The child had gone to bed earlier than usual that night, weary with her day's work, and was awakened by a cry of terror from her mother, who had not yet fallen asleep. When she perceived the light from the fire, she put on a skirt, threw a shawl around her shoulders, and without stopping for shoes or stockings, with swift decision she lifted her mother, who could move but slowly, to her back and bore her down the little stairs and across the court, there to stand a few agonizing moments in the dark hallway until her guardian angel opened the house door. As she stood now outside, bent under her living burden and looking around at the crowd as it fell back, she espied their young friend and guest, who, with a cry of joy, dropped the beam and sprang toward her. A happy smile crossed her flushed face and the fresh lips faltered: "Good evening; Herr Doctor"--simple words enough, but they sounded to him like sweetest music. He could only say: "Thank God! O Gundelchen! To think that you are alive!" and would have caught them both in his arms but for the eyes which were turned upon them. She had not yet put down her burden, and seemed uncertain whither to turn with it. In vain did Philip conjure the people to fetch a wheelbarrow, or even a push-cart. They turned away, shrugged their shoulders and murmured imprecations. "Well, we must get one ourselves, Gundelchen, since these pious Christians cannot summon this much of neighborly kindness," said the young man, as he set the woman gently down upon the pavement, and, crossing his hands with those of the girl, raised the mother again on this swinging litter, bidding her put her arms around their necks. So they carried her submissively obedient, through the parting throng, which fell back at their approach, down the street as far as the marketplace. There, as by accident, an empty cab came rattling sleepily along. Philip hailed it, put the two women into it, and swung himself up on the seat behind, telling the coachman to drive to a little inn by the river, a half mile distant, which served as the terminus for the summer evening walks of the better class families. From Ghost Lane, which grew even ruddier with the glare of the fire, sounded a duller hum and tumult; and now they heard the roll of the hose-cart, which was at last on its way to the scene of the fire. From all sides, great and small were flocking to the ill-omened street; but soon they had left the last houses behind them and were driving along at a slow trot, through the star-lit night.