The Spencers remained at Hilcrest nearly all summer with only a short
trip or two on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned. The place was
particularly cool and delightful in summer, and this season it was more
so than usual. House-parties had always been popular at Hilcrest, and
never more so than now. So popular, indeed, were they that Margaret
suspected them to be sometimes merely an excuse to gain her own presence
at Hilcrest.
There were no guests, however, on the Monday night that the mills caught
fire. Even Margaret was down at the Mill House. Mrs. Merideth, always a
light sleeper, was roused by the first shrill blast of the whistle. From
her bed she could see the lurid glow of the sky, and with a cry of
terror she ran to the window. The next moment she threw a bath-robe over
her shoulders and ran to Frank Spencer's room across the hall.
"Frank, it's the mills--they're all afire!" she called frenziedly. "Oh,
Frank, it's awful!"
From behind the closed door came a sudden stir and the sound of bare
feet striking the floor; then Frank's voice.
"I'll be out at once. And, Della, see if Ned's awake, and if you can
call up Peters, please. We shall want a motor car."
Mrs. Merideth wrung her hands.
"Frank--Frank--I can't have you go--I can't have you go!" she moaned
hysterically; yet all the while she was hurrying to the telephone that
would give the alarm and order the car that would take him.
In five minutes the house was astir from end to end. Lights flashed here
and there, and terrified voices and hurried footsteps echoed through the
great halls. Down in the town the whistles were still shrieking their
frenzied summons, and up in the sky the lurid glow of the flames was
deepening and spreading. Then came a hurried word from McGinnis over the
telephone.
The fire had caught in one of the buildings that had been closed for
repairs, which accounted for the great headway it had gained before it
was discovered. There was a strong east wind, and the fire was rapidly
spreading, and had already attacked the next building on the west. The
operatives were in a panic. There was danger of great loss of life, and
all help possible was needed.
Mrs. Merideth, who heard, could only wring her hands and moan again: "I
can't have them go--I can't have them go!" Yet five minutes later she
sent them off, both Frank and Ned, with a fervid "God keep you" ringing
in their ears.
Down in the Mill House all was commotion. Margaret was everywhere,
alert, capable, and untiring.
"We can do the most good by staying right here and keeping the house
open," she said. "We are so near that they may want to bring some of the
children here, if there should be any that are hurt or overcome. At all
events, we'll have everything ready, and we'll have hot coffee for the
men."
Almost immediately they came--those limp, unconscious little forms borne
in strong, tender arms. Some of the children had only fainted; others
had been crushed and bruised in the mad rush for safety. Before an hour
had passed the Mill House looked like a hospital, and every available
helper was pressed into service as a nurse.
Toward morning a small boy, breathless and white-faced, rushed into the
main hall.
"They're in there--they're in there--they hain't come out yet--an' the roof
has caved in!" he panted. "They'll be burned up--they'll be burned up!"
Margaret sprang forward.
"But I thought they were all out," she cried. "We heard that every one
was out. Who's in there? What do you mean?"
The boy gasped for breath.
"The boss, Bobby McGinnis an' Mr. Spencer--Mr. Frank Spencer. They
went----"
With a sharp cry Margaret turned and ran through the open door to the
street, nor did she slacken her pace until she had reached the surging
crowds at the mills.
From a score of trembling lips she learned the story, told in sobbing,
broken scraps of words.
Frank and Ned Spencer, together with McGinnis, had worked side by side
with the firemen in clearing the mills of the frightened men, women, and
children. It was not until after word came that all were out that Frank
Spencer and McGinnis were reported to be still in the burning building.
Five minutes later there came a terrific crash, and a roar of flames as
a portion of the walls and the roof caved in. Since then neither one of
the two men had been seen.
There was more--much more: tales of brave rescues, and stories of
children restored to frantically outstretched arms; but Margaret did not
hear. With terror-glazed eyes and numbed senses she shrank back from the
crowd, clasping and unclasping her hands in helpless misery. There Ned
found her.
"Margaret, you! and here? No, no, you must not. You can do no good. Let
me take you home, do, dear," he implored.
Margaret shook her head.
"Ned, he can't be dead--not dead!" she moaned.
Ned's face grew white. For an instant he was almost angry with the girl
who had so plainly shown that to her there was but one man that had gone
down into the shadow of death. Then his eyes softened. After all, it was
natural, perhaps, that she should think of her lover, and of him only,
in this first agonized moment.
"Margaret, dear, come home," he pleaded.
"Ned, he isn't dead--not dead," moaned the girl again. "Why don't you
tell me he isn't dead?"
Ned shuddered. His eyes turned toward the blackened, blazing pile before
him--as if a man could be there, and live! Margaret followed his gaze and
understood.
"But he--he may not have gone in again, Ned. He may not have gone in
again," she cried feverishly. "He--he is out here somewhere. We will find
him. Come! Come--we must find him!" And she tugged at his arm.
Ned caught at the straw.
"No, no, not you--you could do nothing here; but I'll go," he said. "And
I'll promise to bring you the very first word that I can. Come, now
you'll go home, surely!"
Margaret gazed about her. Everywhere were men, confusion, smoke and
water. The fire was clearly under control, and the flames were fast
hissing into silence. Over in the east the sun was rising. A new day had
begun, a day of---- She suddenly remembered the sufferers back at the Mill
House. She turned about sharply.
"Yes, I'll go," she choked. "I'll go back to the Mill House. I _can_ do
something there, and I can't do anything here. But, Ned, you will bring
me word--soon; won't you?--soon!" And before Ned could attempt to follow
her, she had turned and was lost in the crowd.