Chicago (Ill.) -- History -- To 1875 -- Fiction; Fires -- Fiction; Great Fire, Chicago, Ill., 1871 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
Then he remembered that it would be dishonorable to urge his suit under
the circumstances; it would be a source of inexpressible pain to her,
with her strong sense of obligation, to put aside expressions of his
deeper regard, and he resolved to avoid if possible any manifestations
of his feelings. While she was dependent upon him he would act the
part of a brother toward her, and if his human love could never find
its consummation, he would bear his loss as patiently as possible. But
in spite of himself a tinge of sadness and restraint came into his
manner, and Christine sighed to herself, "If _he_ only knew, and _I_
only knew, just the truth, how much happier we might be!" There was a
general movement now in the strangely assorted multitude. The fire had
swept everything away so completely on the north side that there were
not hot blazing ruins to prevent crossing. Accordingly men came pouring
over, looking for their families. On every side were cries of joy on
recognition of those whom fear and terrible forebodings had buried under
the blackened remains of once happy homes. But mingled with exclamations
of joy were sobs and wails of anguish, as some now realized in the
lapsing hours that absent members of the household were lost.
Christine looked in vain for her father; at last Dennis said: "Miss
Ludolph, do you feel equal to the effort of crossing to the west side?
You must be faint with hunger, and there only can we hope for help."
"Oh, yes! let us go at once, for your sake as well as mine;" for she
saw that his long fasting and great fatigue had made him very haggard.
They urged their way across the burned district as fast as their
exhausted state would permit, carefully avoiding burning brands that
still lay in the street.
"I hope you will have patience with me in my slow progress," said
Christine, "for I feel as I imagine Rip Van Winkle must have done,
after his twenty years' nap."
"I think you have borne up heroically, Miss Ludolph," said Dennis,
warmly.
"Oh, no! I am not in the least heroic, but I confess that I am very
hungry. I never knew what hunger was before. Well, I can now appreciate
what must often be the condition of the poor, and hope not to be so
forgetful of them hereafter."
"I am glad to hear you say that you are hungry, Miss Ludolph, for it
proves that with care you will rally after this dreadful exposure, and
be your former self."
"Ah! Mr. Fleet, I hope I shall never be my old self again. I shudder
when I think what I was when you awakened me that dreadful night."
"But I have feared," said he, ever avoiding any reference to his own
services, "that, though you might escape the fire, the exposure would
be greater than you could endure. I trembled for you last night when
it began to rain, but could find no additional covering."
"No brother could be kinder or more thoughtful of me," she said, turning
upon him a glad, grateful face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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