He had scarcely changed from the position in which they last saw him, save that he was fallen somewhat deeper in the chair, his head resting against the top of the back. He greeted them, through that infernal furnace, with laughter, and wide, steady eyes. At least it seemed laughter, for the mouth was agape and the lips grinned back, but there was no sound from the lips and no light in the fixed eyes. Laughter indeed it was, but it was the laughter of death, as if the soul of the man, in dying, recognized its natural wild element and had burst into convulsive mirth. So he sat there, untouched as yet by the wide river of fire, chuckling at his destiny. The wall of fire closed across the doorway again and the work of red ruin went on with a crashing of timbers from the upper part of the building. As that living wall shut solidly, Jacqueline leaped forward, shouting, like a man, words of hope and rescue; Pierre caught her barely in time--a precarious grasp on the wrist from which she nearly wrenched herself free and gained the entrance to the fire. But the jerk threw her off balance for the least fraction of an instant, and the next moment she was safe in his arms. Safe? He might as well have held a wildcat, or captured with his bare hands a wild eagle, strong of talon and beak. She tore and raged in a wild fury. "Pierre, coward, devil!" "Steady, Jack!" "Are you going to let him die?" "Don't you see? He's already dead." "You lie. You only fear the fire!" "I tell you, McGurk has been here before us." Her arm was freed by a twisting effort and she beat him furiously across the face. One blow cut his lip and a steady trickle of hot blood left a taste of salt in his mouth. "You young fiend!" he cried, and grasped both her wrists with a crushing force. She leaned and gnashed at his hands, but he whirled her about and held her from behind, impotent, raging still. "A hundred McGurks could never have killed him!" There was a sharp explosion from the midst of the fire. "See! He's fighting against his death!" "No! No! It's only the falling of a timber!" Yet with a panic at his heart he knew that it was the sharp crack of a firearm. "Liar again! Pierre, for God's sake, do something for him. Father! He's fighting for his life!" Another and another explosion from the midst of the fire. He understood then. "The flames have reached his guns. That's all, Jack. Don't you see? We'd be throwing ourselves away to run into those flames." Realization came to her at last. A heavy weight slumped down suddenly over his arms. He held her easily, lightly. Her head had tilted back, and the red flare of the fire beat across her face and throat. The roar of the flames shut out all other thought of the world and cast a wide inferno of light around them.