CHAPTER XXVI
CONSTANCE EMORY and her mother, waiting quietly in their own home, heard the cheers when the noise from Dan's shrieking engine reached the crowd of desperate men on the square. Then presently they heard the rattle and clash of the fire-engines as they were dragged through the street, and were aware that the relief train had arrived, but it was not until the doctor came in some time long after midnight that they knew who had been the savior of the town.
“It's all over, dear. The fire is under control,” he said, cheerfully, addressing his wife. “I guess we can go to bed now and feel pretty sure we won't be burned out before morning.”
Constance put down the book she had been trying to read, and rose tiredly and stiffly from her chair beside the table.
“Then the train did come, after all?” she said. “Yes, but not a moment too soon. I tell you we can't be grateful enough. I've been with Oakley and his father; that's what kept me,” he explained.
“Oakley!” Constance cried, in amazement. “You don't mean—”
“Yes. Didn't you know that it was Oakley and his father who brought the relief train? The old man is dead. He was killed on the way. It's a miracle that either of them got through alive. Hadn't you heard?”
Constance put out her hands blindly, for a sudden mist had come before her eyes.
“Father, you don't mean that Mr. Oakley has returned to Antioch—that he is here now?”