A smell of smoke came to Frank’s nostrils, telling him of a new and frightful peril—fire! He lifted the unconscious girl and started to escape with her. This he found a difficult thing to do, but with a sort of desperate persistency he kept at it till he had reached the spot where a smashed opening in the side of the car permitted him to crawl forth with Inza to the open air. The spectacle he beheld was appalling. The cars and engine were piled one upon another in a shattered mass which had already taken fire. As Merry placed the unconscious girl gently on the ground, calling for a doctor, Inza stirred, moaned, and opened her eyes. Instantly he had her in his arms again. She saw him and recognized him. “Frank!” she whispered faintly, like the sighing of a distant breeze. “Inza!” he answered—“Inza, my sweetheart, my love!” A look of untold happiness appeared on her beautiful face. It had been long, long years since such words passed his lips, but now once more he called her his sweetheart, as he had that night over the gate in Fardale. And there was far more in his tone than in the mere words. His voice spoke all the deep passion of his nature, and in that moment she knew once more that his heart belonged to her, and to her alone. She did not realize at once what had happened. She knew some dreadful thing had taken place, but, somehow, she felt that it had restored to her the lover of her girlhood days, and she was happy. His arms were about her—those iron arms which had won many a hard-fought battle for Yale, and that brave heart that had never faltered or known fear in the face of the mightiest obstacle or danger beat against her own. There was a step close at hand, and a man stopped near them. “So you got out, Merriwell!” said a voice. “Is that Inza? Is she hurt?” It was Swift. One look of scorn Merry gave the fellow, but no word did he speak in reply. Now the black smoke was rising and the fire was crackling like a joyous fiend. Still, from that fearful wreck came the cries of the poor wretches who were held fast in that trap of death. “Walter!” cried Inza, realizing at last what had happened. “Where is he?” “I do not know,” confessed Frank. “My father?” Merry shook his head. “He is in there!” she screamed, sitting upright. “They are both there! Oh, my brother!” A man with his clothing torn, and one arm hanging helpless at his side, staggered toward him. “Inza!” he hoarsely shouted, joy in his tone. “I could not find you! I thought you still in there!” It was Walter Burrage, badly bruised and having a broken arm, but alive and not dangerously hurt. He fell on his knees and clasped his sister’s hand. “Take her!” said Frank Merriwell hoarsely—“take her, quick!” “What are you going to do?” “I’m going back in there to look for your father!” “The cars are burning!” But Frank heeded this not the least. Thrusting Inza upon her brother, he sprang up and turned toward the wreck.