The Senator's Favorite

Ethel felt herself rushing through the cold March air, and—suddenly she shot down wildly, and fell on the wet ground where the thick spongy turf broke the severity of the fall. Safe!

But an awful cry escaped her lips.

The plaited rope had proved treacherous, and broken off midway, dangling its useless length about a yard below the window sill, above which that beautiful white face looked down in a frenzy of despair.

Ethel staggered to her feet; she flung out her arms, she shrieked:

"Come, darling, climb out upon the rope, and drop. I will catch you—I will break the fall."

But Precious scarcely heard. Her senses had deserted her at sight of the broken rope. Ethel saw the dilated blue eyes close again, saw her sister fall backward into the blinding smoke, heard the frenzied yelp of Kay as he sprang upon the window sill, and felt that no earthly power could save her doomed sister now.

She held out her arms to Kay, and shrieked wildly:

"Come to me, Kay, come!"

But the poor beast gave a desolate howl, and sprang back into the room where Precious lay unconscious. Then a great black volume of smoke poured through the window, and from the front of the house Ethel saw the red glaring flame shoot quickly.

"The front of the house is all in flames. No one can save my sister now," she thought. Then something seemed to say in her heart:

"You are to blame. You should have sent her down the rope first. She was so light and small it would have carried her safely, and both would have been saved."

It made her angry, that still small voice of conscience, for she knew that it was a selfish anxiety over her own safety that made her descend first. Moving away she muttered:

"Why should I run the risk of my life for her? I tried to save her, and if she had not been so cowardly I would have succeeded. She will perish, but it is not my fault."

Why did she not run and spread the alarm? Some man might be found who would be brave enough to scale the window and bring out the unconscious girl.

But Ethel moved away, going backward, watching with fascinated eyes the burning building, her sister's funeral pyre.

Shrieks began to fill the air from the occupants of the shanties around, just discovering the fire. A crowd began to gather. Why did not the retreating girl pray the people to rescue her sister?

A tempting devil had recalled to her mind her sister's words of admiration for Lord Chester a little while ago—her longing for just such a splendid lover.

"Precious dead he would be yours; living she would win him from you," whispered the tempter, and she turned away muttering, "It is too late. No one could save her now."

CHAPTER IX.

A FAITHFUL FRIEND

"I am mad!The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er,The strong cord is broken, and my heartRiots in free delirium! Oh, Heaven!I struggled with it, but it mastered me!I fought against it, but it beat me down!I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me,And every tear rolled backward on my heart,To blast and poison!"—George Henry Boker.

A crowd soon collected and the fire engines quickly came upon the scene.

Streams of water began to play on the burning house, but to no avail. The fire had made too much headway to be checked now. The old ramshackle building was doomed. In the large crowd that had collected were two very elegant-looking young men—Earle Winans and Lord Chester.

The two young men, although acquainted but a few days, had become fast friends.

It was the nobleman's deep solicitude over the fate of Precious that had first drawn Earle toward him. Lord Chester's services were always ready in any new plan for finding Precious; he was as eager as Earle himself in the search.

The Winans family believed that all this zeal was for the sake of Ethel, whom the nobleman had seemed to admire so much that gossip said he would certainly make her Lady Chester at no distant date.

So Earle had taken the handsome young nobleman warmly into his heart and confidence.

They had been walking together that chilly afternoon, several blocks away from the place, when the light of the burning building drew them to follow the crowd to the spot.

They arrived but a few moments after Ethel had turned away from the dreadful scene, hardening her jealous heart against the voice of accusing conscience, and answering to its reproaches: "I tried to save her, and it was through her own cowardice she perished."

When her brother and Lord Chester came on the scene they heard some one saying:

"There is a dog shut up in that house. Hear his frightful baying!"

They could hear it distinctly, the prolonged mournful howls, and it seemed as if the sounds came from an open window.

"The window is open. Why don't the foolish animal come out?" cried Earle Winans, and just then the streams of water playing on the side of the wall cleared away the smoke a little, and the animal was seen a moment dimly, then with another howl he fell back into the room.

"He is bewildered and afraid to jump," cried a fireman, as poor Kay's dismal wails came distinctly to the ears of the crowd.

"Perhaps there is some person in the room, and he is too faithful to desert his post. Dogs are often more faithful than friends. Put up a ladder, and I will go and see," exclaimed Lord Chester suddenly.

"No, no! you must not risk your life for a dog, even a faithful one," cried Earle, trying to hold his friend back, for the situation was very perilous.

"No, no! I must save that poor dog!" Lord Chester cried, breaking loose and ascending the ladder, while the shouts of the tumultuous crowd rang to heaven.

Slowly, carefully, through the blinding smoke and heat and threatening flame he went, and presently his head rose above the sill of the open window and he peered into the room, which seemed full of black smoke and leaping flames.

He put out his hand and it touched a big tawny head.

"Come, good fellow, come," he cried, and tried to drag him out.

Then he made a startling discovery.

The faithful mastiff had dragged an unconscious human being to the window with his teeth, and was holding her up by a mass of golden hair in a vain effort to get her up to the sill, where she might be seen and rescued by the crowd.

CHAPTER X.

"HIS HEART WILL TURN BACK TO ME."

"Eyes that loved me once, I prayBe not crueler than death;Hide each sharp-edged glance awayUnderneath its cruel sheath!Make me not, sweet eyes, with scorn,Mourn that I was ever born!"—Alice Cary.

Through the falling twilight of the bleak March day Ethel Winans sped away like a guilty creature, nor paused until she reached her home.

Entering by a private door she gained her own room unobserved and hastened to bathe her face and hands and rearrange her disordered tresses.

Then she summoned Hetty, and the maid stared in surprise at her corpse-like pallor and heavy eyes.

"Oh, Miss Ethel, you look awful! Are you sick?"

"I am tired to death," sighed Ethel. "I have had such a long, weary chase after Kay! Oh, Hetty, I have lost him, but you must never, never tell, for papa would never forgive me if he knew. He ran off with some other dogs in a park, and though I ran and ran I could not get him back."

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