They caught him again when he staggered back, dragged him to a point somewhat removed, upon the lawn.

All the time he struggled, as though once more to dash back into the flames, or as though to find his weapons.

He was sobbing, half crazed, horribly burned, but seemingly unmindful of his hurts.
The fire went on steadily with its work, the more rapidly now that the opening of the front doors had admitted air to the interior.
The construction of the house, with a wide central hall, and stairways leading up almost to the roof, made an admirable arrangement for a conflagration.

No living being, even though armed with the best of fire fighting apparatus, could have survived in that blazing interior.

All they could do, since even a bucket brigade was out of the question here, was to stand and watch for the end.