Seizing the unconscious boy by his ankles, she began dragging him slowly across the floor. It required all her strength, but she managed to get him through the doorway and into the hall. The smoke was terrible, however. Not in the great fire at Shell Island had it seemed so dense and thick. At last, staggering toward the door, she called:
It was Ignatius Donahue who carried her out in his arms, while she whispered hoarsely,
“Be careful not to crush the bird! He’s in my blouse.”
Edward’s double and Charlie Clay lifted him out of the smoke-filled hall.
“Shan’t we try and save the house, sir?” asked Percy, who saw in the stranger now only a very distinguished person, born to command.
“No, no, my boy. It can’t be saved and it had better burn. It has been a house of sorrow always.”
They carried Edward l’Estrange farther down the avenue to the automobile which had been moved out of reach of smoke and sparks. As Billie’s dazed senses began to return, she saw, sitting in the back, Virginia’s mother, very pale and ill. But strange to say, the invalid was not looking at the house. Her eyes were fastened on Ignatius Donahue with an expression in which could be read many things: wonder, surprise, perhaps even joy. Billie thought her more beautiful even than the first time she had met her, and it occurred to her, watching the delicate, lovely face, that at least the poor lady would never know now about her prized heirlooms. They would to her always have been burned with the house.
Edward l’Estrange was not long unconscious, after he was brought into the fresh air. They chafed his wrists and temples and presently he opened his eyes.
“Are they all safe?” he asked as memory returned to him.