So, without thought or pause, she fled, not turning till she had reached the door.
Then, with dazed senses, she became aware that Bee had rushed forward—had caught up the curtain—had flung it over and around the frenzied Patricia—had dragged her with desperate energy to the ground; that Bee now was kneeling over the prostrate form, pressing down the charred clothes, putting out the flames, and pleading for "Water! water!" While Patricia's screams had died into moans. Not Magda but Merryl—white as ashes and shaking like an aspen-leaf—flew to the inner room for a large jug, and poured its contents over the two, just in time to quench Bee's frock, which had become alight.
It all happened in a flash. Others were hurrying to the spot, and crowding around. Magda, already ashamed and conscience-smitten, was among them, asking—"Can't I help? What can I do?" But nobody listened, and the time had gone by. She could do nothing—now. It was too late!
Ivor, first to arrive, lifted Bee away in a half-fainting condition, and carried her from the room to an open window in the hall.
Fairfax somehow at once took the lead, and bent over that moaning form on the floor, warding off well-meant attempts to touch and raise her, and asking urgently for oil, which he knew might be safely applied, pending the doctor's arrival. In the general confusion he found it not easy to make his want understood; but Merryl caught the word, seized the elderly housekeeper, and dragged her off, to hunt out a bottle of salad-oil, with which she herself sped back to the scene of disaster.
Ned's eyes went to her face, as he received it from those little icy fingers; and a quarter of an hour later, when the doctor's coming set him free, his first move was in search of Merryl.
Magda, thinking that he would now surely speak to her, began—"Oh, can't I do something?" But he was gone before the words were uttered; and Magda wandered forlornly into the hall.
There she came upon two others who did not need her. Bee, rallying slowly from the faintness which had blotted out everything, found herself lying on the broad window seat, supported by somebody. At first she did not even wonder who it might be, but only whispered—
"Is Patricia badly burnt?"
"I hope not. You have done your very best to save her—you splendid girl!" A stirred and familiar voice replied; and then she woke to the fact that it was Ivor himself, and that her head was resting against his shoulder.