Across, the great tongues of flame tossed themselves into the air, and glared awfully against the sky, which was dark with hurrying clouds.

The underbrush was all on fire; two huge pine trees were ablaze, their branches shooting off hotly now and then like rockets.
_When those trees fell they would fall into the ravine._ Gypsy sat down and covered her face.
Little did Mr.Francis Rowe think what he had done, when, strolling along by the ravine at twilight, he threw down his half-burnt cigar: threw it down and walked away whistling, and has probably never thought of it from that day to this.
Gypsy sat there with her hands before her face, and she sat very still.
She understood in that moment what was coming to her and to Joy.

Yes, to her as well as to Joy; for she would not leave Joy to die alone.

It would be an easy thing for her to climb the cliffs; she was agile, fearless, as used to the mountains as a young chamois, and the ascent, as I said, though steep, was not high.

Once out of that gully where death was certain, she would have at least a chance of life.