"It's no use, mistress, not a bit," said the kindly sergeant. "If they two can't reach the child nobody can. The poor thing's out of its suffering by this time."
"No--no--no!" cried the woman, passionately. "The fire hasn't reached the little room at the back yet. My pretty one's waiting there--waiting for her mother to fetch her, and--O my God!--you won't let me go!"
From the midst of the little crowd of gentlemen quietly smoking their cigars Lord Loughton stepped forth and walked to the foot of the ladder. "What-are you going to do, my lord?" asked Mr. Wingfield, anxiously.
"I am going to see for myself whether the child cannot be got at," answered the earl, as he proceeded to turn up the collar of his overcoat and to fix his glass in his eye.
"But it's madness--sheer madness!" urged Sir James Bence.
"If anybody could save the child the firemen could," said Mr. Plume.
"In any case I'll go and see for myself," persisted the earl.
"Let me beg of you, my lord, to listen to reason," said Mr. Wingfield, laying a hand on the earl's arm.
"Only a washerwoman's brat," said Captain Van Loo, with a shrug. "The world holds plenty more of the same breed."
The earl said no word more, but began to mount the ladder. Up he went, slowly and carefully--being no longer so young as he once had been--past the first window, past the second, with their greedy tongues of fire that strained forth to sting him. An utter silence fell upon the crowd. They all knew by this time who the third man was. Nothing could be heard save the regular beat of the engine and the subdued roar of the flames. Men's hearts throbbed faster, women's eyes brimmed with tears. The poor despairing creature down on her knees gripped fast hold of the policeman's hand as though it were an anchor of hope, and prayed as she had never prayed before that the brave gentleman might find her one pet lamb and bring it back alive to its mother's arms.