"The fire has flushed your cheek," he said, touching it softly, the lover's awe shining in his eyes; with John it had never been lost in the assured possession of the husband. Helen looked at him, smiling a little, but she did not speak. Silence with her told sometimes more than words.
"It has been such a long afternoon," he said. "I was glad to hurry home; perhaps that is the reason I forgot the canister."
"Shall I send you back for it?" She put her lips for a moment against his hand, and then, glancing out at the night for sheer joy at the warmth and light within, she added, "Why, what is that glow, John? It looks like fire."
He turned, and then pushed back his chair and went to the window.
"It does look like fire," he said anxiously.
Helen had followed him, and they watched together a strange light, rising and falling, and then brightening again all along the sky. Even as they looked the upper heavens began to pulsate and throb with faint crimson.
"It is fire!" John exclaimed. "Let me get my coat. I must go."
"Oh, not now," Helen said. "You must finish your supper; and you are so tired, John!"
But he was already at the door and reaching for his hat.
"It must be the lumber-yards, and the river is frozen!"