hen--by flames.

"She will hear, she will wake now," he thought, with his whole heart
pulling him her way. But he did not desist from his intention to drop
his eyes from the distraught figure entrapped between a locked door and
a fall of thirty feet. He could reach her if he kept his nerve. A slow
but steady hitch along the gutter was bringing him nearer every instant.
Would she see him and take courage? No! her eyes were on the flames
which were so bright now that he could actually see them glassed in her
eyeballs. Would a shout attract her? The air was full of cries as the
yards filled with escaping figures, but he would attempt it at the first
lull--now--while her head was turned his way. Did she hear him? Yes. She
is looking at him.

"Don't jump," he cried. "Tie your sheet to the bedpost. Tie it strong
and fasten the other one to it and throw down the end. I will be here to
catch it. Then you must come down hand over hand."

She threw up her arms, staring down at him in mortal terror; then, as
the whole air grew lurid, nodded and tottered back. With incredible
anxiety he watched for her reappearance. His post was becoming perilous.
The fire had not yet reached the roof, but it was rapidly undermining
its supports, and the heat was unendurable. Would he have to jump to the
ground in his own despite? Was it his duty to wait for this girl,
possibly already overcome by her fears and lying insensible? Yes; so
long as he could hold out against the heat, it was his duty, but--Ah!
what was that? Some one was shouting to him. He had been seen at last,
and men, half-clad but eager, were rushing up the yard with a ladder.
He could see their faces. How they glared in the red light. Help and
determination were there, and perhaps when she saw the promise of this
support, it would give nerve to her fingers and----

But it was not to be. As he watched their eager approach, he saw them
stop, look back, swerve and rush around the corner of the house. Some
one had directed them elsewhere. He could see the pointing hand, the
baleful face. Quimby had realised his own danger in this prospect of
Hammersmith's escape, and had intervened to prevent it. It was a
murderer's natural impulse, and did not surprise him, but it added
another element of danger to his position, and if this woman delayed
much longer--but she is coming; a blanket is thrown out, then a dangling
end of cloth appears above the sill. It descends. Another moment he has