The two had been slowly approaching the great furnace, and, just as the gentleman ceased speaking, the immense door was thrown open, discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions, the seething flame within. Though they were not near enough to experience any inconvenience from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened exclamation and drew back; but the gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately in front of him from this opening streamed a broad but sharply defined streak of blood-red light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed the blackened cinders on the ground beneath his feet into a mass of living embers. As the old man straightened up, and was in the act of raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination, they encountered the stranger, and a mingled expression of surprise and fright instantly struggled up through their weak color. For a moment, like an apparition, he stood transfixed. The red glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure; it showed his attenuated arms and death-like mouth, his tattered clothes and the few wisps of his scant hair. Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling effect which the glow of the furnace had produced, falling by accident upon a single workman. But, when the man rose up, he gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his strange behavior. For an instant, the old man stared without moving a muscle, then his lips began to work convulsively, and, raising his hand before his face, as if to screen it from view, he half uttered an unintelligible sentence and sank down. At the same time, the door of the furnace had been closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a moment had so strangely thrown him into violent relief. For a second, Safford almost thought the whole thing had been an optical illusion, or some hallucination of his own brain; then, stepping forward, he saw the old man lying in a heap upon the ground. The young lady, recovering immediately from her sudden fright at the unexpected blaze, had seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked, in a terrified voice,— “What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she exclaimed, kneeling down beside him. “No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!” Mr. Safford called to the nearest hand. Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried it out into the open air. “I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,” said the man who had helped in carrying him. “We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.” “Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr. Safford, while he bathed the grimy forehead with his wet handkerchief. “Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been of a trembil all over; and he’s getting pretty much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping his voice, and significantly touching his forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not booked for this world much longer.”