rilly pierced the air and
penetrated into the darkened room, and, while the tumult around Hermon
gradually died away, he strove, tortured by burning pain, to grope his
way toward the door; but here his foot struck against a human body,
there against something hard, whose form he could not distinguish, and
finally a large object which felt cool, and could be nothing but his
Demeter.

But she seemed doomed to destruction, for the smoke was increasing every
moment, and constantly made his open wounds smart more fiercely.

Suddenly a cooler air fanned his burning face, and at the same time he
heard hurrying steps approach and the mingled cries of human voices.

Again he began to shout the names of his friends, the slaves, and the
porter; but no answer came from any of them, though hasty questions in
the Greek language fell upon his ear.

The strategist, with his officers, the nomarch of the district with his
subordinates, and many citizens of Tennis had arrived. Hermon knew most
of them by their voices, but their figures were not visible. The red,
violet, and black cloud before him was all he could see.

Yet, although the pain continued to torture him, and a voice in his soul
told him that he was blinded, he did not allow the government officials
who eagerly surrounded him to speak, only pointed hastily to his eyes,
and then bade them enter Myrtilus's studio. The Egyptian Chello, the
Tennis goldsmith, who had assisted the artists in the preparation of the
noble metal, and one of the police officers who had been summoned to rid
the old house of the rats and mice which infested it, both knew the way.

They must first try to save Myrtilus's work and, when that was
accomplished, preserve his also from destruction by the flames.

Leaning on the goldsmith's arm, Hermon went to his friend's studio; but
before they reached it smoke and flames poured out so densely that it
was impossible even to gain the door.

"Destroyed--a prey to the flames!" he groaned. "And he--he--he--"

Then like a madman he asked if no one had seen Myrtilus, and where he
was; but in vain, always in vain.

At last the goldsmith who was leading him asked him to move aside, for
all who had flocked to the white house when it was seized by the flames
had joined in the effort to save the statue of Demeter, which they had
found unharmed in his studio.

Seventeen men, by the exertion of all their strength, were dragging the
heavy statue from the house, w