“Only let me save her life, and I will go away and never trouble her again,” he murmured over and over, in his horror at the thought that she might perish here in some terrible fashion. Very soon the victims began to be taken out of the wreck, some wounded, some miraculously unhurt, none dead as yet, until suddenly, as Lorraine and the prince tugged at a monster beam, beneath which shone the gleam of a silken robe, they found that the heavy thing had fallen across a woman. When it was removed, and they drew her from the ruins, the sun shone on a face marred and distorted, yet recognizable still as that of Belva Platt. They laid her down outside, in all her jewels and finery, dead, and Prince Gonzaga muttered bitterly: “Poor wretch! She will never set another pitfall for a man’s soul.” Not far from where they had taken her out they heard a despairing groan, but fire had begun to break out close by from the furnaces, and strong and brave men shrank back, appalled. The fire engines had come, and soon streams of water began to play upon the flames. Half blinded by smoke and drenched with water, Bayard Lorraine and Prince Gonzaga struggled forward toward those groans, when suddenly Bayard paused and cried hoarsely: “Stay! It is not she! It is the voice of a man.” “No matter; let us to the rescue!” the prince exclaimed, and, though horrified voices shouted to them not to venture into that perilous spot, they pressed forward until suddenly Bayard Lorraine fell down, suffocated by the blinding heat and smoke. Then the prince sprang over his fallen body and began to tear away the débris that hid from sight the groaning victim. They said that no more heroic act had ever been done than that by which Prince Gonzaga saved a human being at the sacrifice of his own life, for, as, with superhuman strength, he flung the heavy timbers from the body of Waverley Osborne, the leaping flames darted forward and licked the clothing from the prince’s person like so much paper. But he bent forward, and, reaching down his arms, drew out the wounded form of Sadie’s husband from the place where it had been pinioned down, with both arms broken; and then a fresh stream of water damped the flames a moment, so that men could come to his assistance and drag all three from their awful position. Yes, it was a brave and daring deed. Prince Gonzaga had written himself down a hero, but as he lay in the street, where they had laid him, unconscious but breathing faintly, with his bare flesh scorched in a most pitiable fashion, the physician declared that he had received a mortal hurt in that brave effort, and that he would live but a few hours, or days, at most.