I cannot say whether my recovery was the natural result of time or whether I was infected by O’Rane’s unruffled calm. His companionship meant much; his air of authority more; and, if I was still frightened, I hope at least that I did not shew it. A very few steps, moreover, brought us into comparative quiet; and I could forget the red-hot pain in my head. “The fog _is_ lifting,” I told O’Rane. “The deuce it is!” He stopped suddenly and lowered his burden to the ground. “You must take Daniel as well, while I go back. Sonia wouldn’t face the fire-escape; and I must carry her down. There’s no time to lose, because these fellows have been filling up on neat spirit; and I came across a dud incendiary-bomb . . . which doesn’t look like clean fighting. You’re in Smith Square now. Feel your way round the church railings, then straight ahead, then to the left as far as you can go. Knock up any of the Abbey people and say these children must be taken in. Give them _your_ address and beat it for home. We shall join you as soon as we can. Go carefully,” he added in a whisper. “There’s some one coming. Oh, it’s only a woman. _She_ won’t hurt you.” As he turned back to The Sanctuary, I gave Daniel my undamaged hand while I hoisted little David half on to my shoulder. I had heard no footsteps, but somewhere in this bewildering darkness I heard a woman’s light cough. Then a voice said: “Don’t look round! I’ll take the baby as soon as we’re safe, but I want to keep my hands free just in case . . .” Then we came into a narrow circle of lamp-light and I saw Barbara in tweed jacket and trousers. She had tidied her hair away under one of my hats; and the fingers of her right hand gripped a service revolver. “When you didn’t come . . .” she began. “You’ve no right to be here,” I exclaimed in horror. “Just as much right as you, darling. I drove the car here in case any one was . . . hurt. It’s in that street by the Church House.” “Then will you shew me the way and take these infants to Seymour Street? Raney will follow as soon as he can bring Sonia down.” “And you?” “I’m going back to give him a hand.” “Must you?” “There may be other people in the house. Servants.” Barbara lifted the child off my shoulders into her arms and hurried down a side street. The fog was lifting rapidly, too rapidly; I could see across the street and I wondered how much could be seen on the battlefield outside The Sanctuary. “If you _must_ . . .” Barbara murmured. “George, I told Robson I was coming to see if I could help you; but . . . I brought the car to take back your dead body.” “I’ve no intention of being killed,” I said, “but we can’t leave people to be burnt alive.” “Well, . . . take the revolver,” said Barbara helplessly.