“Get down yourself as fast as you can,” commanded the guardian.
Harriet did not move. She buried her head in her skirt and crouched down close to the edge of the mow in an effort to get some fresh air, but without very great success.
“Now go, please,” urged Harriet. “You are strong enough to catch her if the rope breaks. I’m not. I know how to handle it at this end. Hurry, Miss Elting. We haven’t a second to lose.”
Miss Elting hesitated, glanced quickly at her companion, then started down the ladder. Harriet took a quick turn of the rope about a beam. Without the least hesitation, she slid the unconscious woman over the edge of the mow feet first. The girl prayed fervently that the rope might hold. It did. Little by little, though as rapidly as she dared, the girl lowered her burden. Sparks were flying all about her. She stood enveloped in a cloud of smoke, but not for an instant did the girl give thought to her own perilous position.
“I’ve got her,” screamed Miss Elting. “Come down. Be quick, oh do be quick.”
Harriet’s fingers released the rope. She staggered toward the ladder groping blindly for it. Reaching it she sank down choking.
“Can you make it?” called the guardian.
“Yes,” was the faint reply. “Get—get her out.”
Miss Elting seeing that Harriet was coming down the ladder, hastily dragged the unconscious woman out into the open air. The way seemed endless to the descending girl. About half way down her fingers relaxed. Harriet fell, landing heavily in a heap on the barn floor. She lay where she had fallen, with the flames crackling overhead as they leaped across the intervening space and began devouring the mow on the opposite side.