a mortal antipathy-第50部分

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would　probably　be　a　heap　of　ashes　in　half　an　hour。　　And　there　was

this　unfortunate　deserted　sick　man　lying　between　life　and　death；

beyond　all　help　unless　some　unexpected　assistance　should　come　to　his

rescue。



As　the　attendant　drew　near　the　house　where　Maurice　was　lying；　he　was

horror…struck　to　see　dense　volumes　of　smoke　pouring　out　of　the　lower

windows。　　It　was　beginning　to　make　its　way　through　the　upper　windows；

also；　and　presently　a　tongue　of　fire　shot　out　and　streamed　upward

along　the　side　of　the　house。　　The　man　shrieked　Fire！　　Fire！　　with　all

his　might；　and　rushed　to　the　door　of　the　building　to　make　his　way　to

Maurice's　room　and　save　him。　　He　penetrated　but　a　short　distance

when；　blinded　and　choking　with　the　smoke；　he　rushed　headlong　down　the

stairs　with　a　cry　of　despair　that　roused　every　man；　woman；　and　child

within　reach　of　a　human　voice。　　Out　they　came　from　their　houses　in

every　quarter　of　the　village。　　The　shout　of　Fire！　　Fire！　　was　the

chief　aid　lent　by　many　of　the　young　and　old。　　Some　caught　up　pails

and　buckets：　the　more　thoughtful　ones　filling　them；　the　hastier

snatching　them　up　empty；　trusting　to　find　water　nearer　the　burning

building。



Is　the　sick　man　moved？



This　was　the　awful　question　first　asked；for　in　the　little　village

all　knew　that　Maurice　was　about　being　transferred　to　the　doctor's

house。　　The　attendant；　white　as　death；　pointed　to　the　chamber　where

he　had　left　him；　and　gasped　out；



〃He　is　there！〃



A　ladder！　　A　ladder！　　was　the　general　cry；　and　men　and　boys　rushed

off　in　search　of　one。　　But　a　single　minute　was　an　age　now；　and　there

was　no　ladder　to　be　had　without　a　delay　of　many　minutes。　　The　sick

man　was　going　to　be　swallowed　up　in　the　flames　before　it　could

possibly　arrive。　　Some　were　going　for　a　blanket　or　a　coverlet；　in　the

hope　that　the　young　man　might　have　strength　enough　to　leap　from　the

window　and　be　safely　caught　in　it。　　The　attendant　shook　his　head；　and

said　faintly；



〃He　cannot　move　from　his　bed。〃



One　of　the　visitors　at　the　village；a　millionaire；　it　was　said；a

kind…hearted　man；　spoke　in　hoarse；　broken　tones：



〃A　thousand　dollars　to　the　man　that　will　bring　him　from　his　chamber！〃



The　fresh…water　fisherman　muttered；　〃I　should　like　to　save　the　man

and　to　see　the　money；　but　it　ain't　a　thaousan'　dollars；　nor　ten

thaousan'　dollars；　that'll　pay　a　fellah　for　burnin'　to　death；or

even　chokin'　to　death；　anyhaow。〃



The　carpenter；　who　knew　the　framework　of　every　house　in　the　village；

recent　or　old；　shook　his　head。



〃The　stairs　have　been　shored　up；〃　he　said；　〃and　when　the　fists　that

holds　'em　up　goes；　down　they'll　come。　　It　ain't　safe　for　no　man　to　go

over　them　stairs。　　Hurry　along　your　ladder；that's　your　only

chance。〃



All　was　wild　confusion　around　the　burning　house。　　The　ladder　they　had

gone　for　was　missing　from　its　case；a　neighbor　had　carried　it　off

for　the　workmen　who　were　shingling　his　roof。　　It　would　never　get

there　in　time。　　There　was　a　fire…engine；　but　it　was　nearly　half　a

mile　from　the　lakeside　settlement。　　Some　were　throwing　on　water　in　an

aimless；　useless　way；　one　was　sending　a　thin　stream　through　a　garden

syringe：　it　seemed　like　doing　something；　at　least。　　But　all　hope　of

saving　Maurice　was　fast　giving　way；　so　rapid　was　the　progress　of　the

flames；　so　thick　the　cloud　of　smoke　that　filled　the　house　and　poured

from　the　windows。　　Nothing　was　heard　but　confused　cries；　shrieks　of

women；　all　sorts　of　orders　to　do　this　and　that；　no　one　knowing　what

was　to　be　done。　　The　ladder！　　The　ladder！　Five　minutes　more　and　it

will　be　too　late！



In　the　mean　time　the　alarm　of　fire　had　reached　Paolo；　and　he　had

stopped　his　work　of　arranging　Maurice's　books　in　the　same　way　as　that

in　which　they　had　stood　in　his　apartment；　and　followed　in　the

direction　of　the　sound；　little　thinking　that　his　master　was　lying

helpless　in　the　burning　house。　　〃Some　chimney　afire；〃　he　said　to

himself；　but　he　would　go　and　take　a　look；　at　any　rate。



Before　Paolo　had　reached　the　scene　of　destruction　and　impending

death；　two　young　women；　in　boating　dresses　of　decidedly　Bloomerish

aspect；　had　suddenly　joined　the　throng。　　〃The　Wonder〃　and　〃The

Terror〃　of　their　school…daysMiss　Euthymia　rower　and　Miss　Lurida

Vincent　had　just　come　from　the　shore；　where　they　had　left　their

wherry。　　A　few　hurried　words　told　them　the　fearful　story。　　Maurice

Kirkwood　was　lying　in　the　chamber　to　which　every　eye　was　turned；

unable　to　move；　doomed　to　a　dreadful　death。　　All　that　could　be　hoped

was　that　he　would　perish　by　suffocation　rather　than　by　the　flames；

which　would　soon　be　upon　him。　　The　man　who　had　attended　him　had　just

tried　to　reach　his　chamber；　but　had　reeled　back　out　of　the　door；

almost　strangled　by　the　smoke。　　A　thousand　dollars　had　been　offered

to　any　one　who　would　rescue　the　sick　man；　but　no　one　had　dared　to

make　the　attempt；　for　the　stairs　might　fall　at　any　moment；　if　the

smoke　did　not　blind　and　smother　the　man　who　passed　them　before　they

fell。



The　two　young　women　looked　each　other　in　the　face　for　one　swift

moment。



〃How　can　he　be　reached？　〃　asked　Lurida。　　〃Is　there　nobody　that　will

venture　his　life　to　save　a　brother　like　that？〃



〃I　will　venture　mine；〃　said　Euthymia。



〃No！　　no！〃　shrieked　Lurida；〃not　you！　not　you　！　　It　is　a　man's　work；

not　yours！　　You　shall　not　go！　　Poor　Lurida　had　forgotten　all　her

theories　in　this　supreme　moment。　　But　Euthymia　was　not　to　be　held

back。　　Taking　a　handkerchief　from　her　neck；　she　dipped　it　in　a　pail

of　water　and　bound　it　about　her　head。　　Then　she　took　several　deep

breaths　of　air；　and　filled　her　lungs　as　full　as　they　would　hold。　　She

knew　she　must　not　take　a　single　breath　in　the　choking　atmosphere　if

she　could　possibly　help　it；　and　Euthymia　was　noted　for　her　power　of

staying　under　water　so　long　that　more　than　once　those　who　saw　her

dive　thought　she　would　never　come　up　again。　　So　rapid　were　her

movements　that　they　paralyzed　the　bystanders；　who　would　forcibly　have

prevented　her　from　carrying　out　her　purpose。　　Her　imperious

determination　was　not　to　be　resisted。　　And　so　Euthymia；　a　willing

martyr；　if　martyr　she　was　to　be；　and　not　saviour；　passed　within　the

veil　that　hid　the　sufferer。



Lurida　turned　deadly　pale；　and　sank　fainting　to　the　ground。　　She　was

the　first；　but　not　the　only　one；　of　her　sex　that　fainted　as　Euthymia

disappeared　in　the　smoke　of　the　burning　building。　　Even　the　rector

grew　very　white　in　the　face；so　white　that　one　of　his　vestry…men

begged　him　to　sit　down　at　once；　and　sprinkled　a　few　drops　of　water　on

his　forehead；　to　his　great　disgust　and　manifest　advantage。　　The　old

landlady　was　crying　and　moaning；　and　her　husband　was　wiping　his　eyes

and　shaking　his　head　sadly。



〃She　will　nevar　come　out　alive；〃　he　said　solemnly。



〃Nor　dead；　neither；〃　added　the　carpenter。　　〃Ther'　won't　be　nothing

left　of　neither　of　'em　but　ashes。〃　　And　the　carpenter　hid　his　face　in

his　hands。



The　fresh…water　fisherman　had　pulled　out　a　rag　which　he　called　a

〃hangkercher；〃it　had　served　to　carry　bait　that　morning；and　was

making　use　of　its　best　corner　to　dry　the　tears　which　were　running

down　his　cheeks。　　The　whole　village　was　proud　of　Euthymia；　and　with

these　more　quiet　signs　of　grief　were　mingled　loud　lamentations；

coming　alike　from　old　and　young。



All　this　was　not　so　much　like　a　succession　of　events　as　it　was　like　a

tableau。　　The　lookers…on　were　stunned　with　its　suddenness；　and　before

they　had　time　to　recover　their　bewildered　senses　all　was　lost；　or

seemed　lost。　　They　felt　that　they　should　never　look　again　on　either

of　those　young　faces。



The　rector；　not　unfeeling　by　nature；　but　inveterately　professional　by

habit；　had　already　recovered　enough　to　be　thinking　of　a　text　for　the

funeral　sermon。　　The　first　that　occurred　to　him　was　this；vaguely；

of　course；　in　the　background　of　consciousness：



〃Then　Shadrach；　Meshach；　and　Abed…nego　came　forth　of　the　midst　of　the

fire。〃



The　village　undertaker　was　of　naturally　sober　aspect　and　reflective

disposition。　　He　had　always　been　opposed　to　cremation；　and　here　was　a

funeral　pile　blazing　before　his　eyes。　　He；　too；　had　his　human

sympathies；　but　in　the　distance　his　imagination　pictured　the　final

ceremony；　and　how　he　himself　should　figure　in　a　spectacle　where　the

usual　centre　piece　of　attraction　would　be　wanting；perhaps　his　own

services　uncalled　for。



Blame　him　not；　you　whose　garden…patch　is　not　watered　with　the　tears

of　mourners。　　The　string　of　self…interest　answers　with　its　chord　to

every　sound；　it　vibrates　with　the　funeral…bell；　it　finds　itself

trembling　to　the　wail　of　the　De　Profundis。　　Not　always；not　always；

let　us　not　be　cynical　in　our　judgments；　but　common　human　nature；　we

may　safely　say；　is　subject　to　those　secondary　vibrations　under　the

most　solemn　and　soul…subduing　influences。



It　seems　as　if　we　were　doing　great　wrong　to　the　scene　we　are

contemplating　in　delaying　it　by　the　description　of　little

circumstances　a