At that he turned and walked rapidly away.
Tillie McFadden was the first to arrive at Mazie’s home; indeed, she arrived before Mazie. Mazie found her curled up on a couch in the corner, fast asleep. Her hands were scratched and bruised, there were tear stains on her cheeks, but for all this she slept the peaceful sleep of a child.
Mazie felt an almost uncontrollable desire to waken her, to ask her what had befallen her, what she had seen of the fire, and what had become of Pant. She conquered this desire, to murmur as she spread a blanket over the sleeping girl:
“No. Why waken her to the horror of it all? A long sleep, and she will have forgotten it. Oh, to be a little child again!”
At that she sat down to anxiously await news from her comrades.
In half an hour Pant arrived. As Mazie opened the door he came slouching in without so much as looking at her. That was Pant’s way. But to-night he moved as one in a trance, or perhaps like one who had travelled so far against the wind in a snowstorm that his senses had become so benumbed that he no longer thinks clearly.
It was not a cold night, but Mazie had kindled a little fire in the grate. Without speaking, Pant found a seat by that fire. At once he appeared to fall into a doze.
When the girl touched his arm to offer him a steaming drink he started as from a dream.
After he had gulped down the drink he appeared more alive.
“I carried her down,” he grumbled, half to himself. “Gar! That was hard! We landed on the ground. Then we ran for it, and in the crowd I lost her. Do you think I will see her again?”