Just then a stir, pregnant with omen, rustled behind the scenes⁠—feet ran, voices spoke. What was it? demanded the whole house. A flame, a smell of smoke replied.

“Fire!” rang through the gallery. “Fire!” was repeated, reechoed, yelled forth: and then, and faster than pen can set it down, came panic, rushing, crushing⁠—a blind, selfish, cruel chaos.

And Dr. John? Reader, I see him yet, with his look of comely courage and cordial calm.