The woman saw it, too, and her face was almost convulsed with agony and fear. “Oh, do help me,” she prayed. “I shall be burned. I cannot die such a horrible death.” Virgie felt that she was powerless—she knew that she could not so much as stir that mass of debris. “I will go and call some one,” she said. “No, no! You shall not leave me,” screamed the woman, frantic with terror. “Madam,” Virgie returned, calmly but firmly, “it is impossible for me to do anything for you unaided. The best I can do will be to go for help; but first tell me who you are in case anything should happen to you before I can return.” “I am Lady Linton. I live in Hampshire County, England, and am just on a visit to this country with my son and daughter, and some other friends, who are now awaiting me in Chicago. Now go—go and save me if you can.” It would be difficult to portray with what stunning force these sentences fell upon the ears of Virginia Alexander. Her heart almost ceased beating, while a thousand thoughts went flashing with lightning-like rapidity through her brain. She had recently avoided a meeting as she supposed, with Sir William Heath; and had now encountered in this marvelous way his sister—the woman who had written those cruel letters to Mrs. Farnum so many years ago, but which were still stamped upon her brain so indelibly that she could repeat them word for word. This was the woman who had scorned her claims upon her brother—who had heartlessly advised her to “settle in some place where she was not known and try to bring up her child in a respectable way,” who had insulted her by sending her a hundred pounds to soothe her disappointment for the loss of her husband and because she could not be recognized as the mistress of Heathdale; and now she lay crushed beneath a mass of ruins, doomed to a dreadful death unless the very woman she had so wronged and mocked should strain every effort to save her. It was truly a strange fate that placed her thus in the power of Virgie. For an instant an evil spirit took possession of her heart and whispered: “She helped to ruin my life; she mocked and scoffed at my misery, and she ought to suffer.” But the next moment she called out in clear, resolute tones: “I will save you! have courage—do not fear,” and she almost flew over the debris, through the gathering smoke and out of the car, where she seized a man by the arm and cried: “Come with me; a woman is helplessly pinned down inside this car; it is on fire, and she will soon be burned to death.” She dragged him almost by main force into the burning wreck, and made her way back to the spot where she had left her suffering foe. “I can never get her out of there—ten men couldn’t do it before we should all perish,” said her companion, when he saw her situation.