caught the dimity curtain, blew it against the flame, and in an instant
ignited it.

The girl looked up swiftly at the sudden light above her, and as
swiftly--before the child could cry out--was on her feet. She caught
the fire between her two hands and beat it out, making no noise and
scarcely flinching, though her flesh was certainly being scorched.

"That was lucky," she said, looking across at him with a smile.

"Ruth!--Ruth!" called the landlady's voice, up the corridor.
"Here, a moment!"

She dropped the charred curtain and hurried to answer the call.

"Ruth! Where's the bootjack? His Honour will take off his
riding-boots."

"Bootjack, ma'am?" interrupted the Collector, leaning back in a chair
and extending a shapely leg with instep and ankle whereon the
riding-boot fitted like a glove. "I don't maul my leather with
bootjacks. Send Manasseh upstairs to me; ask him with my compliments
what the devil he means by clattering saucepans when he should be
attending to his master. . . . Eh, what's this?"

"She can do it, your Honour," said the landlady, catching Ruth by the
shoulder and motioning her to kneel and draw off the boot.
(It is likely she shirked carrying the message.)

"Oh, very well--if only she won't twist my foot. . . . Take care of the