When Dennis returned he found Christine panting helplessly on a chair.
“Oh, dress! dress!” he cried. “We have not a moment to spare.”
The sparks and cinders were falling about the house, a perfect storm of fire. The roof was already blazing, and smoke was pouring down the stairs.
At his suggestion she had at first laid out a heavy woollen dress and Scotch plaid shawl. She nervously sought to put on the dress, but her trembling fingers could not fasten it over her wildly throbbing bosom. Dennis saw that in the terrible emergency he must act the part of a brother or husband, and springing forward he assisted her with the dexterity he had learned in childhood.
Just then a blazing piece of roof, borne on the wings of the gale, crashed through the window, and in a moment the apartment, that had seemed like a beautiful casket for a still more exquisite jewel, was in flames.
Hastily wrapping Christine in the blanket shawl, he snatched her, crying and wringing her hands, into the street.
Holding his hand she ran two or three blocks with all the speed her wild terror prompted; then her strength began to fail, and she pantingly cried that she could run no longer. But this rapid rush carried them out of immediate peril, and brought them into the flying throng pressing their way northward and westward. Wedged into the multitude they could only move on with it in the desperate struggle forward. But fire was falling about them like a meteoric shower.
Suddenly Christine uttered a sharp cry of pain. She had stepped on a burning cinder, and then realized for the first time, in her excitement, that her feet were bare.
“Oh, what shall I do?” she cried piteously, limping and leaning heavily on Dennis’s arm.
“Indeed, Miss Ludolph, from my heart I pity you.”
“Can you save me? Oh, do you think you can save me?” she moaned, in an agony of fear.
“Yes, I feel sure I can. At any rate I shall not leave you;” and taking her a little out of the jostling crowd he kneeled and bound up the burned foot with his handkerchief. A little further on they came to a shoe-store with doors open and owners gone. Almost carrying Christine into it, for her other foot was cut and bleeding, he snatched down a pair of boy’s stout gaiters, and wiping with another handkerchief the blood and dust from her tender little feet, he made the handkerchiefs answer for stockings, and drew the shoes on over them.
In the brief moment so occupied, Christine said, with tears in her eyes: “Mr. Fleet, how kind you are! How little I deserve all this!”
He looked up with a happy smile, and she little knew that her few words amply repaid him.
There was a crash in the direction of the fire. With a cry of fear, Christine put out her hands and clung to him.
“Oh, we shall perish! Are you not afraid?”
“I tremble for you, Miss Ludolph.”
“Not for yourself?”
“No! why should I? I am safe. Heaven and mother are just beyond this tempest.”
“I would give worlds for your belief.”
“Come, quick!” cried he, and they joined the fugitives, and for a half-hour pressed forward as fast as was possible through the choked streets, Dennis merely saying an encouraging word now and then. Suddenly she felt herself carried to one side, and falling to the ground with him. In a moment he lifted her up, and she saw with sickening terror an infuriated dray-horse plunging through the crowd, striking down men, women, and children.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, gently, passing his arm around her and helping her forward, that they might not lose a single step.
“Awful! Awful!” she said, in a low, shuddering tone.
The dreadful scenes and the danger were beginning to overpower her.
A little further on they reached an avenue to the northwest through which Dennis hoped to escape. But they could make but little headway through the dense masses of drays, carriages, and human beings, and at last everything came to a deadlock. Their only hope was to stand in their place till the living mass moved on again.
Strange, grotesque, and sad beyond measure were the scenes by which they were surrounded. By the side of the aristocratic Christine, now Baroness Ludolph, stood a stout Irishwoman, hugging a grunting, squealing pig to her breast. A little in advance a hook-nosed spinster carried in a cage a hook nosed parrot that kept discordantly crying, “Polly want a cracker.” At Dennis’s left a delicate lady of the highest social standing clasped to her bare bosom a babe that slept as peacefully as in the luxurious nursery at home. At her side was a little girl carrying as tenderly a large wax doll. A diamond necklace sparkled like a circlet of fire around the lady’s neck. Her husband had gone to the south side, and she had had but time to snatch this and her children. A crowd of obscene and profane rowdies stood just behind them, and with brutal jest and coarse laughter they passed around a whiskey-bottle. One of these roughs caught a glimpse of the diamond necklace, and was putting forth his blackened hand to grasp it, when Dennis pointed the captured pistol at him and said, “This is law now!”
The fellow slunk back.
Just before them was a dray with a corpse half covered with a blanket. The family sat around crying and wringing their hands, and the driver stood in his seat, cursing and gesticulating for those in advance to move on. Some moments passed, but there was no progress. Dennis became very anxious, for the fire was rapidly approaching, and the sparks were falling like hail. Every few moments some woman’s dress was ablaze, or someone was struck by the flying brands, and shrieks for help were heard on every side. Christine, being clad in woollen, escaped this peril in part. She stood at Dennis’s side trembling like a leaf, with her hands over her face to shut out
