The Turn of the Tide Part 29

"She does not love me," he would moan night after night as he tossed in sleepless misery. "She does not love me, but she does not know it--yet.

She is everything that is good and beautiful and kind; but I never, never can make her happy. I might have known--I might have known!"

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

The Spencers remained at Hilcrest nearly all summer with only a short trip or two on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned. The place was particularly cool and delightful in summer, and this season it was more so than usual. House-parties had always been popular at Hilcrest, and never more so than now. So popular, indeed, were they that Margaret suspected them to be sometimes merely an excuse to gain her own presence at Hilcrest.

There were no guests, however, on the Monday night that the mills caught fire. Even Margaret was down at the Mill House. Mrs. Merideth, always a light sleeper, was roused by the first shrill blast of the whistle. From her bed she could see the lurid glow of the sky, and with a cry of terror she ran to the window. The next moment she threw a bath-robe over her shoulders and ran to Frank Spencer's room across the hall.

"Frank, it's the mills--they're all afire!" she called frenziedly. "Oh, Frank, it's awful!"

From behind the closed door came a sudden stir and the sound of bare feet striking the floor; then Frank's voice.

"I'll be out at once. And, Della, see if Ned's awake, and if you can call up Peters, please. We shall want a motor car."

Mrs. Merideth wrung her hands.

"Frank--Frank--I can't have you go--I can't have you go!" she moaned hysterically; yet all the while she was hurrying to the telephone that would give the alarm and order the car that would take him.

In five minutes the house was astir from end to end. Lights flashed here and there, and terrified voices and hurried footsteps echoed through the great halls. Down in the town the whistles were still shrieking their frenzied summons, and up in the sky the lurid glow of the flames was deepening and spreading. Then came a hurried word from McGinnis over the telephone.

The fire had caught in one of the buildings that had been closed for repairs, which accounted for the great headway it had gained before it was discovered. There was a strong east wind, and the fire was rapidly spreading, and had already attacked the next building on the west. The operatives were in a panic. There was danger of great loss of life, and all help possible was needed.

Mrs. Merideth, who heard, could only wring her hands and moan again: "I can't have them go--I can't have them go!" Yet five minutes later she sent them off, both Frank and Ned, with a fervid "G.o.d keep you" ringing in their ears.

Down in the Mill House all was commotion. Margaret was everywhere, alert, capable, and untiring.

"We can do the most good by staying right here and keeping the house open," she said. "We are so near that they may want to bring some of the children here, if there should be any that are hurt or overcome. At all events, we'll have everything ready, and we'll have hot coffee for the men."

Almost immediately they came--those limp, unconscious little forms borne in strong, tender arms. Some of the children had only fainted; others had been crushed and bruised in the mad rush for safety. Before an hour had pa.s.sed the Mill House looked like a hospital, and every available helper was pressed into service as a nurse.

Toward morning a small boy, breathless and white-faced, rushed into the main hall.

"They're in there--they're in there--they hain't come out yet--an' the roof has caved in!" he panted. "They'll be burned up--they'll be burned up!"

Margaret sprang forward.

"But I thought they were all out," she cried. "We heard that every one was out. Who's in there? What do you mean?"

The boy gasped for breath.

"The boss, Bobby McGinnis an' Mr. Spencer--Mr. Frank Spencer. They went----"

With a sharp cry Margaret turned and ran through the open door to the street, nor did she slacken her pace until she had reached the surging crowds at the mills.

From a score of trembling lips she learned the story, told in sobbing, broken sc.r.a.ps of words.

Frank and Ned Spencer, together with McGinnis, had worked side by side with the firemen in clearing the mills of the frightened men, women, and children. It was not until after word came that all were out that Frank Spencer and McGinnis were reported to be still in the burning building.

Five minutes later there came a terrific crash, and a roar of flames as a portion of the walls and the roof caved in. Since then neither one of the two men had been seen.

There was more--much more: tales of brave rescues, and stories of children restored to frantically outstretched arms; but Margaret did not hear. With terror-glazed eyes and numbed senses she shrank back from the crowd, clasping and unclasping her hands in helpless misery. There Ned found her.

"Margaret, you! and here? No, no, you must not. You can do no good. Let me take you home, do, dear," he implored.

Margaret shook her head.

"Ned, he can't be dead--not dead!" she moaned.

Ned's face grew white. For an instant he was almost angry with the girl who had so plainly shown that to her there was but one man that had gone down into the shadow of death. Then his eyes softened. After all, it was natural, perhaps, that she should think of her lover, and of him only, in this first agonized moment.

"Margaret, dear, come home," he pleaded.

"Ned, he isn't dead--not dead," moaned the girl again. "Why don't you tell me he isn't dead?"

Ned shuddered. His eyes turned toward the blackened, blazing pile before him--as if a man could be there, and live! Margaret followed his gaze and understood.

"But he--he may not have gone in again, Ned. He may not have gone in again," she cried feverishly. "He--he is out here somewhere. We will find him. Come! Come--we must find him!" And she tugged at his arm.

Ned caught at the straw.

"No, no, not you--you could do nothing here; but I'll go," he said. "And I'll promise to bring you the very first word that I can. Come, now you'll go home, surely!"

Margaret gazed about her. Everywhere were men, confusion, smoke and water. The fire was clearly under control, and the flames were fast hissing into silence. Over in the east the sun was rising. A new day had begun, a day of---- She suddenly remembered the sufferers back at the Mill House. She turned about sharply.

"Yes, I'll go," she choked. "I'll go back to the Mill House. I _can_ do something there, and I can't do anything here. But, Ned, you will bring me word--soon; won't you?--soon!" And before Ned could attempt to follow her, she had turned and was lost in the crowd.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

Tuesday was a day that was not soon forgotten at the mills. Scarcely waiting for the smoking timbers to cool, swarms of workmen attacked the ruins and attempted to clear their way to the point where Spencer and McGinnis had last been seen. Fortunately, that portion of the building had only been touched by the fire, and it was evident that the floors and roof had been carried down with the fall of those nearest to it. For this reason there was the more hope of finding the bodies unharmed by fire--perhaps, even, of finding a spark of life in one or both of them.

This last hope, however, was sorrowfully abandoned when hour after hour pa.s.sed with no sign of the missing men.

All night they worked by the aid of numerous electric lights hastily placed to illuminate the scene; and when Wednesday morning came, a new s.h.i.+ft of workers took up the task that had come to be now merely a search for the dead. So convinced was every one of this that the men gazed with blanched faces into each other's eyes when there came a distinct rapping on a projecting timber near them. In the dazed silence that followed a faint cry came from beneath their feet.

With a shout and a ringing cheer the men fell to work--it was no ghost, but a living human voice that had called! They labored more cautiously now, lest their very zeal for rescue should bring defeat in the shape of falling brick or timber.

Ned Spencer, who had not left the mills all night, heard the cheer and hurried forward. It was he who, when the men paused again, called:

"Frank, are you there?"

"Yes, Ned." The voice was faint, but distinctly audible.

"And McGinnis?"