window. The voice
came from the riverside.

A man was dashing down the green slope, upon the footbridge.

Faith stretched her arms out, as a child might, wakened in pain and
terror. A cry, in which were uttered the fear, the horror, that were now
first fully felt, as a possible safety appeared, and the joy, that
itself came like a sudden pang, escaped her, piercingly, thrillingly.

Roger Armstrong looked upward as he sprang upon the bridge.

He caught the cry. He saw Faith stand there, in her white dress, that
had been wet and blackened in her battling with the fire.

A great soul glance of courage and resolve flashed from his eyes. He
reached his uplifted arms toward her, answering hers. He uttered not a
word.

"Round! round!" cried Faith. "The door upon the other side!"

Roger Armstrong, leaping to the spot, and Michael Garvin, escaped by the
long rope that hung vibrating from his grasp, down the brick wall of the
building, met at the staircase door.

"Help me drive that in!" cried the minister.

And the two men threw their stalwart shoulders against the barrier,
forcing lock and hinges.

Up the stairs rushed Roger Armstrong.

Answering the crash of the falling door, came another and more fearful
crash within.

Gnawed by the fire, the timbers and supports beneath the forward portion
of the second floor had given way, and the heavy looms that stood there
had gone plunging down. A horrible volume of smoke and steam poured
upward, with the flames, from out the chasm, and rushed, resistlessly,
everywhere.

Roger Armstrong dashed into the little countingroom. Faith lay there, on
the floor. At that fearful crash, that rush of suffocating smoke, she
had fallen, senseless. He seized her, frantically, in his arms to bear
her down.

"Faith! Faith!" he cried, when she neither spoke nor moved. "My darling!
Are you hurt? Are you killed? Oh, my God! must there be another?"

Faith did not hear these words, uttered with all the passionate agony of
a man who would hold the woman he loves to his heart, and defy for her
even death.

She came to herself in the open air. She felt herself in his arms. She
only heard him say, tenderly and anxiously, in something of his old
tone, as her consciousness returned, and he saw it:

"My dear child!"

But she knew then all that had been a mystery to her in herself before.

She knew that she loved Roger Armstrong. That it was not a love of
gratitude and reverence, only; but