He hacked at the timber; he tried to laugh; he bewildered himself with cheerful words.
"No more ye needn't, Senath, for it'll be over in a minute. Don't be downcast yet! We'll have ye safe at home before ye know it. Drink a little more water,—do now! They'll get at ye now, sure!"
But above the crackle and the roar a woman's voice rang out like a bell:—
"We're going home, to die no more."
A child's notes quavered in the chorus. From sealed and unseen graves, white young lips swelled the glad refrain,—
"We're going, going home."
The crawling smoke turned yellow, turned red. Voice after voice broke and hushed utterly. One only sang on like silver. It flung defiance down at death. It chimed into the lurid sky without a tremor. For one stood beside her in the furnace, and his form was like unto the form of the Son of God. Their eyes met. Why should not Asenath sing?
"Senath!" cried the old man out upon the burning bricks; he was scorched now, from his gray hair to his patched boots.
The answer came triumphantly,—
"To die no more, no more, no more!"