She looked out of the window and saw that a crowd had gathered below. How far down would the bedclothes extend? She made trial and shouted to the crowd that some one should try and find a tall ladder, while others, in case of failure, should bring a blanket and make a soft pile of hay. The crowd scattered and in a few moments there was a great heap of hay and some ten persons holding a blanket stretched above it. Yet, look as they would, no ladder was to be found except a little short thing that was no use. Possibly the other ladder was in the burning building, possibly it had been mislaid in the festal preparations. Aline’s lips were parched and her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth; for the moment she nearly succumbed to her fear. So it was Joan’s life or hers? “Why cannot Joan climb?” she thought. Surely she could manage to get down as far as that? She looked at the child; but she was stiff with terror and absolutely helpless. Somehow Aline felt it was not the same thing as when she had swum the river, then she had a chance of her life; indeed, if she had had no chance there was not the slightest use in trying to swim, as it could not have helped Ian. Here there was no chance; could she think of no other way? The flames roared nearer, she began to find it hard to breathe. “Perhaps there is a way,” she said, “but who can think in a case like this?” Joan had now become unconscious. Aline thought no more; the sacrifice was made; she tied one end round Joan and put a pillow on the sill to prevent chafing. She dragged the bed to the window and took a turn with the extemporised rope round one of the knobs to prevent it going too fast. She lifted the child and gently lowered her toward the ground. For a moment she hesitated again. “Could she climb down and untie Joan?” No, the whole thing might break. The drop below Joan was about fifteen feet. “Hold tight,” she shouted, and those below braced themselves together and gripped the blanket firmly and the child fell into it. She was so light that the hay below was not necessary. The fire had now reached half across the room itself and was breaking through the floor boards in little tongues of flame, when the choking smoke curled upward. The end had come then; there was no hope. She turned to go and see if by any chance the locked door could be made to yield. It was vain, as indeed she knew, and the flame and smoke in that room was worse than her own. She ran back and looked out of the window. She thought she saw Ian with a white drawn face looking upward, but he disappeared. Once again in the frenzy of despair she rushed to the other room and flung herself against the door; but had to stagger back to Joan’s room before she was completely overcome. The flames again caught her night robe and she tore it from her as she struggled to the window where she might still breathe. The heat was awful; oh, the pain of it! “But I must die bravely,” she said, “as father would have me do.”