CHAPTER XI. IF Denethorp is a difficult place to arrive at, it is a still more difficult place to leave. Nevertheless it must be left at last, if only for a time. The night of the day on which Hugh Lester had committed himself to his Armida was fine and warm, not only at Denethorp, but in London also. It was fine even in Fleet Street, and fine even in that thoroughfare which runs at the back of Farringdon Market and joins Fleet Street with Holborn. And it had need to be fine in that narrow, crooked, evil-looking lane, which, at all events in those days, knew no light save of the moon and stars; and they had barely room to shine. And yet there were, once upon a time, people who looked upon that dark and disreputable passage as the political centre of the world as an institution to which Westminster itself had to yield the palm of influence. Nor were there wanting distinguished and even great men, who increased their own influence by countenancing the notion. The institution upon which its reputation in this respect was founded was a publichouse with a large room at the back of it, which was nightly filled to overflowing. Now on this particular evening the attendance was even more than usually large, although not more than usually distinguished. The dense clouds of rank smoke issuing from a quarter of a mile of clay, and mingled with the steam that arose from a barrel and a half of hot liquor, were not out of keeping with the style of the politicians who emitted the one and absorbed the other. There were tailors and cobblers from the north and from the east, brokers from Bell Yard, Irish students from Gray's Inn, some seedy-looking barristers from the Temple, bagmen from the City, medical men from nowhere in particular, and scribblers from, say, Grub Street, thinking themselves in all honesty to be Grattans and Burkes at the very least. Mingled with these were one or two persons who had made an excursion to the place, either out of curiosity or for some other special reason; and the inevitable one or two, seen in every public place in London, who have blundered in by mistake, and who never know either where they are or what they are doing. But the general tone of the assemblage was that of habitués. The subject of the debate was of course political; and much was said in the course of it about the Westminster election, with which all men's minds were then full. Sir Francis Burdett seemed to be the hero of the evening; and if one or two of his Majesty's Ministers could have heard half the epithets that were heaped upon their names whenever they were mentioned, they must either have been utterly overwhelmed on the spot, or have been rendered callous to abuse for ever. It must not be supposed, however, that the speaking consisted of nothing but abuse. On the contrary, Warden was surprised to hear many pieces of real though turgid eloquence, especially on the part of the Irish element, and not a little good sense, put with practised skill. It was not, indeed, a highly intellectual or cultivated assembly, but it was neither an ignorant nor a stupid one; and the forms of debate were observed with a strictness and fairness that went far to compensate for much want of courtesy. At last, however, there was a short pause in the proceedings, of which advantage was taken by a man who sat at the far end of the room to rise upon his legs quickly, but a little unsteadily. He was a big, burly fellow, with a heavy face, which, however, in spite of its far too plainly showing the signs of coarse self-indulgence, was neither without some pretension to good looks, nor, in spite of the apparent contradiction in terms, without some degree of refinement. His clothes were shabby in the extreme, and negligently put on his linen was dingy and crumpled he looked as though he were unfamiliar with the very idea of soap, and as though he used the bluntest of razors, and that but seldom; while his thick, bushy head of hair was all rough and tumbled about as though, if he did conde cend to keep a razor, he disdained even to borrow a comb. He was probably young in years, but it was difficult to say. He was evidently well known there, for his rising was greeted with much hammering of glasses upon the tables. Meanwhile he only stood swaying himself clumsily about, and he continued to do so for a full minute after the applause had come to an end; but the company showed no sign of impatience, and at last he began to speak. His first words were so thickly spoken as to be inaudible, and a murmur of disapIt is, however, not with one of the habi-pointment ran round the room. tués that we have now to do; for, among the strangers, sitting in a quiet corner and watching the proceedings with interest, was Mark Warden. Sure and he's waited too lete, inthoirely," said one who sat next to Warden. But it's just too airly," said another. "The laddie's nae gude till he's fou." "And do you call him sober now?" | forrum, bedad, anyhow!" said the first of asked Warden. Warden's neighbours. "It's vara weel said the second. 66 That just depends upon a' the ceerrcoomstaunces," his neighbour answered, guardedly. But by this time the orator had found both his legs and his voice-a big, resonant chest-voice that left his large mouth without a taint of thickness or huskiness, and filled the whole place with its sound. "Now we shall catch it 'ot and strong!" exclaimed another of Warden's neighbours, rubbing his hands with delight. vara weel indeed," "I sed as you'd get it 'ot!" said the Cockney, whose anticipations had been amply realized. 66 Is he often here?" asked Warden. "Ye'll nocht have hurrud um till noo? " was the Scot's idea of an answer- question for question. "Good Warden glanced at his watch. "Barton!" he said. 66 was the othswung round 'Don't you remember me? Warden of St. Margaret's." "Warden of Mag's! By God! so you are. What'll you drink_?" "Nothing for me. I only came to see you." 66 Well, here I am. Fire away." "This is a queer place, isn't it? I have never seen the sort of thing before, so, having nothing else to do to-night, I thought I'd look in. And I have certainly been rewarded. I didn't know you were a second Demosthenes." And, sure enough, they did. After a few words to say that he was going to support the popular side, he set himself to work to destroy all the arguments that had been urged in its favour, and to ridicule all who had used them. Then he told the house that it was to be supported on entirely other grounds; and, with extreme ingenuity, so twisted and distorted his opponents' arguments as to make them seem to be his own. He appeared to revel in paradox, and in ridicule of everybody and everything. It was not a speech to convince, but it was really great art in its way, and, indeed, was not intended to convince. He was often interrupted, but woe be to those who interrupted him! for all that they got for their pains were personalities, from which they would rather have escaped free. To judge from the difficulty that he found in starting, he had evidently been drinking more than enough; but yet he had all the speeches of the speakers who had preceded him at his fingers' ends, and not only their arguments, but their very words and not only their very words, but their very tones. His own speech was not a magnificent specimen of real argument, but it was really a magnificent specimen of sophistry, of humour, and of sarcasm-even of eloquence; for he not seldom soared into true eloquence, Then, if you don't know, come and especially towards the close. At the same have some supper with me. I'm at the―." time it must be said that, while but few of Barton got up at once. "I'm your the speeches of the evening had been distin- man," he said. Have some bones, and a guished by refinement of style, his was full bottle of port. We'll be Titans, and Port of points and allusions that render any re- shall be our Pelion." And so, taking Warport of it out of the question, and which den's arm to steady himself, he half walked, were received with that sort of laughter with half lurched, into the open air. He had not which such an audience receives what even been asked for his reckoning; probably the such an audience is half ashamed to landlord considered his company too valhear. uable to run the risk of losing it. When he sat down he had succeeded in insulting alike both friends and foes; and yet he was applauded by foes and friends alike with something more than the knocking of tumblers. Everybody had been made angry, and yet everybody was delighted that everybody else had been put down. There, mee jools-that's the thrue "Waiter! - another! No two others: one for this gentleman." "No-nothing more for me. I suppose this is all pretty well over? At least I don't care to stay. What are you going to do?" "What am-I-going- to do? How the devil should I know?" It will probably have been conjectured that Warden's presence in Shoe Lane was not quite so accidental as it professed to be. He was not likely to have come from Denethorp to London just now for nothing. But, however this may be, he showed himself sufficiently hospitably disposed now that he was at his journey's end; for his com panion and himself cannot very well be accounted congenial spirits. Nor did his offer of hospitality appear to be unappreciated. Barton, as soon as the first effects of the open air had passed away, stalked, not staggered, along in a state of high good-humour, making the now halfempty streets ring with his heavy tread, his loud voice, and his still louder laugh. It is true that he talked rather to himself than to his companion, and without much heeding whether he was listened to or not: but still he was genial after a fashion. So they proceeded for some distance, arm in arm, when Warden stopped suddenly. "Look there, Barton," he exclaimed; "what is that?" Barton placed his hand over his eyes, and looked towards the part of the sky to which the other had pointed. 66 That? That is a fire," he answered. "Let's see it," and he hurried Warden along in the direction of the centre of the glow. Very soon they met with others hurrying in the same direction; and, before long, guided by the infallible instinct in such matters that belongs to a crowd, they found themselves in front of the Theatre. to the gallery and stage. As on this side there were no windows through which any of the flames within might escape, so the effect which met their eyes was made up of a dense blackness surmounted by fire, in strong contrast with the red glow of the sky and of the opposite houses. The danger in case the wall should fall outwardly was great; and this, probably, according to the nature of crowds in general, was the reason why it was precisely here that the throng was thickest. The broad shoulders of Barton, and his complete carelessness about the shoulders of others, as well as for the abuse with which he was frequently assailed, but which he was well able to pay back in kind, soon forced a passage for himself and for his companion; and there they stood for some minutes sharing in the dead silence around them, which was only broken by the hissing of the flame, and by occasional ejaculations of delight whenever the glow made a sudden leap upward. Fortunately the delight of the bystanders was prevented from being entirely complete by their disappointing knowledge that the house had been empty for some hours, and that consequently the lust of horror, which is one of the chief attributes of a crowd under such circumstances, was doomed to be ungratified. Presently, however, it seemed as though Fate was for once about to bestow more than it had promised, and to provide a real tragedy after the spectacle. Any one who, like Barton, had hurried there in order to witness a great spectacle, certainly found himself fully gratified. Over the whole block of buildings of which the theatre formed a part, soared up high into the air, even as it seemed to the sky itself, a vast unbroken sheet of flame that looked like a mirror of fire. The colour of the Though no human lives were in immedinight, which was still fine and clear, was ate danger, the burning house nevertheless, changed altogether from that produced by contained what was worth the while of many the white moonlight and the natural black- to risk life itself to save. Close by the ness of the streets into a uniform dull red-stage-door, opposite to which Barton and ness, far more unbearable to the sight than his friend were standing, had gradually the direct blaze of such a sunlight as those gloomy streets ever experienced even on a summer day. It was, in a word, one of those great fires which are the grandest sights of great cities; which alone afford to their inhabitants any idea of the sublimity of nature when her strength is for once set free from the weight of bricks with which they have crushed her down. In this case the complete triumph of the flames had been the work of a few minutes only. The crowd that had hurriedly surrounded the doomed building could do nothing in the face of such a wall of heat and light — nothing but passively contemplate it with a sort of desperate admiration. Barton in his excitement pressed close to the scene, dragging Warden with him. The avenue by which they approached the blaze was a narrow street which lay along that side of the house in which were the entrances gathered together, among others immediate- it means at Suddenly Barton felt himself, in spite of his shoulders, thrust aside; and, turning round, saw a young man who, like himself, had contrived to reach the front, but, to judge from his appearance and figure, less by dint of strength than by force of energy and activity. The new-comer, having reached the door, | at hand. It was as though the whole buildmounted upon one of the steps outside it, and then faced round quickly. 66 Gentlemen!" he said, in a most unEnglish accent, but in a clear and ringing voice, "we lose the time. It has there not more than five minutes that the theatre burns itself; and it is possible that our instruments are not yet hurt. In five minutes one shall have them me, at the least, I shall have the mine. Suivez-moi!" And so, with the air of a captain calling upon his company to follow him into the breach, he ran straight through the stagedoor. ing had given an audible shudder, which passed through himself also. Lifting his eyes, he saw a fearful sign of doom indeed. The ceiling was cracking in long lines above him, through which rained a shower of sparks; and a tongue of fire, which at every beat of his pulse grew longer and wider, had licked its way through the cornice, and was writhing on and on towards him through the air. The roaring of flame, the falling of beams, were now the only sounds he heard. The whole world seemed to have suddenly faded away, and to have left him alone with instant death. Such an example is notoriously contagious; and there were not more than one or Who may describe the terror, the despair, two of his comrades that did not follow of a moment when a lifetime of horror seems possibly their instruments were safe at crushed into the space of the falling of a home. There were even one or two volun- single grain of sand? It was not even as teers, amongst whom Barton was conspic- though a struggle for life was still possible. uous. He had come for the whole specta- With his energy unimpaired he could do cle; and he was apparently not one whom nothing but wait for the end, and pray that any instinct of self-preservation would it might be soon. restrain from seeing all of it there was And yet he did not lose his presence of to be seen. mind. But that only made his utter powBut there was also one who, without hav-erlessness all the more terrible to bear. ing anything at stake and without being a volunteer, also accompanied the charge. Mark Warden, grasped by Barton and pushed from behind, had to enter the narrow and intricate passages of the house Meanwhile the orchestra had been reached; whether he would or no. And though he those who could find them were already did not feel fear, he would certainly have hurrying away with their instruments by preferred to be left outside. He would another entrance- for the passage leading scarcely have cared to risk life for life; and to the stage-door was no longer practicable much less did he care to risk it to satisfy and in another instant the hand of the unproductive curiosity, or to save somebody young musician who had led the way would else's violin. have grasped the instrument for whose sake he had entered the house of fire, when Barton, who was close to him, suddenly exclaimed, Not sharing, therefore, in the eagerness with which the rest ran forward, but rather drawing himself backwards from them as well as he could, he before long found himself alone in a labyrinth; nor, so sudden and rapid had been the process of his arrival there, was he able to regain the outer air without a guide. So he made up his mind. as the wisest thing he could do, to wait there quietly till the others returned, seeing that, if he tried to extricate himself, he would probably only succeed in making matters still worse. The most abject terror is nothing to what he has to undergo who retains his senses and his strength only to find in them additional instruments of torture. "Good God! where is Warden ?" He heard the exclamation, and turned. A word or two, rapidly uttered, passed between him and Barton; and then at once, forgetting his violin, and in spite of the suffocating smoke-clouds that were thick enough almost to destroy without the aid of flame, he dashed back through the perilous entrance from which his companions were now flying in confusion. Barton would have followed; but no sooner did he attempt to do so than his passage was barred by the sudden descent of a burning beam, so that he had perforce to make the best of his way out with the rest. How long he waited there he did not know, but certainly a much shorter time than it seemed. But all of a sudden he became terribly aware that the passage in which he stood was beginning to fill rapidly with smoke; and he heard, instead of the Warden had just given himself up for returning feet of his companions, an ill-lost. His lungs were already more full of omened roar of voices outside. In another moment his ears heard a worse sound still, and that not outside, but close smoke than of air, and he could already feel upon his face the hot breath that glowed from the fiery tongue that had now come so near as almost to have broadened into a Barton first stared, and then laughed sheet of flame, when, borne in, as it seemed good-humouredly. "Did you want a brick to him, upon a blazing cloud, stood before on your head, then? I didn't at least not him the figure of the young musician. before supper. After that, perhaps 66 64 Quick!" cried out the latter in French, 'quick in another moment Unaware of the risk that had been run by a stranger for his sake, thinking only, if he could be said to think at all, that it was to save himself that his guide had returned, Warden followed him into the street. It was indeed only a moment that had lain between them both and certain death. There was barely time for them to regain the outside of the house, when a crash, followed by a sympathetic cry from the crowd, told that the heavy roof had fallen in, and that all was over. Then rode up a troop of the Life-Guards; but, except for their adding to the effect of the scene by reflecting the red and white light of the flame from their helmets and cuirasses, they might just as well, for any good they found themselves able to do, have remained quietly in their barracks. FootGuards, and volunteers in uniform, also mixed with the crowd; and, all too late, and yet as quickly as had been possible, came the galloping of fire-engines from all directions - just in time for their drivers to see and hear the terrible crash that told of the fall of the outer walls themselves. Then the flames, after a last leap upward, suddenly sank down into the crater thus formed, and the tragedy was wholly at an end. For although not a single life had been lost, even by the falling of a brick or of a beam, it was nevertheless a real tragedy that had just been played; for the sudden destruction of a great theatre means worse than death to hundreds. Then the members of the company who happened to be present became able to think of their losses, the pickpockets of their gains, the respectable spectators of going home, and the rabble of beer, the carpenters who had lost their tools and the musicians who had lost their instruments of suicide. "I wouldn't have lost that sight for a thousand pounds," said Barton, turning carelessly to the young musician who happened to be standing just behind him. Damned lucky, though, that the walls fell in instead of out. It was within the turning of a brick that some of us never saw a theatre again, outside or in. Sic me, non se, servavit." On hearing himself addressed, the other started as from a dream. "You call it lucky!" he exclaimed, in a tone of scorn that was as un-English as his accent. "Monsieur ? " 66 Ah, vou ate oon frongçais? je askeddemandais vou si vous wanted, you know, oon brick soor voter tate?” 66 As well there as on "As on what ?" Poor devil! then I'm damned sorry for you." He was perfectly sober now, and yet he spoke lightly. Nevertheless, as he spoke he thrust his hand into his breeches' pocket. But it came out empty. 66 Curse it!" he exclaimed, "not a farthing. Why, I had ever so many shillings this morning four at least. I say, Warden do you carry a purse? Just lend me something or other." Warden, who had now fairly recovered his composure, but was still ignorant of his obligations to his preserver from death, slowly drew out his purse and handed it to Barton, who held it out, without looking to see what it contained, to the unfortunate musician. "Never mind the fiddle," he said; "one's as good as another, I suppose." But he to whom it was offered drew back, placed his hands behind his back, and bowed. "Je suis gentilhomme," he said, with some dignity. A gentleman, are you? Then go and be damned for one, shouted Barton; and, taking Warden's arm, stalked off again. That burnt-out son of a fiddle calling himself a gentleman!" he said, as they continued their progress. "Why, I shall be calling myself one next - or even you, Warden. His companion swallowed the impertinence silently, although he did not like it by any means. He also did not choose to notice that Barton had forgotten to return the purse. They soon arrived at the hotel, which was not far from the scene of the fire; and the bones having been made bare, and the port renewed, the latter recovered his temper. |