.

"Is there anyone here?" he asked aloud. "Noel, are you here?"

There was no answer. The awful, tragic silence closed in upon his words.

But it did not daunt him. Cautiously he crept a little further forward.
And now there came a voice from the room behind him, Colonel Bradlaw's
voice, harsh with suspense.

"Is the boy dead?"

"Don't know yet, sir," came back the answer. "Will you send a lantern?
Ah! Hullo!"

Something had moved against his foot. Something writhed and groaned.

The searcher stooped. "Hullo!" he said again. "Noel, is it you, lad? I'm
here. I'll help you."

A voice answered him--a smothered inarticulate voice. A groping hand
came up, clutching for deliverance. There came the slip and crackle of
broken wood beneath which some living object struggled and fought for
freedom.

The one wiry arm of the moonstone-seller went down to the rescue. It did
good service that night--such service as astonished even its owner when
he had time to think.

The man under the _debris_ was making titanic efforts, thrusting his way
upwards with desperate, frantic strength. Once as he strove he uttered a
sharp, agonized cry, and the man above him swore in fierce, instinctive
sympathy.

"Where are you hurt, old chap? Keep your head, for Heaven's sake! Where
is it worst?"

The gasping voice made answer with spasmodic effort: "My head--my
face--my eyes! Oh, God,--my eyes!"

There followed a cough as if something choked all utterance, and then
again that mute, gigantic struggle for freedom.

It was over at last. Out of the wreckage there staggered the dreadful
likeness of a man. The lantern had been brought and shone full upon the
ghastly sight. He was torn, battered, half-naked, and the whole of his
face was blackened and streaming with blood.

"Noel! Is it Noel?" asked Colonel Bradlaw.

And the man himself made answer, spitting forth the blood that impeded
his utterance.

"Yes, it's me! But I'm done, sir! I'm done! Bring a light someone! I
can't see--where I'm going!"

The moonstone-seller's arm was round him, holding him up. "All right,
lad! I've got you!" he said.

"But bring a light! Bring a light!" A note of panic ran through the
reiterated words "Confound it! I must see--I will see--I--"

"My dear lad, you can't see for a minute." It was Nick's voice, quick
and soothing. "This infernal blood has got into your eyes. Come and have
them attended to! You'll be better directly."

"No! It's not the b