ghed with uncontrollable mirth.

Then his whole form became rigid in a moment. A man had shouted
something. There had been a wail from the crowd. Was it true? Some
one buried alive--a little girl?

With a blasphemous curse Selwyn staggered across the road, and roughly
elbowing his way through the crowd, found a solitary policeman,
hindered by willing undirected hands, digging in the wreckage as best
he could, while a couple of women sobbed hysterically and wrung their
hands.

Those who watched hardly knew what had happened, but they saw a
hatless, bleeding figure appear, and, with the incision of snapping
hawsers, question the policeman and the weeping women. They heard his
quick commands to the men, and saw him jump into the centre of the
debris. With the instantaneous recognition of leadership his helpers
threw themselves to the work with a frenzy of determination. Lifting,
digging, pulling with torn hands and arms that ached with strain, they
struggled furiously towards the spot where it was known the girl was
buried. They were like starving wolves tearing at the carcass of an
animal. They yelled encouragement and fought through the chaos--and
still the stranger whipped them into madness with his cries.

There in the smoke and the choking dust Austin Selwyn shook in the grip
of the greatest emotion he had ever known. A girl was buried--a
fraction of a minute might mean her life. With hot breath and pulses
on fire, he led his unknown men through the choking ruins to where one
small, insignificant life was imprisoned.

An ambulance sounded its gong, and drew up by the crowd; the storm of
the guns continued to rage, but no one thought of anything but the
fight of those men for one little unknown life.

At last. They had uncovered a great iron beam which had struck on a
stone foundation and left a zone of safety beneath. Eager hands
gripped it, dragging it aside, and there was hardly a sound as the
stranger lowered himself into the chasm. A minute later he reappeared,
and a shout broke from the on-lookers. He was carrying a little form
in his arms.

But when they saw his face a hush fell on every one. She was dead.

Wild-eyed, with the ghastliness of his pallor showing through the
coating of grime and blood, Austin Selwyn stood in the ruins of the
house, and the brown tresses of the child fell over his arm.

Kind hands were stretched out to him, but he shook them off angrily.
He was talking to