The land of houses above the shop was a high one, and crowded in every flat with families of the poorest. Before these unhappy inmates were well aware of the calamity the flames and smoke had burst through the ceiling of the shop, and into the stair, thus cutting off the only means of escape. Then followed a scene exactly like that which happened in our own Canongate, when a maker of fireworks had his shop blown up about his ears. The terrified inmates gathered at the windows shrieking for help—those in the lower flats being gradually forced upwards by flame and smoke. In a few seconds beds and mattresses began to fly out at the windows of the adjoining houses, and these were held up by the eager and excited crowd below to break the fall of those leaping from the high windows. Some were killed on the spot, many were injured, but a great number were successfully caught, scarcely the worse of the fall. At one of the top windows two women stood in desperation and despair. Though living in the same land, and possibly on the same flat, they were strangers to each other till that moment. One had a child of five clinging to her, white and speechless with terror, and this woman was a poor, hard-working seamstress, a year or two widowed, and having nothing but her needle to depend on for support. The other was Bet Cooper, as bold and irrepressible a thief as ever infested Glasgow. “We’ll have to jump—it’s the only chance,” said Bet, addressing the terrified dressmaker. Bet was scared and awed herself, but her terror had not the effect, as in the person beside her, of rendering her limbs perfectly powerless. The poor dressmaker shook her head, and feebly moaned out something about the child clinging to her. “If my wee Mary was only safe I wadna care for mysel’,” she hysterically exclaimed at last. “Then throw her down—they’ll catch her safe enough,” said Bet with energy. “I couldna dae’t—ye couldna dae’t yoursel’ if she was your ain bairn,” sobbed the poor mother. “Then I’ll do it for you, if you like?” volunteered Bet. “Oh, no, no!” screamed the mother, and the child echoed the terrified cry, which was faintly caught and responded to by the anxious crowd watching them and urging them from below. “Then I’ll take her in my arms and jump with her?” said Bet generously. “If I am killed, she’ll fall soft on top of me and be saved.” The perfect antipodes of each other in character and training, these two women were for the moment drawn together by the warm humanity which makes the whole world kin. The weaker spirit, the half-fainting dressmaker, clung to the bold thief, and mingled her tears with those of Bet as trustfully as if she had been the purest in the land. It is doubtful if she would have consented even then, but a great cloud of smoke and flames sweeping and roaring in their direction hastened the decision. The child screamed and shrank towards the outstretched arms of Bet, and the mother let her go with an effort.