Opening her door, she turned toward the ell where Mrs. Redmond and the two girls had their rooms. The smell of smoke was stronger there, and in the darkness some one brushed against her, crying, "The house must be on fire." With a leap Martine reached the top floor where her friends were. Mrs. Redmond's door opened to her knock, and then she rapped loudly on the door of the room that Amy and Priscilla occupied together.
"Fire, fire!" she called, and in a moment Mrs. Redmond's voice was added to hers.
"Open the door, Amy; don't wait to dress. Come, come, don't you understand? The house is on fire."
"Yes, yes, we are dressing."
"Unlock the door; I can help bring out some of your things."
The hall was thick with smoke. Mrs. Redmond and Martine knew that the fire was near. Amy's voice was heard from the room—or was it Amy?—speaking almost in terror, "I cannot open the door; I have mislaid the key."
"Why did you take it from the lock? Oh, Amy!"
Mrs. Redmond uttered no further reproof now. It was a time for action. "Martine," she cried, "we must go for help." But Martine made no reply. Already she was far on her way downstairs. All the people in the house were now evidently aware of the fire. Doors were slamming, and she heard steps and voices ahead of her. In spite of her difficulty in making her way through the thick smoke, Martine soon found herself near the broad front door. Here two or three men were standing.
"Please help me quickly," cried Martine, breathlessly; "my friends are in a room in the wing, and cannot open the door. Come, I will show you."
Leading the way, Martine was soon at Amy's door again. She could see no one, for there were no lights in the hall, but she recognized Mrs. Redmond's voice.