Suddenly he
remembered Nina's cell, and groping his way through fire and
smoke, he opened the oaken door, involuntarily breathing a prayer
of thanksgiving when he saw the tall form stretched upon the empty
bedstead. He had probably mistaken the way out, and by entering
here, had prolonged his life, for save through the glass
ventilator the smoke could not find entrance to that spot. Arthur
knew that he was living, for the lips moved once and whispered,
"Edith," causing Arthur's brain to reel, and the cold sweat to
start from every pore as he thought for what and for whom he was
saving his rival. Surely in that terrible hour, in Nina's cell,
with death staring him in the face on every side, Arthur St.
Claire atoned for all the past, and by his noble unselfishness
proved how true and brave he was.
Snatching from the nail the heavy sack, he wound it round
Richard's head to shield him from the flames, then recollecting
that on the bed without there was a thick rose blanket, he wrapped
that too around him, and bending himself with might and main, bore
him in his arms across the heated floor and out into the narrow
hall, growing sick and faint when he saw the wall of fire now
rolling steadily up the stairway.
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