-room had an excellent view, as the ground
fell away from it, and there was an opening among the trees.

"We must get you there!" exclaimed Rosamond, in her excitement,
helping her into some garments, and then running out as she heard a
step--"Here, Julius, help me;" and without more ado, the mother was
transported between them to the broad low couch under the window,
and there bestowed in a nest of pillows, shawls, and rugs, that
seemed to grow up under Rosamond's touch.