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would probably be a heap of ashes in half an hour。 And there was
this unfortunate deserted sick man lying between life and death；
beyond all help unless some unexpected assistance should come to his
rescue。
As the attendant drew near the house where Maurice was lying； he was
horror…struck to see dense volumes of smoke pouring out of the lower
windows。 It was beginning to make its way through the upper windows；
also； and presently a tongue of fire shot out and streamed upward
along the side of the house。 The man shrieked Fire！ Fire！ with all
his might； and rushed to the door of the building to make his way to
Maurice's room and save him。 He penetrated but a short distance
when； blinded and choking with the smoke； he rushed headlong down the
stairs with a cry of despair that roused every man； woman； and child
within reach of a human voice。 Out they came from their houses in
every quarter of the village。 The shout of Fire！ Fire！ was the
chief aid lent by many of the young and old。 Some caught up pails
and buckets： the more thoughtful ones filling them； the hastier
snatching them up empty； trusting to find water nearer the burning
building。
Is the sick man moved？
This was the awful question first asked；for in the little village
all knew that Maurice was about being transferred to the doctor's
house。 The attendant； white as death； pointed to the chamber where
he had left him； and gasped out；
〃He is there！〃
A ladder！ A ladder！ was the general cry； and men and boys rushed
off in search of one。 But a single minute was an age now； and there
was no ladder to be had without a delay of many minutes。 The sick
man was going to be swallowed up in the flames before it could
possibly arrive。 Some were going for a blanket or a coverlet； in the
hope that the young man might have strength enough to leap from the
window and be safely caught in it。 The attendant shook his head； and
said faintly；
〃He cannot move from his bed。〃
One of the visitors at the village；a millionaire； it was said；a
kind…hearted man； spoke in hoarse； broken tones：
〃A thousand dollars to the man that will bring him from his chamber！〃
The fresh…water fisherman muttered； 〃I should like to save the man
and to see the money； but it ain't a thaousan' dollars； nor ten
thaousan' dollars； that'll pay a fellah for burnin' to death；or
even chokin' to death； anyhaow。〃
The carpenter； who knew the framework of every house in the village；
recent or old； shook his head。
〃The stairs have been shored up；〃 he said； 〃and when the fists that
holds 'em up goes； down they'll come。 It ain't safe for no man to go
over them stairs。 Hurry along your ladder；that's your only
chance。〃
All was wild confusion around the burning house。 The ladder they had
gone for was missing from its case；a neighbor had carried it off
for the workmen who were shingling his roof。 It would never get
there in time。 There was a fire…engine； but it was nearly half a
mile from the lakeside settlement。 Some were throwing on water in an
aimless； useless way； one was sending a thin stream through a garden
syringe： it seemed like doing something； at least。 But all hope of
saving Maurice was fast giving way； so rapid was the progress of the
flames； so thick the cloud of smoke that filled the house and poured
from the windows。 Nothing was heard but confused cries； shrieks of
women； all sorts of orders to do this and that； no one knowing what
was to be done。 The ladder！ The ladder！ Five minutes more and it
will be too late！
In the mean time the alarm of fire had reached Paolo； and he had
stopped his work of arranging Maurice's books in the same way as that
in which they had stood in his apartment； and followed in the
direction of the sound； little thinking that his master was lying
helpless in the burning house。 〃Some chimney afire；〃 he said to
himself； but he would go and take a look； at any rate。
Before Paolo had reached the scene of destruction and impending
death； two young women； in boating dresses of decidedly Bloomerish
aspect； had suddenly joined the throng。 〃The Wonder〃 and 〃The
Terror〃 of their school…daysMiss Euthymia rower and Miss Lurida
Vincent had just come from the shore； where they had left their
wherry。 A few hurried words told them the fearful story。 Maurice
Kirkwood was lying in the chamber to which every eye was turned；
unable to move； doomed to a dreadful death。 All that could be hoped
was that he would perish by suffocation rather than by the flames；
which would soon be upon him。 The man who had attended him had just
tried to reach his chamber； but had reeled back out of the door；
almost strangled by the smoke。 A thousand dollars had been offered
to any one who would rescue the sick man； but no one had dared to
make the attempt； for the stairs might fall at any moment； if the
smoke did not blind and smother the man who passed them before they
fell。
The two young women looked each other in the face for one swift
moment。
〃How can he be reached？ 〃 asked Lurida。 〃Is there nobody that will
venture his life to save a brother like that？〃
〃I will venture mine；〃 said Euthymia。
〃No！ no！〃 shrieked Lurida；〃not you！ not you ！ It is a man's work；
not yours！ You shall not go！ Poor Lurida had forgotten all her
theories in this supreme moment。 But Euthymia was not to be held
back。 Taking a handkerchief from her neck； she dipped it in a pail
of water and bound it about her head。 Then she took several deep
breaths of air； and filled her lungs as full as they would hold。 She
knew she must not take a single breath in the choking atmosphere if
she could possibly help it； and Euthymia was noted for her power of
staying under water so long that more than once those who saw her
dive thought she would never come up again。 So rapid were her
movements that they paralyzed the bystanders； who would forcibly have
prevented her from carrying out her purpose。 Her imperious
determination was not to be resisted。 And so Euthymia； a willing
martyr； if martyr she was to be； and not saviour； passed within the
veil that hid the sufferer。
Lurida turned deadly pale； and sank fainting to the ground。 She was
the first； but not the only one； of her sex that fainted as Euthymia
disappeared in the smoke of the burning building。 Even the rector
grew very white in the face；so white that one of his vestry…men
begged him to sit down at once； and sprinkled a few drops of water on
his forehead； to his great disgust and manifest advantage。 The old
landlady was crying and moaning； and her husband was wiping his eyes
and shaking his head sadly。
〃She will nevar come out alive；〃 he said solemnly。
〃Nor dead； neither；〃 added the carpenter。 〃Ther' won't be nothing
left of neither of 'em but ashes。〃 And the carpenter hid his face in
his hands。
The fresh…water fisherman had pulled out a rag which he called a
〃hangkercher；〃it had served to carry bait that morning；and was
making use of its best corner to dry the tears which were running
down his cheeks。 The whole village was proud of Euthymia； and with
these more quiet signs of grief were mingled loud lamentations；
coming alike from old and young。
All this was not so much like a succession of events as it was like a
tableau。 The lookers…on were stunned with its suddenness； and before
they had time to recover their bewildered senses all was lost； or
seemed lost。 They felt that they should never look again on either
of those young faces。
The rector； not unfeeling by nature； but inveterately professional by
habit； had already recovered enough to be thinking of a text for the
funeral sermon。 The first that occurred to him was this；vaguely；
of course； in the background of consciousness：
〃Then Shadrach； Meshach； and Abed…nego came forth of the midst of the
fire。〃
The village undertaker was of naturally sober aspect and reflective
disposition。 He had always been opposed to cremation； and here was a
funeral pile blazing before his eyes。 He； too； had his human
sympathies； but in the distance his imagination pictured the final
ceremony； and how he himself should figure in a spectacle where the
usual centre piece of attraction would be wanting；perhaps his own
services uncalled for。
Blame him not； you whose garden…patch is not watered with the tears
of mourners。 The string of self…interest answers with its chord to
every sound； it vibrates with the funeral…bell； it finds itself
trembling to the wail of the De Profundis。 Not always；not always；
let us not be cynical in our judgments； but common human nature； we
may safely say； is subject to those secondary vibrations under the
most solemn and soul…subduing influences。
It seems as if we were doing great wrong to the scene we are
contemplating in delaying it by the description of little
circumstances a