"Let him die!" she muttered, setting her teeth close and gripping her hands; "let him!" But even as the words were spoken she was running back to the factory. She rushed into the smoke-filled hallway and, by the light of the fire, she saw Crothers lying full length where he had fallen. The flames were feasting on the rug by the desk and the unconscious man's head lay upon that rug! Cynthia knelt beside Crothers and called his name, but the ugly smiling lips made no motion of reply. Then she seized him under the arms and frantically tugged and tugged at the heavy body. The flames were almost at her feet, the wool of the carpet had caught first and the licking tongues followed the burden she bore, greedily. At last she was at the door; outside, and the safe, black night surrounded them! She lay Crothers down and breathed fast and hard. The snowflakes were larger; thicker now, and there was a harshness in their touch. Presently Cynthia began to call louder and louder, and the fire gaining power lighted the night and crackled merrily. "Help! help! help!" And help came. First on the scene were the boarding-house mistress and her sons; then followed others of The Forge, and soon a group had gathered and were aimlessly running about, giving orders and foolishly bemoaning the havoc that was spreading. Quite calm and uncaring Cynthia answered the questions put to her. She defended herself without once realizing that she was doing so. "Crothers got up suddenly--and fell!" she said to the mistress of the boarding-house who was working over the man on the ground, bathing his face with snow and slapping his hands with her own rough ones. "Yes, the lamp overturned--and the fire was so quick!" "Yes, I could not let Crothers die; I had to pull him out!" Then a man near by said: "Plucky little devil." The words rang in Cynthia's ears strangely. Why did they praise her? What had she done? She wanted Crothers to die. Now that he was out of the fire, she did not want to see his eyes open again, and yet she was straining her own to get the first sign in his. Of a sudden Crothers looked full at her wonderingly, dazedly, and at that sight Cynthia fled, and, in the confusion, no one missed her. She did not go to the shed for her mule, she made for The Way uncloaked and unhooded and ran for her life until, overcome by weariness, she paused to take breath. Looking back she saw only a dull glow where the factory had stood and black smoke was rolling thick up into the pure, falling snow. It was fear of Man that haunted Cynthia as she toiled up the hillside; Man as he had loomed first on her horizon, cruel, seeking, and selfish. When the hard branches of the tree touched her she stifled a scream, for they felt like the demanding hands of Man; when a hungry animal darted across her path she recoiled, remembering another animal with face and form of Man.