She stepped to the quilt and made a despairing movement to attract
Lisa's attention.
'Li-sa!' she called, in that sweet, carrying woman's voice that goes
so much further than a man's.
The child started, and, pushing back the shawl, looked out from under
its cover, her head raised, her eyes brightening.
Mary chanced all on that one electrical moment of recognition, and,
with a mien half commanding and half appealing, she stretched out
both her arms and called again, while the crowd held its breath:
'Come to me, darling! Jump, little sister! NOW!'
Not one second did Marm Lisa hesitate. She would have sprung into
the fire at that dear mandate, and, closing her eyes, she leaped into
the air as the roof above her head fell in with a crash.
Just then the beating of hoofs and jangling of bells in the distance
announced the coming of the belated firemen; not so long belated
actually, for all the emotions, heart-beats, terrors, and despairs
that go to make up tragedy can be lived through m a few brief
moments.
In that sudden plunge from window to earth Marm Lisa seemed to die
consciously. The grey world, the sad world, vanished, 'and the
immortal light, all young and joyful, million-orbed, million-
coloured,' beamed on her darkness.
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