It was ten o'clock the next day when Smith opened his eyes once more upon a normal world. The sun was shining brightly, but it was some moments before he could assure himself that he was actually awake again. The twelve hours' sleep, during which apparently not one muscle had he stirred, had gone far to repair the ravages of thirty-six hours' steady wakefulness, and a cold bath did the rest. The two ladies were found to be in the dining room, still absorbed in the morning edition of a newspaper whose building had escaped the sweep of the conflagration. "Why, it's only half-past ten!" was Helen's greeting. "I didn't expect you so early. Mother suggested that we wait breakfast for you; but I said it would be much closer your wishes if we waited lunch instead." "Well, I think I must have condensed an enormous amount of sleep into the last twelve hours," said Smith; "for I feel as well as ever. Tell me what has happened--I see you have the papers." "What is going to happen is also important--your breakfast," the girl responded. "Go over there, where you see that napkin sitting expectantly on its haunches, and Marie will be in directly." "Thank you. I hope you won't be scandalized at my appetite. Is the fire entirely out?" "Yes--practically. Here's the paper." "That's very good of you. You'll pardon me if I just look at the headlines?" "Of course." And for a few moments there was little conversation in the sunny dining room. "And now will you do me a favor?" said Miss Maitland. Smith looked at her; a long moment. "I will do anything in the world for you," he said, "except one thing." The girl flushed a little. "I want you to take me out to the fire," she responded. The other looked at her in surprise. "Why, of course," he said. "I never thought of doing anything else. If my calculations are correct, it will take me exactly as long to finish those three pieces of toast as for you to get ready. Better wear old clothes--it may be pretty dirty." Five minutes later they descended to the street. "Why, it's been snowing!" said Smith, in surprise. A light fall of snow covered sidewalk and lawns; there were few men this day with sufficient leisure to sweep away snow. As the two went northward through the bright morning, they walked for the most part in silence. All seemed very still, for there were no street cars moving, and most of the customary confusion of a city's streets was oddly hushed. Few people were abroad, at least along where their path lay; it was almost as though they were passing through a deserted city. "Look at that," Smith said once. "I don't believe you were ever on this corner when you couldn't see a single person." "Where do you suppose every one is?" asked Helen, curiously. "At the ruins. Do you know, this reminds me of one of the strangest things I ever saw." "What was that?" the girl inquired, turning toward him.