The old house was a prison, which seemed as solid as the Bastille, and at last Margie came away from the window.
An hour passed.
She heard footsteps come up the stairs and stop at the door.
It was Nora coming back to see if she was asleep, and in a few seconds the steps receded.
At last she threw herself upon the bed, and, wearied out, fell into a dreamless slumber.
Suddenly, however, she opened her eyes, and then bounded from the couch.
Smoke which seemed to pour into the room over the door almost suffocated her.
She shrieked for help, she beat the door with her hands, she was here, there, everywhere.
But no help came, and as the walls of the little room grew hot Margie Marne fell senseless and hopeless to the floor.