An hour or so later a clear-voiced call rang through the noisy wind. They stopped and listened. "Somebody coming," said Master. He answered with, a loud halloo as they went on wearily. Soon they saw some one approaching in the dusky trail. "Who's there?" the young man asked. "Edith Dunmore," was the answer that trembled with gladness. "Oh, sir! I would have gone through the fire." "I know," said he, "you would have gone through the fire." "For--for you," she added, brokenly. Master dared not lay down his burden. He toiled on, his heart so full that he could not answer. The girl walked beside him for a moment of solemn, suggestive silence. She could dimly see the prostrate body of Strong on the back of her lover, and understood. What a singular and noble restraint was in that meeting! "I love you--I love you, and I want to help you," she said, as she walked beside him. "Help Miss Strong," he answered. "She is badly burned." Little Sue was overcome with weariness and fear, and could not be comforted. The maiden carried her with one arm and with the other supported Sinth. So, slowly, they made their way over the rough trail. "How came you here?" Master inquired, presently. "We saw the fire coming and hurried to Slender Lake, and fled in boats and came down the river." When, late in the night, the little band of lovers reeled across the dimlit clearing, it was in sore distress. Their feet dragged, their hearts and bodies stooped with heaviness. A company of woods-folk, who stood in front of Harris's looking off at the fire, ran to meet them. They lifted the dragging Emperor and helped the young man carry him in-doors. Master was no sooner relieved of his burden than he fell exhausted on the floor. Edith Dunmore knelt by him and raised his hands to her lips. She helped him rise, and then for a moment they stood and trembled in each other's arms, and were like unto the oak and the vine that clings to it. Dunmore and his mother stood looking at them. The white-haired man had taken the children in his arms. "I thought she went to bed and to sleep long ago," he muttered. "Without her we should have perished," said the old lady. . "Yes, and she shall have her way," he answered. "One might as well try to keep the deer out of the lily-pads." He kissed the boy and girl, and added, with a sigh, "This world is for the young." XXXVI ALL stood aghast for a moment in the light of the lamps around the bed of Strong. His clothes were burned, bloody, and torn--they lay in rags upon him. His face and hands were swollen; part of his hair and beard had been shorn off in the storm of fire through which he had fought his way. He spoke not, but there was the grim record of his fight with the flames--of the terrible punishment they had put upon him while the sturdy old lover sought his friends. All hands made haste to do what they could for him and for the woman he had carried out of the fire of the pit.