IN THE RUINS.
A hundred brave hearts followed the two men into the ruins, and in a
moment all became wild with excitement. The street was blocked up with
a mob that gathered immediately after that deafening crash, and shrieks
of terror from frightened women outside mingled with the audible groans
of those who had been caught in the fallen building.
Among the crowd upon the pavement, Mrs. Jones, the forewoman, ran
wildly up and down, wringing her hands and begging that some one would
save Waverley Osborne, whose wife was dying of fear. No one heeded her
in the terror and confusion that prevailed among the crowd.
The men worked like beavers, removing the débris from the wreck, but
foremost of all went the two men who ventured first, and who worked
side by side like friends and brothers in the one purpose that impelled
them on.
Prince Gonzaga, whose wild and wicked life had never until now known
a prayer, was mutely supplicating Heaven to give him the happiness of
saving that life which he had so relentlessly persecuted and darkened.
“Only let me save her life, and I will go away and never trouble her
again,” he murmured over and over, in his horror at the thought that
she might perish here in some terrible fashion.
Very soon the victims began to be taken out of the wreck, some wounded,
some miraculously unhurt, none dead as yet, until suddenly, as Lorraine
and the prince tugged at a monster beam, beneath which shone the gleam
of a silken robe, they found that the heavy thing had fallen across a
woman. When it was removed, and they drew her from the ruins, the sun
shone on a face marred and distorted, yet recognizable still as that of
Belva Platt. They laid her down outside, in all her jewels and finery,
dead, and Prince Gonzaga muttered bitterly:
“Poor wretch! She will never set another pitfall for a man’s soul.”
Not far from where they had taken her out they heard a despairing
groan, but fire had begun to break out close by from the furnaces, and
strong and brave men shrank back, appalled.
The fire engines had come, and soon streams of water began to play
upon the flames. Half blinded by smoke and drenched with water, Bayard
Lorraine and Prince Gonzaga struggled forward toward those groans, when
suddenly Bayard paused and cried hoarsely:
“Stay! It is not she! It is the voice of a man.”
“No matter; let us to the rescue!” the prince exclaimed, and, though
horrified voices shouted to them not to venture into that perilous
spot, they pressed forward until suddenly Bayard Lorraine fell down,
suffocated by the blinding heat and smoke. Then the prince sprang over
his fallen body and began to tear away the débris that hid from sight
the groaning victim.
They said that no more heroic act had ever been done than that by which
Prince Gonzaga saved a human being at the sacrifice of his own life,
for, as, with superhuman strength, he flung the heavy timbers from the
body of Waverley Osborne, the leaping flames darted forward and licked
the clothing from the prince’s person like so much paper. But he bent
forward, and, reaching down his arms, drew out the wounded form of
Sadie’s husband from the place where it had been pinioned down, with
both arms broken; and then a fresh stream of water damped the flames
a moment, so that men could come to his assistance and drag all three
from their awful position.
Yes, it was a brave and daring deed. Prince Gonzaga had written himself
down a hero, but as he lay in the street, where they had laid him,
unconscious but breathing faintly, with his bare flesh scorched in a
most pitiable fashion, the physician declared that he had received a
mortal hurt in that brave effort, and that he would live but a few
hours, or days, at most.
Waverley Osborne, quite conscious, but suffering horribly from his
broken arms, saw Bayard Lorraine beside him, just reviving from his
temporary unconsciousness; then saw him begin to struggle with those
who held him back from darting into the wreck, which had now been
abandoned to the devastating flames, as no more cries or groans could
be heard coming from it, and it was hoped that all the living ones had
been rescued.
“Let me go!” Bayard cried fiercely, angrily. “She is in there yet!
I--I--will rescue her, or perish with her.”
Waverley Osborne understood instantly. Bayard Lorraine had found out
somehow about Widow Karrick. He believed she was in there under the
terrible ruins, dying, or perhaps already dead.
Waverley called out loudly:
“Mr. Lorraine, you are mistaken! Fairfax Fielding is not in there. She
did not go to work this morning. She is at my house--safe!”
Then he swooned, and knew no more until he found himself at home, in
his own bed, with Sadie weeping over him, and Fairfax Fielding trying
to comfort her.
“Dear Sadie, indeed you know that he is not going to die. The doctor
said when he set his broken arms that with care he would do very
nicely. And he is going to send a regular nurse, and he will be sure to
get well.”
Then they saw that his eyes were open, and Sadie began to pet him
between smiles and tears.
“And only think,” she said, “your life was saved by Prince Gonzaga!
Yes, you would have been burned up in the ruins but for him. He went
to your assistance--he and Mr. Lorraine--and when Mr. Lorraine fell
down, exhausted, he fought the fire alone until he saved you, although
his bravery, they say, will cost him his life.”
Before Waverley Osborne could reply to his wife’s words, there came
a hurried rap upon the door. Sadie opened it, and Bayard Lorraine,
still begrimed with the smoke and dust of the ruins, and with torn and
water-soaked garments, hastily entered the room.
Fair uttered an irrepressible cry. He turned toward her, and their eyes
met--met for the first time since that fatal night when she had almost
been his bride, and when she had made upon her knees confession of the
folly that had wrecked her life. She trembled with emotion as she met
his grave, sweet glance, and stood like one rooted to the floor.
He went to her gently, and took both her little ice-cold hands in his,
saying kindly:
“My poor girl!”
And the tone, more than the words, revealed to her the depths of love,
grief, and pity that filled his noble, generous heart.
She did not speak. She could not; and, after a pause, he continued:
“Prince Gonzaga lies at Mrs. Howard’s house, mortally ill. I had him
taken there. I thought it was right, since he acted so nobly this
morning.”
She bowed and tried to speak, but her tongue seemed parched, and words
died unuttered upon her lips.
“I have come to take you to him,” continued Bayard Lorraine.
She found her voice, and asked falteringly:
“Did he send for me?”
“No; but I read his wish in his eyes when I told him that you still
lived,” answered Prince Gonzaga’s generous foe. “You will come, Fair?”
“Yes,” she answered, and while she hurriedly donned Sadie’s bonnet,
Bayard Lorraine said:
“The prince sent you a message, Mrs. Osborne. He hopes you will forgive
him for abducting and imprisoning you in those mad days when he was
trying to get his wife into his power.”
Sadie’s eyes filled with tears, and she answered impulsively:
“I forgive him freely, and I bless him for saving my husband’s life.”
“I am ready,” said Fair, coming back into the room.
They went out together. A taxicab was in waiting below, and they were
driven rapidly to Mrs. Howard’s residence.
They had spoken but few words on the way, but as they went up the steps
together, he said gently:
“You must be kind to him, Fair. His life, whatever his faults, had a
brave ending.”
“I will forgive him everything,” Fair answered, with a half sob; then
the door opened, and she found herself in Mrs. Howard’s arms.
“I have repented my harshness, dear,” the lady whispered lovingly, as
she led her to the room where Prince Gonzaga lay.
He was so changed, with his hair and beard all burned away, and that
awful pallor of death upon his face, that Fair would never have known
him but for the smile that parted his lips as he saw her.
For a moment she shrank and cowered, but Bayard Lorraine urged her
gently forward, whispering:
“Forget and forgive.”
She went forward and laid a nervous little hand on the cold, pale one
that lay outside the pillow.
“You--were--were--very brave, saving Mr. Osborne’s life as you did. It
was a noble deed,” she faltered.
The prince smiled, and answered weakly:
“Thank you. It was so kind in you to come. I should not have presumed
to ask it. I did not deserve it,” sighing.
“Oh, yes, you did, because--you were so brave. I am very sorry for you.
I will stay by you until----” She paused, and he finished the sentence:
“Until I die! I do not think it will be long.”
Perhaps that promise held him back from death, for Prince Gonzaga
lingered on several days, and Fair watched by him with patient
forgiveness of the past, for, as she had said, he had been so brave
that his bravery condoned many faults.
Mrs. Howard, Bayard Lorraine, and the careful nurse shared her vigils
by the bedside of the dying man, and nothing but kind words were
spoken to him. They tried to forget the dark past and look upon him
only in the halo cast by his dauntless bravery.
One day the nurse had gone out for a little recreation, and Mrs. Howard
and Fair were watching him as he slept.
The latter whispered thoughtfully:
“Do you remember those beautiful lines:
“Oh, whether on the scaffold high,
Or in the battle’s van,
The bravest place where man can die
Is where he dies for man!”
“Yes; I have thought of them often in the last few days,” said Mrs.
Howard, and just then she saw that the prince was awake and listening
to them with a smile.
His eyes turned to Fair, and he said gently:
“Poor, patient heart, you will not have to stay by me much longer. I
believe your presence has held my spirit back from death a while, yet
now I feel I am going fast. Bless you for the comfort you have been to
my dying hours. In these few days you have seemed to be almost mine.”
The girl’s beautiful brown eyes grew dim, and she laid her hand gently
on his.
“I want you to forgive me for all the trouble I have brought into your
life,” she said. “I ought not to have married you without loving you.
I--I--might have tried, after all, to care for you--only--only--for
mother’s sake,” with a choking sob.
He sighed at the thought of the poor, weak woman whose death he had
undoubtedly hastened by his folly and madness.
“It is better as it is,” he said hastily. “I was not--am not--any mate
for you, Fair. My life was wild and wicked before I knew you. Once I
was a thief--yes, that was the terrible power that Belva Platt held
over me. I was persuaded to join a gang of burglars, who robbed a bank.
Some of them were apprehended, but I escaped, and so frightened was
I that I vowed to reform my wild career. But Belva Platt found out,
through her wicked old grandmother, the sin of my past, and held it
over me like a rod of iron. You know now the secret of her power over
me. But, alas! I fell in love with the fate she forced upon me, and
for all that followed after our wedding night I alone am to blame.”
He sighed, and lay silent a few minutes, then resumed:
“Belva is dead now. I am told that she was the only one that lost her
life in the fall of the factory. I believe that my shameful secret is
buried with her, and I am glad that it is so. It can never rise to
throw its dark shadow on my memory. I hope that I shall be remembered
by the only act I ever did that was worthy the name of a prince--the
saving of Waverley Osborne’s life.”
“That brave deed wipes out all the past,” Mrs. Howard said
reassuringly, and he thanked her with a grateful smile.
A few hours later he died very peacefully, clinging to Fair’s hand and
gazing on her face to the last.
She had grown to pity him so much that she could not rejoice at his
death, although she felt that now all the shadows had passed from her
life, leaving her free to be loved and to love again.
He had told her that he was the last of his name and race, and after
his death it was found that he had made a will, leaving her his whole
fortune.
She was rich now, and she had a proud title. How strange it was that
the sewing girl should attain to such luck! said the working girls by
whose side she had toiled through her girlish days; but they did not
envy her. They rejoiced at her good fortune, declaring that she had
always been a good girl and deserved to be rich and great.