Her friend gave an ejaculation of horror.
“Are you sure?” she asked in astonishment. “How do you know that it was not accident?”
“The firemen found some ignited boards soaked in oil against the studio walls,” Celia replied. “One of them had ‘Mendel and Co.’ painted on the back. It’s the factory people. They have been threatening us for some time, as you are aware; but we never dreamt of this. If there had been the slightest breeze we should have been burnt right out.”
“The wretches!” exclaimed Lady Marjorie. “I hope they will get the imprisonment they deserve. We must be thankful, however, that the danger was not greater; it might have been worse.”
She glanced through the window, and remarked with satisfaction that, although the engines were still at work, the smoke had dissolved, and the flames were quenched.
Suddenly the measured tread of heavy feet on the lower staircase made her turn quickly towards the door. Tramp, tramp, they came, and an icy fear gripped her heart as she listened. Expecting she knew not what, she nervously made her way to the landing, and looked over the balustrade.
A small procession of firemen and servants were coming up the stairs. What did they want up there, she wondered vaguely. They seemed to be carrying something ... a motionless form with arms hanging limply down. Some one had evidently been injured—perhaps worse. With a shudder she looked away, and for a moment everything swam before her eyes; until a smothered sob from Celia recalled her to herself.
The firemen came nearer, and turning into an adjacent room, deposited their burden on the bed. As though fascinated, Lady Marjorie followed. The servants made way for her, although one of them would fain have spared her the painful sight. With a low cry of grief and terror, she advanced towards the bed, for on it lay the apparently lifeless figure of the man she loved!
Celia, with praiseworthy calmness, was bathing his face, whilst Higgins attempted to remove his blackened dress-coat, the left sleeve of which had been partly burnt away. One servant was hunting for lint, another for iodoform, a third for vaseline; but Lady Marjorie saw none of them. She was conscious only of that white set face with the long black lashes drooping over the pallid cheeks. Flinging off her cloak, she bent over him, and began whispering all the endearing names she could think of. Conventional discretion was for the moment set aside.
Presently he seemed to regain consciousness; and, at a look of warning from Celia, she removed the diamond star which blazed on her breast, casting it heedlessly on the floor. A quivering of the eyelids, a slight moan; and then the sufferer looked up and met her gaze.