“Surely a young fellow like you can be in no want of those articles?”
“If he is lacking,” cried Christine, “it must be for the reason that he has given hope and courage to everyone he has met, and so has robbed himself.”
“Heigho!” exclaimed the doctor, “you here?”
“Yes, thanks to the heroism of Mr. Fleet.”
“Fleet, is that all you have saved from the fire?” asked the doctor, with a humorous twinkle, pointing to Christine.
“I am well satisfied,” said Dennis, quietly, but with rising color.
“I should have perished, had not Mr. Fleet come to my rescue,” continued Christine, warmly, glad of an opportunity to express a little of her gratitude.
The doctor turned his genial, humorous eye on her and said: “Don’t be too grateful, Miss Ludolph; he is a young man, and only did his duty. Now if I had been so fortunate you might have been as grateful as you pleased.”
It was Christine’s turn to grow rather rosier than even the red fire warranted, but she said, “You would have your joke, doctor, if the world were burning up.”
“Yes, and after it burned up,” he replied. “What do you think of that, Miss Ludolph, with your German scepticism?”
Tears came in Christine’s eyes, and she said, in a low tone, “I am glad to say that I have lost my German scepticism in the fire also.”
“What!” cried the doctor, seizing both her hands in his hearty way. “Will you accept of our Christian superstition?”
“I think I have accepted your glorious Christian truth, and the thought makes me very happy.”
“Well, now I can almost say, Praise God for the fire, though old Dr. Arten must commence again where the youngsters are who kick up their heels in their office all day.”
With professional instinct he slipped his finger on Christine’s pulse, then rummaged in his pocket and soon drew out some powders, and in his brusque way made her take one.
“Oh, how bitter!” she exclaimed.
“That is the way the ladies treat me,” began the merry bachelor: “not an ounce of gratitude when I save their lives. But let a young fellow like Fleet come along and get them out of danger by mere brute strength, instead of my delicate, skilful way, and language breaks down with their thanks. Very well, I shall have compensation—I shall present my bill before long. And now, young man, since you have set out to rescue my little friend here, you had better carry the matter through, for several reasons which I need not urge. Your best chance is to make your way northward, and then continue around the west, where you can find food and shelter;” and with a hearty grasp of the hand, the brave, genial old man wished them “God speed!”
Dennis told him of the poor German woman, and then pushed on in the direction indicated. But Christine was growing weak and exhausted. At last they reached the Catholic cemetery. It was crowded with fugitives and the fire to the northwest still cut off all escape, even if Christine’s strength had permitted further exertion. It was now approaching midnight, and she said, wearily: “Mr. Fleet, I am very sorry, but I fear I cannot take another step. The powder Dr. Arten gave me strengthened me for a time, but its effect is passing away, and I feel almost paralyzed with fatigue. I am not afraid to stay here, or indeed anywhere now.”
“It seems a very hard necessity that you should have to remain in such a place, Miss Ludolph, but I see no help for it. We are certainly as well off as thousands of others, and so I suppose ought not to complain.”
“I feel as if I could never complain again, Mr. Fleet. I only hope my father is as safe and as well as we are. I cannot tell you how my heart goes out toward him now that I see everything in a different light. I have not been a true daughter, and I do long to make amends. He surely has escaped, don’t you think?”
“Mr. Ludolph was possessed of unusual sagacity and prudence,” said Dennis, evasively. “What any man could do, he could. And now, Miss Ludolph, I will try to find you a resting-place. There are such crowds here that I think we had better go nearer that side, where early in the evening the fire drove people away.”
The cemetery had not been used of late years, and many of the bodies had been removed. This caused excavations here and there, and one of these from which the gathered leaves and grass had been burned, Dennis thought might answer for Christine’s couch, as in the hollow of this vacant and nearly filled grave she would be quite sheltered from the wind, and the sand was still warm from the effects of the fire. To his surprise she made no objection.
“I am so weary that I can rest anywhere,” she said, “and a grave is not to me what it was once.”
He arranged her shawl so that it might be mattress, pillow, and covering, and wrapped her up.
“And how will you endure the long, cold hours, my friend?” she asked, looking up most sympathetically.
“Thanks to your kindness, I had such a good sleep this afternoon that I feel strong and rested,” he replied, with a smile.
“I fear you say so to put my mind at rest;” but even as she spoke her eyes closed and she went to sleep like a tired and trusting child. As with Dennis a few hours before, the limit of nature’s endurance had been reached, and the wealthy, highborn Miss Ludolph, who on Sabbath night had slept in the midst of artistic elegance and luxury, now, on Monday night, rested in a vacant grave under the open and storm-gathering sky. Soon—to be accurate, at two o’clock on the morning of Tuesday—rain began to fall. But, with all the discomfort it brought, never had rain been more welcome.
Christine shivered in
