as of
one who wakes from a long sleep? That was why I stopped you from
throwing aside the window-curtains. The light of the burning city--it
might have brought back the memory of that night at the keep."

"And for the same reason you have kept yourself out of sight," said
Constans, coldly.

The man trembled. "Yes; I am afraid," he answered, and Constans, for all
his bitterness of heart, was fain to pity him.

A series of muffled explosions startled them. Quinton Edge moved softly
towards the outer door. "The fire must be coming nearer," he whispered.
"I will make sure of our position and return within a few minutes. Hush!
she is sleeping again."

But when Constans went and stood by the couch, Issa was looking at him
with wide-opened eyes.

"Constans--little brother," she said, weakly, and yet with an infinite
content. He dropped to his knees beside her and tried to answer, but
could not.

"Surely it must be close to morning now," she went on, slowly. "I can
hear the doves cooing on the tiles, the wind is blowing over the
water-meadows, and the lark is in the blue--ah, God! how beautiful this
dear world of ours! It is the May-time, little brother, and the arbutus
will be in bloom--the shy, pink blossoms that nestle on the sunny slopes
of the rocks and at the roots of the birch-trees. We will gather
them--you and I--and bring them home to deck our lady mother's chamber.
The May-bloom--it is in the air. How sweet--how sweet!"

Constans, following the look in her eyes, saw a low table standing
against the opposite wall. Upon it was a bowl filled with the delicate
arbutus--fresh and fragrant as though but lately gathered. He went
softly across the room and despoiled the bowl of a spray. She took it
from him eagerly. Then the violet eyes clouded.

"I cannot remember--it must be that I am still so tired--it is strange.
The morning--it cannot be far distant--now----"

Quinton Edge at the threshold held up a beckoning finger, and Constans
went to him.

"It is upon us," said the Doomsman. "The out-buildings are smoking
already, and the lumber-yard on the north will become a furnace the
instant that the first spark falls there. There is but one chance--the
river. You will find a boat at the dock. The girl Esmay--ah, you could
think that, too, of me. Yet it was natural enough."

Constans would have spoken, but the words tripped on his tongue. Quinton
Edge interrupted him imperiously.

"She is there," he said, and po