“As I remember it, I sent myself,” said Gordon, with a humorous smile, “and, I am afraid, tumbled one little girl rather unceremoniously down the stairs. Did I hurt you?” There was a caressing cadence in the question that he could not for the life of him keep out of his voice. “I did not even know I tumbled. How did you get back?” said Louise, tremulously. “Who opened the door?” counter-questioned Gordon, remembering. “The wind must have blown it shut. I was blinded—I couldn’t find it—I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t have sense enough to know it was shut, but I couldn’t have helped myself anyway. I groped for it as long as I could without breathing. Then I guess I must have gone off a little, for I was sprawling on the floor of the lower hall when I felt a breath of air playing over me. Somebody must have opened the door—because I am pretty sure I had fainted or done some foolish thing.” Louise was silent. She was thankful—thankful! God had been very good to her. It had been given to her to do this thing. She had not meant to do it—she had not known what she did; enough that it was done. “It was Louise,” spoke up Mary, “and I—tried to hold her back!” So she accused herself. “But I didn’t do it on purpose,” said Louise, with shining eyes. “I—I—” “Yes, you—” prompted Gordon, looking at her with tender intentness. “I guess I was trying to come after you,” she confessed. “It was very—foolish.” The rear grounds were rapidly filling up. Like children following a band-wagon, the crowd surged toward the new excitement of the discovered extension of the fire. Gordon drew a long breath. “I thank God for your—foolishness,” he said, simply, smiling the smile his friends loved him for. CHAPTER XIX AN UNCONVENTIONAL TEA PARTY As the flames broke through the roof, Langford came rushing up where the group stood a little apart from the press. “Dick! I have been looking for you everywhere,” he cried, hoarsely. “What’s the trouble, old man?” asked Gordon, quietly. “I have something to tell you,” said Langford, in a low voice. “Come quick—let’s go back to your rooms. Why, girls—” “We will go, too,” said Mary, with quiet decision. She had caught a glimpse of Red Sanderson’s face through the crowd, and she thought he had leered at her. She had been haunted by the vague feeling that she must have known the man who had attempted to carry her off—that dreadful night; but she had never been able to concentrate the abstract, fleeting impressions into comprehensive substance—never until she had seen that scar and glancing away in terror saw that Langford, too, had seen; but she was not brave enough to lose herself and Louise in the crowd where that man was. She could not. He had leered at Louise, too, last night at supper. They could not ask the protection of Gordon and Langford back to the hotel then, when Langford’s handsome, tanned face was white with the weight of what he had to tell. “It will be best,” he agreed, unexpectedly. “Come—we must hurry!”