Tuesday was a day that was not soon forgotten at the mills. Scarcely
waiting for the smoking timbers to cool, swarms of workmen attacked the
ruins and attempted to clear their way to the point where Spencer and
McGinnis had last been seen. Fortunately, that portion of the building
had only been touched by the fire, and it was evident that the floors
and roof had been carried down with the fall of those nearest to it. For
this reason there was the more hope of finding the bodies unharmed by
fire--perhaps, even, of finding a spark of life in one or both of them.
This last hope, however, was sorrowfully abandoned when hour after hour
passed with no sign of the missing men.
All night they worked by the aid of numerous electric lights hastily
placed to illuminate the scene; and when Wednesday morning came, a new
shift of workers took up the task that had come to be now merely a
search for the dead. So convinced was every one of this that the men
gazed with blanched faces into each other's eyes when there came a
distinct rapping on a projecting timber near them. In the dazed silence
that followed a faint cry came from beneath their feet.
With a shout and a ringing cheer the men fell to work--it was no ghost,
but a living human voice that had called! They labored more cautiously
now, lest their very zeal for rescue should bring defeat in the shape of
falling brick or timber.
Ned Spencer, who had not left the mills all night, heard the cheer and
hurried forward. It was he who, when the men paused again, called:
"Frank, are you there?"
"Yes, Ned." The voice was faint, but distinctly audible.
"And McGinnis?"
There was a moment's hesitation. The listeners held their
breath--perhaps, after all, they had been dreaming and there was no
voice! Then it came again.
"Yes. He's lying beside me, but he's unconscious--or dead." The last word
was almost inaudible, so faint was it; but the tightening of Ned's lips
showed that he had heard it, none the less. In a moment he stooped
again.
"Keep up your courage, old fellow! We'll have you out of that soon."
Then he stepped aside and gave the signal for the men to fall to work
again.
Rapidly, eagerly, but oh, so cautiously, they worked. At the next pause
the voice was nearer, so near that they could drop through a small hole
a rubber tube four feet long, lowering it until Spencer could put his
mouth to it. Through this tube he was given a stimulant, and a cup of
strong coffee.
They learned then a little more of what had happened. The two men were
on the fourth floor when the crash came. They had been swept down and
had been caught between the timbers in such a way that as they lay where
they had been flung, a roof three feet above their heads supported the
crushing weight above. Spencer could remember nothing after the first
crash, until he regained consciousness long afterward, and heard the
workmen far above him. It was then that he had tapped his signal on the
projecting timber. He had tapped three times before he had been heard.
At first it was dark, he said, and he could not see, but he knew that
McGinnis was near him. McGinnis had spoken once, then had apparently
dropped into unconsciousness. At all events he had said nothing since.
Still, Spencer did not think he was dead.
Once more the rescuers fell to work, and it was then that Ned Spencer
hurried away to send a message of hope and comfort to Mrs. Merideth, who
had long since left the great house on the hill and had come down to the
Mill House to be with Margaret. To Margaret Ned wrote the one word
"Come," and as he expected, he had not long to wait.
"You have found him!" cried the girl, hurrying toward him. "Ned, he
isn't dead!"
Ned smiled and put out a steadying hand.
"We hope not--and we think not. But he is unconscious, Margaret. Don't
get your hopes too high. I had to send for you--I thought you ought to
know--what we know."
"But where is he? Have you seen him?"
Ned shook his head.
"No; but Frank says----"
"_Frank!_ But you said Frank was unconscious!"
"No, no--they aren't both unconscious--it is only McGinnis. It is Frank
who told us the story. He--why, Margaret!" But Margaret was gone; and as
Ned watched her flying form disappear toward the Mill House, he wondered
if, after all, the last hours of horror had turned her brain. In no
other way could he account for her words, and for this most
extraordinary flight just at the critical moment when she might learn
the best--and the worst--of what had come to her lover. To Ned it seemed
that the girl must be mad. He could not know that in Margaret's little
room at the Mill House some minutes later, a girl went down on her knees
and sobbed:
"To think that 'twasn't Bobby at all that I was thinking of--'twasn't
Bobby at all! 'Twas never Bobby that had my first thought. 'Twas
always----" Even to herself Margaret would not say the name, and only her
sobs finished the sentence.