very, very sad expression in May's eyes--for worlds he would have wished
not to be able to translate it. The time for his wedding was fast
drawing nigh, and he knew he should be miserable if May did not smile
upon his bridal.

Weeks passed, and Delancey did not go to a fire; he paid his fines and
remained at home. But he could not sleep while the bells were
ringing--somehow they reminded him of that still night at Hurl Gate. By
degrees the coldness wore off between May and himself, and she consented
to be Emily's, his Emily's bridesmaid.

One night, however, the bell had a solemn summons in it, which Hal could
not resist. It tolled as though for a funeral, and spoke to his very
heart. He threw on his fire-clothes and hastened down town. Delancey
soon reached the scene of destruction. The flames were carousing in all
their mad mirth, as though they were to be the cause of no sorrow, no
pain, no death. Hal's courage was soon excited; he leaped upon the
burning rafters, rescuing goods from destruction, telling where a stream
was needed; but suddenly he became paralyzed--he heard a voice which had
often rung in his ear amid like scenes, a greater genius than his own
was at work. He learned that he was innocent, even indirectly, of the
stranger's death. Joy thrilled through every vein, he could have faced
any peril, however great. Regardless of the angry blaze, he made his way
through fire and smoke to the stranger's side. The fireman paused in his
labor a moment, grasped Hal's hand, and with a smile, in which mingled a
dash of triumph, said:

"You see I am safe."

"Do you forgive my rudeness?" asked Hal.