So she said, “Go, Del, and tell him I sent you with my dear love, and that it’s all right.”

And Del at the first word went.

Sene sat and watched them draw her out; it was a slow process; the loose sleeve of her factory sack was scorched.

Somebody at work outside turned suddenly and caught her.  It was Dick.  The love which he had fought so long broke free of barrier in that hour.  He kissed her pink arm where the burnt sleeve fell off.  He uttered a cry at the blood upon her face.  She turned faint with the sense of safety; and, with a face as white as her own, he bore her away in his arms to the hospital, over the crimson snow.

Asenath looked out through the glare and smoke with parched lips.  For a scratch upon the girl’s smooth cheek, he had quite forgotten her.  They had left her, tombed alive here in this furnace, and gone their happy way.  Yet it gave her a curious sense of relief and triumph.  If this were all that she could be to him, the thing which she had done was right, quite right.  God must have known.  She turned away, and shut her eyes again.

When she opened them, neither Dick, nor Del, nor crimsoned snow, nor sky, were there; only the smoke writhing up a pillar of blood-red flame.

The child who had called for her mother began to sob out that she was afraid to die alone.

“Come here, Molly,” said Sene.  “Can you crawl around?”

Molly crawled around.

“Put your head in my lap, and your arms about my waist, and I will put my hands in yours,—­so.  There!  I guess that’s better.”

But they had not given them up yet.  In the still unburnt rubbish at the right, some one had wrenched an opening within a foot of Sene’s face.  They clawed at the solid iron pintless like savage things.  A fireman fainted in the glow.

“Give it up!” cried the crowd from behind.  “It can’t be done!  Fall back!”—­then hushed, awestruck.

An old man was crawling along upon his hands and knees over the heated bricks.  He was a very old man.  His gray hair blew about in the wind.

“I want my little gal!” he said.  “Can’t anybody tell me where to find my little gal?”

A rough-looking young fellow pointed in perfect silence through the smoke.

“I’ll have her out yet.  I’m an old man, but I can help.  She’s my little gal, ye see.  Hand me that there dipper of water; it’ll keep her from choking, may be.  Now!  Keep cheery, Sene!  Your old father’ll get ye out.  Keep up good heart, child!  That’s it!”

“It’s no use, father.  Don’t feel bad, father.  I don’t mind it very much.”

He hacked at the timber; he tried to laugh; he bewildered himself with cheerful words.

“No more ye needn’t, Senath, for it’ll be over in a minute.  Don’t be downcast yet!  We’ll have ye safe at home before ye know it.  Drink a little more water,—­do now!  They’ll get at ye now, sure!”