And even in that awful moment when his lips touched that still warm cheek the supreme contact was one of ineffable sweetness. Knotting his arms about the object of his love, who had not been granted the opportunity to love him, the poor boy bade farewell to life. But simultaneously a voice, scarcely more than a sigh, murmured in his ear, "Save me!" In an instant he was upon his feet. With a vigor of which he would not have believed himself capable a moment before, he raised the girl in his arms and sprang with her through the belt of igneous smoke. CHAPTER XVII. HORACE AND SHAKESPEARE. The sun was already high above the horizon when at last Lebeau opened his eyes. The brilliant light of dawn, penetrating the chamber where he lay, wounded his sight, and his heavy eyelids drooped. After a moment he raised them painfully and perceived the kindly face of the surgeon of the poor bending above him. "Do you recognize me?" he asked. The sufferer made an affirmative sign and feebly faltered Levet's name. Then in a low, indistinct tone he inquired,-- "Where am I?" "At Dr. Johnson's house. Keep perfectly quiet and all will be well." Suddenly memory asserted its sway. "Esther!" Lebeau cried, in as eager and anxious a voice as his utter prostration would permit. "Miss Woodville is here. She is alive, having only fainted. There was a slight abrasion of the flesh behind her ear, probably the result of a fall; but that will soon disappear. And as for you, my good friend, we shall soon have you upon your feet again." Lebeau moved his eyes in a negative sign, and with a sad smile murmured,-- "My account is settled. Why do you attempt to deceive me? Am I a coward?" A moment later he asked,-- "Who saved Esther?" "Francis Monday, the foundling, Sir Joshua Reynolds's pupil." Levet briefly recounted how the rescue had come about; how old Maud, whose obstinacy and madness had nearly been the cause of her young mistress's death, had finally saved her life by her psalm-singing; with what infinite difficulty they had entered the house and snatched from the devouring flames three living beings and one corpse. "One thing is certain," he concluded, "and that is, that these two children love each other. It was his future wife whom Frank saved last night in Holborn, and, though this sad week will leave its mark in ruins for many a day, it has at least served to make two hearts supremely happy." A profound satisfaction overspread the pallid features of the dying man. "Miss Woodville has begged several times to see you. Shall I bring her to you?"