A Barren Title: A Novel

by T. W. Speight

"How old was your child, and in which room was she sleeping?" asked the policeman.

"She's three years old, and she was in bed in the top back room. Oh, sir, do tell me where she is!"

The constable called to another one, and the two held a brief conference in whispers. Then, turning to the woman, he said, "No such child as the one you speak of was found in the house. Are you sure she was there?"

"Sure! Good heavens! didn't I put her to bed with my own hands at eight o'clock, and the darling never wakes till morning! As soon as my little one was in bed I set off for my sister's at the other end of the town, who's ill, and there I've been ever since. Oh, sir, I must have my child! God has taken them all from me but her. He can't intend that she should be burned to death!"

The sergeant whispered to his companion again, who ran off to another group of policemen a little distance away, but only to return next minute, bringing word that no such child had been rescued from the burning tenement. Meanwhile word had run through the crowd that Dinah King's little girl was still in the house. The news thrilled all there as if they had one pulse and one heart. One sharp-witted fellow, calling to his friends, ran in search of a ladder. Fortunately he had not far to go. In a very few minutes the ladder, borne on a dozen stalwart shoulders, pierced the crowd, and was reared on end so that its top rested against the sill of one of the upper windows. From the windows in a line below that one came long, flickering tongues of flame which strove to lick the ladder and wrap round its rungs as if they would fain claim it also as their prey. The lower floor had fallen in by this time, and the interior was like a glowing furnace, but the strong beams of the upper stories still held their own, although the flooring here and there was burned through, and thin snakes of flame were coiling round the doors and window-sills.

Now that the ladder was in position there was a moment's hesitation among the little crowd at the foot of it. In order to reach the topmost window it was necessary to pass the two lower ones, which were as open mouths to the furnace inside. "Let me have a try," said one of the firemen, and next moment he was climbing the ladder with nimble feet. Past the two windows he went without pause, although the heat must have been all but unbearable, and was quickly perched on the sill of the upper window and breaking away the framework with his axe. Then from the throbbing crowd came a wild cheer of encouragement. But the moment the framework was broken away dense volumes of black smoke came swirling out, and it was then seen how fallacious was the hope that the fire had not yet made its way as far as the upper rooms. Durham, the fireman, plunged into the thick smoke, but only to struggle back to the window next minute, blinded and half stifled. Another fireman sprang to the assistance of his mate, and climbed the ladder like a lamplighter. Again a ringing cheer burst from the crowd. As soon as the second man had joined the first they disappeared together inside the room. A brief, breathless interval, and then, as the smoke cleared away a little, the two men could again be seen standing at the window--but without the child.

"The staircase is on fire and we can do nothing," one of them shouted.

In the silence that followed the crackling of the burning rafters could plainly be heard.

The mother had been on her knees all this time, her fingers pressed to her eyes, praying audibly to Heaven to give her back her little one. She now sprang to her feet and rushed to the foot of the ladder. "Let me go!" she cried. "The fire sha'n't keep me back! She's the only one I've left, and I can't lose her."

It was evident that the woman was half distraught. Up the ladder she would have gone had not strong arms held her back.