Her Dark Inheritance

by Mrs. E. Burke Collins

His dark eyes flew open with a dazed expression.

"Yes—yes," he faltered.

"Come, Keith, come!" She lifted him in her arms and drew him up to a sitting position. "See!" she cried; "the flames are approaching us, and we shall be cut off from all hope of safety. Come, my darling!"

He arose and dressed himself in a moment. The fire was making fearful headway. How it had originated no one could say; but it had the whole building in its awful clutches, and it was evident that it must be consumed.

Below stairs, Doctor Darrow worked like a hero, doing all within his power to save the lives of the unfortunate sick people.

At last, after an hour's hard labor, aided by the gallant firemen and the assistants belonging to the Home, all the sick were safely removed to a neighboring house which happened to be vacant, and whose doors were burst open for the purpose by Doctor Darrow.

In the midst of the bustle and confusion, the din and uproar, the shrieks of the terrified patients, the shouts of the firemen, and cheers from the crowd gathered outside, assisting with all the ardor of a New Orleans crowd, warm-hearted and sympathetic, ready to do anything for their suffering fellow-creatures, Doctor Darrow forgot even Beatrix, and knew not what had taken place.

Sister Angela, too, was fully occupied. She flitted through the smoke-filled rooms like an angel of light, helping, cheering—a very angel, indeed. The good spirits were ever with her; the sweet, pale face looked like the face of a saint.

One by one, she brought down and out into safety the children connected with the institution, for there was a large ward set apart for little ones; and of all the sufferers, old and young, not one perished from that night's awful work. None were called from this life to the life to come but one who was well prepared—even Sister Angela.

When the children were all carried forth, as was believed, it occurred to her that there was one still left within the burning building—a poor, puny little creature who had been removed from the children's ward to Sister Angela's own room—a tiny little closet at the very top of the house. In the excitement of that awful night, Sister Angela had rushed to the rescue of the little ones, and had quite forgotten the sickly little babe sleeping soundly in its cradle away up in the attic.