Too horror-stricken to utter a sound, Gerald sprang at her, and seizing her with fearless hands, forced the poor struggling girl by main strength down on to the floor.

No one near to help! No water at hand! Not so much as a rug or a shawl to throw over her and stifle the flames! Yes! there was the table-cover, heavy and thick, as if created for this very life-service.

Gerald tore it off,--books, boxes, china cups, and glass vases crashing to the ground together,--and flinging it over Phebe, threw herself on top of it, pressing it close in every direction with hands and limbs, and smothering the flames resolutely beneath it.

It was but a moment, though a moment of lifetime horror, and all was over.

There was only the fire on the hearth hissing and leaping as if in anger at its defeated design.
"Phebe!" whispered Gerald, hoarsely; "Phebe!" Phebe had ceased to struggle, and lay perfectly motionless, apparently scarcely breathing, but she opened her eyes and smiled faintly as Gerald called her.