“I’ll go after her,” he said, between his teeth. Already the slender, running figure was dim through the smoke.
Mrs. Hurst caught his wrist and held it as in a vice.
“No!” she said. “You are all they have—and you can do no good. Oh, pray for her—pray that she may be quick!”
Roany was at the gate, pawing, uttering terrified whinnying. Robin flung it open, the iron latch scorching her fingers, and the horse galloped madly past her, the thudding of his hoofs dying away towards the creek. Robin ran back, more slowly than she had come. She knew that she was very nearly done.
Then the smoke seemed to split in two, showing the fire as is whirled down upon Hill Farm. Behind the green of the garden the immediate blaze died away: but on either side a wall of flame rushed through the long grass and the dry bracken, driving with hurricane speed towards the creek. The hot breath of its coming blinded and choked her. She knew the creek was near: knew that she was staggering uncertainly, her sense of direction gone. Then dimly, through the dense smoke, she saw a running, silent figure: Polly, carrying something, and smiling as she ran. Only for a moment, for Robin’s eyes could see no more. She fell, blind and helpless, in the path of the rushing wall of flame.
The scorching blast touched her. Then came a sudden weight of coolness and darkness, exquisite in its relief. She drifted under it into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER XIV
THE LAST
“Mother, are you there?”
“Yes, dear heart. Don’t try to move.”
“I can’t see you.”