“Here I am, Frank,” came the answer.
Howard groped his way toward the sound. “Are you hurt?” he asked in trembling accents.
“No! I think not—certainly not seriously.” The girl’s tones were broken, but brave as ever.
“The rest of you? Is everybody alive? Answer as I call. Joyce?”
“I’m alive, sor, and so is Kathleen.”
“Jackson?”
“Here.”
“Mr. Willoughby?”
“I, too, have escaped.”
Howard drew a long breath. “Thank God! We seem to have our lives, at any rate.”