After my uncle left us, we stationed ourselves on the upper piazza, to
watch the progress of the flames. From the confusion of voices in the
street below I caught the words,--
"Poor Birdie Leighton is nowhere to be found, and it is feared she has
perished in the flames."
I shuddered as I listened to these words. It was a terrible thought to
me, that my once loved pupil had met with a death so dreadful. But I was
unwilling to give up the hope that she would yet be, if not already,
saved. We waited long in anxious suspense for the return of my uncle;
but the day had begun to dawn before he came. I feared to ask what I
longed to know. He must have read my anxiety in my countenance, for he
soon said to me,--
"The Leightons are now all safe in the house of a neighbor; but Birdie
came near meeting her death in the flames."
To my eager enquiries, he replied,--
"That before Mr. Leighton awoke, their sleeping apartment was filled
with smoke, with which the flames were already beginning to mingle. He
bore his wife from the apartment; and, with her in his arms, hastened to
awake Birdie, whose room adjoined their own. She hastily threw on a
portion of her clothing, and prepared to accompany her father and mother
in their descent from the chambers.
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