"My goodness!" murmured the father. "Both my children!" But in a moment he was himself again—the master, the director. He stepped forward, as a captain reviewing his troops.
"Volunteers!" his commanding voice ordered, and from the mass of reluctant men sprang a dozen, stung to tardy courage. Mr. Hegan rapidly divided his forces. Half were to go with him to the outer walls and the roof, half to follow Tom, already on his way up the inner wall to Joan.
If Joan had stopped to ask herself how she came to be where she was, she could hardly have told. From the moment when she reached the stock-house and saw the poor souls dangling, as it were, between life and death, her brain had worked like a fire. She saw the small opening under the eaves, and remembering the scaffolding on the outside, realized that she could make the height of the walls in pure air. To her the gases were less terrifying because she had formed the habit of visiting Tom when the air was most foul, to carry him cooling draughts. Almost instinctively she caught up a rope, and winding it about her waist, ran to the outer wall, where she was quite alone. Never before in her childish life had she felt so little the need of advice and instruction. As each move occurred to her, she followed it instantly, and with a concise certainty as unusual to her as it was exhilarating. Never before had she climbed with such careful precision or so rapidly. Her whole soul was absorbed in the impulse of succor, which steadied while it inspired her. She did not stop to count the cost, because cost did not exist for her. Once only did she remember herself and her danger, and that was when some instinctive feeling drew her eyes down to the rescuing-band swarming up to her aid. After that one look she did not venture to measure with her eyes the dreadful distance below. She was soon on a level with those she came to reach, and breathing the same air they breathed. Used as she was to the gases, their poison was affecting her. Her breath began to come heavily, and her eyes were now and then playing her false. Joan grasped her dulling senses as with physical hands and forced them to her service until she reached the girder. To climb out upon it and to lash the men in place were all that remained for her to do. Then, if she had the strength left, she would also lash herself, and—she realized dully that she had reached the first victim.
He had fallen forward, and was caught by the breast and between the arms in the frame-work. Joan twined the rope about him and the bar, and with the loose end passed on, crawling to the next man, who lay less dangerously. He was supported astride the girder as by a miracle of balance, his back against an iron bar, his head dropped on his breast. A strange throbbing sound was troubling Joan's ears, and seemed to her to dim her powers, and make the knots her stiffened fingers tied yet more difficult. Her sight, too, was growing dimmer, as the throbbing entered into her brain with hard metallic crashings that increased in force and volume, paralyzing the will-power to which she now felt herself clinging but feebly. She tied the last knot about the unconscious man, and felt herself then stupidly trying to wind the rope's end about her own waist. The clashing in her brain grew terrible. It was like an acute suffering, than which a fall to the depths below was preferable. But, painfully forcing herself to what was now a mere duty of self-preservation, she feebly plucked at the rope, her body swaying back and forth on the girder. Suddenly she realized her swaying motion, and righted herself with a start that roused her to a full, if momentary, consciousness. She had no longer the power to even toy with the rope or stop this swaying, which she knew had begun again. The terrible crashing sound was an unbearable uproar in her ears and brain. Her head fell forward helplessly; she felt her body following, and with a great human cry of mortal fear she struggled desperately against the sinking impulse which was dragging her down, down—
A strong rough grasp was about her waist, catching her back. Tom's voice was crying her name in her ears, and a moment later the iron roof, yielding to the brave attacking of sledges and crowbars, opened above their heads. But to Joan's sick and giddy senses it was the heavens that were parting, with a tearing, rending sound, and a glory of inrushing sunlight told her that all was over. She closed her eyes, wondering vaguely at the painlessness of death, and while thus wondering lost consciousness.
When Joan awoke it was with a warm rain, dropping on her face, and she looked up into her uncle's eyes. He was kneeling by her side, bending over her. On her other side she recognized the physician of the works, and standing at her feet was Tom, his arm about his father's shoulders, supporting him. Mr. Hegan was trembling, and leaning on that support as gratefully and as naturally as if it had ever been his habit to cling to his son. A dry sob of relief broke from her father's lips as Joan opened her eyes.
"Hush!" whispered the doctor, as she looked around her amazed. A rope was knotted about her waist and the pulley block and ropes by which she had been lowered from the roof were still attached to her rope girdle.
"What is it?" she asked, in painful bewilderment. "Oh, what is all this?"
The doctor bent to speak to her soothingly, but Bishop Hegan motioned him back.
"It is your unbuckled armor, my little Joan," he said. "You have had your wish for glory, Joan."