The locked doors and windows had deceived him. Believing the cottage deserted, he had sought to destroy the organ which, in his blindness, he thought recommended the inventor to Rachel's favour; and he had destroyed instead the object of his own devotion--his own love. The flames leaping into the sky revealed all the impotence of that act of jealousy and revenge. CHAPTER XII LOVE CONFRONTS DESPAIR "No, we might disturb her, and she appears to be resting quietly. In her case it's a little natural exhaustion. As for Mrs. Hart--the spine, I'm afraid. She rescued this one, I understand. Well, she paid the price. As for the young man, he couldn't have been in the water above half an hour. Yes, a tragedy." The steps, which had merely paused at the door, passed on. Annie sat up in the bed. It was true then; that strangled awakening, that battle with the smoke, Rachel's voice faintly heard. In her dream--or what she had been striving to believe a dream--Rachel had saved her; and the dream was truth. The impatient, not quite friendly Rachel throwing her own life away to save hers! Annie's stunned mind failed to grasp the novel vision. A lamp stood on a chair. Judging by the amount of oil remaining in the glass receptacle, the lamp had been burning there for many hours. Annie stared at the light; then, a little ball of misery and bewilderment, she wept against the pillows. Presently the instinct awoke in her to find the one who was her natural comforter. Slipping from the bed, she stood up on her feet. At first she swayed dizzily. Then she managed to dress herself and quitted the room. She reached the lighted passage. The entire east wing of the house, she discovered, was brightly illuminated. She steadied herself against the wall and peered in the direction whence came a muffled sobbing. Outside Rachel's door Simon Hart stood with his face in his hands. "Oh be careful!" he implored as she approached. He had heard somewhere that in cases of injury to the spine the least jar to the patient was sometimes fatal. He looked at Annie without recognizing her and the tears which he made no effort to conceal, streamed down his face from his eyes which were filled with blank, inconceivable despair. At that moment the door of the chamber opened; a physician emerged. Simon caught him by the arms. "Is there no change, Doctor?" "Not yet. There--there, my poor fellow, have courage." "But I may go in for a moment? I don't ask to remain." "Yes, if you will be calm." "Oh, I will be calm, quite calm. You can trust me for that. But wait--this trembling--" And with his massive shoulders bent forward, Simon stole into the room. "What, you?" And the physician caught Annie's elbow. She looked at him. He released her. Between the muslin curtains, the night entered in its freshness. Every breeze bore tree odours, vine odours, flower odours. In the subdued light the bed gleamed an island of bluish white.