How strange were his feelings! While his heart throbbed for
that freedom and safety which Canada alone could furnish to the
whip-scarred slave, on the American continent, his thoughts were
with Clotelle. Was she still in prison, and if so, what would be
her punishment for aiding him to escape from prison? Would he ever
behold her again? These were the thoughts that followed him to his
pillow, haunted him in is dreams, and awakened him from his
slumbers.
The alarm of fire aroused the inmates of the hotel in which Jerome
had sought shelter for the night from the deep sleep into which
they had fallen. The whole village was buried in slumber, and the
building was half consumed before the frightened inhabitants had
reached the scene of the conflagration. The wind was high, and the
burning embers were wafted like so many rockets through the sky.
The whole town was lighted up, and the cries of women and children
in the streets made the scene a terrific one. Jerome heard the
alarm, and hastily dressing himself, he went forth and hastened
toward the burning building.
"There,--there in that room in the second story, is my child!"
exclaimed a woman, wringing her hands, and imploring some one to
go to the rescue of her little one.
The broad sheets of fire were flying in the direction of the
chamber in which the child was sleeping, and all hope of its being
saved seemed gone. Occasionally the wind would lift the pall of
smoke, and show that the work of destruction was not yet complete.
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