She did not appear to understand him. She stood, with her face white as ashes, and looked at him with the same expression.
“Leave me—oh, leave me,” he said, “for one moment! It is not fit for you.”
She did not move.
{Illustration: “THERE WAS THE HISS OF SOMETHING SCORCHING."}
Dudleigh could wait no longer. His soul was roused up to a desperate purpose, but the execution of that purpose could not be delayed. He sprang to the fire. One of the irons had been imbedded there in the glowing coals. He had seen this in his despair, and had started toward it, when Edith detained him. This iron he snatched out. It was at a white heat, dazzling in its glow.
In an instant he plunged this at the wound. A low cry like a muffled groan was wrung from the spectators, who watched the act with eyes of utter horror.
There was the hiss of something scorching; a sickening smoke arose and curled up about his head, and ascended to the roof. But in the midst of this Dudleigh stood as rigid as Mucius Scaevola under another fiery trial, with the hand that held the glowing iron and the arm that felt the awful torment as steady as though he had been a statue fashioned in that attitude. Thus he finished his work.
It was all over in a few seconds. Then Dudleigh turned, with his face ghastly white, and big drops of perspiration, wrung out by that agony, standing over his brow. He flung down the iron.
At the same moment Edith, yielding altogether to the horror that had hitherto overwhelmed her, fell senseless to the floor.
By this time some among the crowd had regained the use of their faculties, and these advanced to offer their services. Dudleigh was able to direct them to take Edith to some shelter, and while they did so he followed. Edith after some time revived. A doctor was sent for, who examined Dudleigh's arm, and praised him for his prompt action, while wondering at his daring. He bound it up, and gave some general directions.