Suddenly new sounds fell distinctly upon her ear. The firemen had arrived; she could hear them racing up the stairs and shouting.
Just as her strength seemed giving out Miss Allyn opened her door. There was a gust of wind from the open window, then a sudden burst of flame in the hallway.
Marion staggered into the room and slammed the door behind her. In that awful moment she thought suddenly of Dollie.
The house was old and burned as rapidly as tinder. In spite of the furious streams of water that hissed and spurted upon it the flames ate their way ravenously to the very roof, flashing their long tongues of flame out of every window and thrilling with sensations of horror the thousands of spectators who had gathered in the streets.
One by one the roomers had been hurried out by the firemen, one of them carrying Dollie in his arms down the stairs and depositing her safely on the pavement.
“My sister! Oh, my sister!” shrieked Dollie, shrilly. “Oh, save my sister Marion and dear Miss Allyn!”
“Where are they?” asked a fireman who had heard her cry.
“Third floor, back,” answered Dollie in an agonized whisper.
The fireman shook his head.
“No use,” he muttered sadly. “The rear is gutted. If it was front we might save them.”