There was a black mass in the open space, whence rose fitful clouds
of smoke, the remnants of the fire, which had there done its worst;
and beyond was a smoky undefined outline, with tongues of flame
darting up, then volumes of dense white smoke, denoting a rush of
water from the engines. Black beings flitted about like ants round
a disturbed nest; Rosamond hoped she detected some scarlet among
them, and Cecil lamented over not having brought her opera-glass.
Even without this, it was possible to make out two long lines of men
between the fire and the river, and at times they fancied they heard
the shouting, but the wind generally carried it away. The cold was
bitter, and they had to hold together and keep a tight grip upon
their garments against the gusts that seemed to rock the tower; but
they could not bear to turn away, though the clock beneath pealed
out hour after hour; for still, as the flames were subdued in one
place they broke out in another; but gradually smoke became
predominant, and then grew thinner, and as some of the black specks
began to straggle into the road as if returning to Compton, the
desire to hear became more pressing than that to see, and the three
ladies began to descend--a slow and weary process, cutting them off
from the view, and lasting so long, that the road was no longer
deserted when they finally emerged into the churchyard.

Young Mr. Bowater, grimed, dusty, hatless, and his hair on end, and
Rollo following with his feathery tail singed, hurried up at once.
"I'm not fit to touch, Lady Rosamond," as he showed a black hand,
and bowed to the others.

"Where's Ju--where's my husband?" exclaimed Rosamond.