ear of its path,
leaving bare the scene of wreckage which the rage of battle had
produced.

It was a scene for pity and regret. Gone was the building which had
been set up for the workers' recreation. Only a smoking ruin remained in
its place. A dozen other buildings in the neighbourhood bore the scars
of fire, which they would doubtless carry for all time of their service.
The mill, however, was safe. The work of more than fifteen years
remaining intact. But it had been so near, so very near to complete
destruction.

With the passing of the fog further disaster was revealed. It was the
wreck of human life which the night had produced. Daylight had made it
possible to deal with the injured and those beyond all human aid. And
the work was going forward in the almost voiceless fashion which the
presence of death ever imposes on the living.

Viewed even from a distance there could be no mistaking the meaning, the
hideous significance of it all. And Nancy, gazing from a window in the
house on the hill, shrank in terror before that which she believed to be
the result of the cruel work to which she had lent herself.

It had been a dreary, heartbreaking night of sleepless watching and
poignant feeling. Nancy was alone in her prison, a beautiful apartment,
the best in the house. Bull Sternford had conducted her thither
personally, and, in doing so, had told her the thing he was doing, and
of his real desire to save her unnecessary distress.

"You see," he had explained, with a gentleness which Nancy felt she had
no right to expect, "there's just about the best of everything right
here. It's as it was left by the feller who designed and decorated it
for the woman he loved better than anything in life. No one's ever used
it since. I'd be glad for you to have it. We've only a Chink servant to
wait around on us, and a rough choreman, and I guess they don't know a
thing about fixing things for a woman. But they've kept it clean and
wholesome, and that's all I can say. Can you make out in it to-night?"

He smiled. Then his steady eyes had turned away to the window where the
light of the raging fire could be seen. And after a moment he went on.

"You're a prisoner. I can't help that. That's got to be. But no lock or
bolt will be set to keep you here. You're free to come and go as you
choose. You can make the doors of the room fast against intrusion, if
you feel that way. But there'll be none. To-night you'll just be dead
alone