“Then follow me!” shouted the priest, swinging his strong arms above his head.

Adamo leaped from the ladder.  Others—­they were among the very poorest—­stepped out and joined him and the priest; but at the very entrance they were met and buffeted by such a gust of fiery wind, such sparks and choking smoke, that they all fell back aghast.  Fra Pacifico alone stood unmoved, his tall, burly figure dark against the glare.  At this instant a man wrapped in a cloak rushed out of the wood, crossed the red circle reflected from the fire, and dashed into the archway.

“Stop him! stop him!” shouted Adamo from behind.

“You go to certain death!” cried Fra Pacifico, laying his hand upon him.

“I am prepared to die,” the other answered, and pushed by him.

Twice he essayed to mount the stairs.  Twice he was driven back before them all.  See!  He has covered his head with his cloak.  He has set his foot firmly upon the stone steps.  Up, up he mounts—­now he is gone!  Without there was a breathless silence.  “Who is he?—­Can he save her?”—­Words were not spoken, but every eye asked this question.  The men without are brave, ready to face danger in dark alley—­by stream or river—­or on the mountain-side.  Danger is pastime to them, but each one feels in his own heart he is glad not to go.  Fra Pacifico stands motionless, a sad stern look upon his swarthy face.  For the first time in his life he has not been foremost in danger!

By this time, Fra Pacifico thinks, unless choked, the stranger must be near the upper story.

The marchesa has now risen.  She stands upright, her eyes riveted on the tower.  She knows there is a door that opens from the top of the winding stair, on the highest story, next Enrica’s room, a door out on the battlements.  Will the stranger see it?  O God! will he see it?—­or is the smoke too thick?—­or has he fainted ere he reached so high?—­or, if he has reached her, is Enrica dead?  How heavy the moments pass—­weighted with life or death!  Look, look!  Surely something moves between the turrets of the tower!  Yes, something moves.  It rises—­a muffled form between the turrets—­the figure of a man wrapped in a cloak—­on the near side out of the smoke and flames.  Yes—­it is the stranger—­Enrica in his arms!  All is clearly seen, cut as it were against a crimson background.  A shout rises from every living man—­a deep, full shout as out of bursting hearts that vent themselves.  Out of the shout the words ring out—­“The steps!—­the steps!—­There—­to the right—­cut in the battlements!  The steps!—­the steps!—­close by the flagstaff!  Pass the steps down to the lower roof of the villa” (The wind set on the other side, drawing the fire that way.  The villa was not touched.)

The stranger heard and bowed his head.  He has found the steps—­he has reached the lower roof of the villa—­he is safe!

No one below had moved.  The hands by which the water was passed were now laid upon the ladder.  It was shifted over to the other side against the villa walls.  Adamo and Fra Pacifico stand upon the lower rungs, to steady it.  The stranger throws his cloak below, the better to descend.