A hundred brave hearts followed the two men into the ruins, and in a moment all became wild with excitement. The street was blocked up with a mob that gathered immediately after that deafening crash, and shrieks of terror from frightened women outside mingled with the audible groans of those who had been caught in the fallen building.

Among the crowd upon the pavement, Mrs. Jones, the forewoman, ran wildly up and down, wringing her hands and begging that some one would save Waverley Osborne, whose wife was dying of fear. No one heeded her in the terror and confusion that prevailed among the crowd.

The men worked like beavers, removing the débris from the wreck, but foremost of all went the two men who ventured first, and who worked side by side like friends and brothers in the one purpose that impelled them on.

Prince Gonzaga, whose wild and wicked life had never until now known a prayer, was mutely supplicating Heaven to give him the happiness of saving that life which he had so relentlessly persecuted and darkened.

“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.

Waverley Osborne, quite conscious, but suffering horribly from his broken arms, saw Bayard Lorraine beside him, just reviving from his temporary unconsciousness; then saw him begin to struggle with those who held him back from darting into the wreck, which had now been abandoned to the devastating flames, as no more cries or groans could be heard coming from it, and it was hoped that all the living ones had been rescued.

“Let me go!” Bayard cried fiercely, angrily. “She is in there yet! I—I—will rescue her, or perish with her.”

Waverley Osborne understood instantly. Bayard Lorraine had found out somehow about Widow Karrick. He believed she was in there under the terrible ruins, dying, or perhaps already dead.

Waverley called out loudly:

“Mr. Lorraine, you are mistaken! Fairfax Fielding is not in there. She did not go to work this morning. She is at my house—safe!”

Then he swooned, and knew no more until he found himself at home, in his own bed, with Sadie weeping over him, and Fairfax Fielding trying to comfort her.

“Dear Sadie, indeed you know that he is not going to die. The doctor said when he set his broken arms that with care he would do very nicely. And he is going to send a regular nurse, and he will be sure to get well.”

Then they saw that his eyes were open, and Sadie began to pet him between smiles and tears.

“And only think,” she said, “your life was saved by Prince Gonzaga! Yes, you would have been burned up in the ruins but for him. He went to your assistance—he and Mr. Lorraine—and when Mr. Lorraine fell down, exhausted, he fought the fire alone until he saved you, although his bravery, they say, will cost him his life.”

Before Waverley Osborne could reply to his wife’s words, there came a hurried rap upon the door. Sadie opened it, and Bayard Lorraine, still begrimed with the smoke and dust of the ruins, and with torn and water-soaked garments, hastily entered the room.

Fair uttered an irrepressible cry. He turned toward her, and their eyes met—met for the first time since that fatal night when she had almost been his bride, and when she had made upon her knees confession of the folly that had wrecked her life. She trembled with emotion as she met his grave, sweet glance, and stood like one rooted to the floor.

He went to her gently, and took both her little ice-cold hands in his, saying kindly:

“My poor girl!”

And the tone, more than the words, revealed to her the depths of love, grief, and pity that filled his noble, generous heart.

She did not speak. She could not; and, after a pause, he continued:

“Prince Gonzaga lies at Mrs. Howard’s house, mortally ill. I had him taken there. I thought it was right, since he acted so nobly this morning.”

She bowed and tried to speak, but her tongue seemed parched, and words died unuttered upon her lips.

“I have come to take you to him,” continued Bayard Lorraine.

She found her voice, and asked falteringly:

“Did he send for me?”

“No; but I read his wish in his eyes when I told him that you still lived,” answered Prince Gonzaga’s generous foe. “You will come, Fair?”

“Yes,” she answered, and while she hurriedly donned Sadie’s bonnet, Bayard Lorraine said:

“The prince sent you a message, Mrs. Osborne. He hopes you will forgive him for abducting and imprisoning you in those mad days when he was trying to get his wife into his power.”

Sadie’s eyes filled with tears, and she answered impulsively:

“I forgive him freely, and I bless him for saving my husband’s life.”

“I am ready,” said Fair, coming back into the room.

They went out together. A taxicab was in waiting below, and they were driven rapidly to Mrs. Howard’s residence.

They had spoken but few words on the way, but as they went up the steps together, he said gently:

“You must be kind to him, Fair. His life, whatever his faults, had a brave ending.”

“I will forgive him everything,” Fair answered, with a half sob; then the door opened, and she found herself in Mrs. Howard’s arms.

“I have repented my harshness, dear,” the lady whispered lovingly, as she led her to the room where Prince Gonzaga lay.

He was so changed, with his hair and beard all burned away, and that awful pallor of death upon his face, that Fair would never have known him but for the smile that parted his lips as he saw her.

For a moment she shrank and cowered, but Bayard Lorraine urged her gently forward, whispering:

“Forget and forgive.”

She went forward and laid a nervous little hand on the cold, pale one that lay outside the pillow.

“You—were—were—very brave, saving Mr. Osborne’s life as you did. It was a noble deed,” she faltered.

The prince smiled, and answered weakly:

“Thank you. It was so kind in you to come. I should not have presumed to ask it. I did not deserve it,” sighing.

“Oh, yes, you did, because—you were so brave. I am very sorry for you. I will stay by you until——” She paused, and he finished the sentence:

“Until I die! I do not think it will be long.”

Perhaps that promise held him back from death, for Prince Gonzaga lingered on several days, and Fair watched by him with patient forgiveness of the past, for, as she had said, he had been so brave that his bravery condoned many faults.

Mrs. Howard, Bayard Lorraine, and the careful nurse shared her vigils by the bedside of the dying man, and nothing but kind words were spoken to him. They tried to forget the dark past and look upon him only in the halo cast by his dauntless bravery.

One day the nurse had gone out for a little recreation, and Mrs. Howard and Fair were watching him as he slept.

The latter whispered thoughtfully:

“Do you remember those beautiful lines:

“Yes; I have thought of them often in the last few days,” said Mrs. Howard, and just then she saw that the prince was awake and listening to them with a smile.

His eyes turned to Fair, and he said gently:

“Poor, patient heart, you will not have to stay by me much longer. I believe your presence has held my spirit back from death a while, yet now I feel I am going fast. Bless you for the comfort you have been to my dying hours. In these few days you have seemed to be almost mine.”

The girl’s beautiful brown eyes grew dim, and she laid her hand gently on his.

“I want you to forgive me for all the trouble I have brought into your life,” she said. “I ought not to have married you without loving you. I—I—might have tried, after all, to care for you—only—only—for mother’s sake,” with a choking sob.

He sighed at the thought of the poor, weak woman whose death he had undoubtedly hastened by his folly and madness.

“It is better as it is,” he said hastily. “I was not—am not—any mate for you, Fair. My life was wild and wicked before I knew you. Once I was a thief—yes, that was the terrible power that Belva Platt held over me. I was persuaded to join a gang of burglars, who robbed a bank. Some of them were apprehended, but I escaped, and so frightened was I that I vowed to reform my wild career. But Belva Platt found out, through her wicked old grandmother, the sin of my past, and held it over me like a rod of iron. You know now the secret of her power over me. But, alas! I fell in love with the fate she forced upon me, and for all that followed after our wedding night I alone am to blame.”

He sighed, and lay silent a few minutes, then resumed:

“Belva is dead now. I am told that she was the only one that lost her life in the fall of the factory. I believe that my shameful secret is buried with her, and I am glad that it is so. It can never rise to throw its dark shadow on my memory. I hope that I shall be remembered by the only act I ever did that was worthy the name of a prince—the saving of Waverley Osborne’s life.”

“That brave deed wipes out all the past,” Mrs. Howard said reassuringly, and he thanked her with a grateful smile.

A few hours later he died very peacefully, clinging to Fair’s hand and gazing on her face to the last.

She had grown to pity him so much that she could not rejoice at his death, although she felt that now all the shadows had passed from her life, leaving her free to be loved and to love again.

He had told her that he was the last of his name and race, and after his death it was found that he had made a will, leaving her his whole fortune.

She was rich now, and she had a proud title. How strange it was that the sewing girl should attain to such luck! said the working girls by whose side she had toiled through her girlish days; but they did not envy her. They rejoiced at her good fortune, declaring that she had always been a good girl and deserved to be rich and great.