I sat, and trembled, and did not leave him again. I shall never forget
that dreadful night. It seemed as if we were there for hours, but in
reality it was only a short time. The hotel soon got to be all red
flames, and there was very little smoke. The inside of the building had
burned away, and nothing more could be gotten out. The firemen and all
the people drew back, and there was no noise. Everybody stood gazing
silently at the flames. A man stepped quietly up to Mr. Morris, and
looking at him, I saw that it was Mr. Montague. He was usually a
well-dressed man, with a kind face, and a head of thick, grayish-brown
hair. Now his face was black and grimy, his hair was burnt from the
front of his head, and his clothes were half torn from his back. Mr.
Morris sprang up when he saw him, and said, "Where is your wife?"
The gentleman did not say a word, but pointed to the burning building.
"Impossible!" cried Mr. Morris. "Is there no mistake? Your beautiful
young wife, Montague. Can it be so?" Mr. Morris was trembling from head
to foot.
"It is true," said Mr. Montague, quietly. "Give me the boy." Charlie had
fainted again, and his father took him in his arms, and turned away.
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