Some one came hurriedly up the staircase, the door opened, and in rushed Anders Begmand.

His face was as white as it could be for sweat and pitch, his stiff hair was standing on end, while, hat in hand and with his eyes fixed on the young Consul, he began--"The--the--the"-- quicker and quicker.

It was quite plain that it was something of great importance, and his face grew as red as fire with the effort.

"The--the--the--" "Sing, will you ?" shouted the young Consul, stamping on the floor.
Begmand began singing to a merry little air, "A fire's broken out in the pitch-house!" At the same moment some one in the yard below shouted at the top of his voice, "Fire! fire!" Morten tore aside the blind, and the red glare could be seen on the dewy panes.

Every one sprang to the window.
"Silence!" cried the young Consul, while every one paused and looked at him.