“It may be an hour yet,” he whispered, “before the fire has swept a path for us to the road below.  We are safe here, unless some sudden current should draw the fire down upon us.  You are not frightened?” She pressed his hand; she was thinking of the pale face of Dunn, lying in the secure retreat she had purchased for him at such a sacrifice.  Yet the possibility of danger to him now for a moment marred her present happiness and security.  “You think the fire will not go north of where you found me?” she asked softly.

“I think not,” he said, “but I will reconnoitre.  Stay where you are.”

They pressed hands, and parted.  He leaped upon the slanting trunk and ascended it rapidly.  She waited in mute expectation.

There was a sudden movement of the root on which she sat, a deafening crash, and she was thrown forward on her face.

The vast bulk of the leaning tree, dislodged from its aerial support by the gradual sapping of the spring at its roots, or by the crumbling of the bark from the heat, had slipped, made a half revolution, and, falling, overbore the lesser trees in its path, and tore, in its resistless momentum, a broad opening to the underbrush.

With a cry to Low, Teresa staggered to her feet.  There was an interval of hideous silence, but no reply.  She called again.  There was a sudden deepening roar, the blast of a fiery furnace swept through the opening, a thousand luminous points around her burst into fire, and in an instant she was lost in a whirlwind of smoke and flame!  From the onset of its fury to its culmination twenty minutes did not elapse; but in that interval a radius of two hundred yards around the hidden spring was swept of life and light and motion.

For the rest of that day and part of the night a pall of smoke hung above the scene of desolation.  It lifted only towards the morning, when the moon, rising high, picked out in black and silver the shrunken and silent columns of those roofless vaults, shorn of base and capital.  It flickered on the still, overflowing pool of the hidden spring, and shone upon the white face of Low, who, with a rootlet of the fallen tree holding him down like an arm across his breast, seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the sleeping water.

* * * * *

Contemporaneous history touched him as briefly, but not as gently.  “It is now definitely ascertained,” said “The Slumgullion Mirror,” “that Sheriff Dunn met his fate in the Carquinez Woods in the performance of his duty; that fearless man having received information of the concealment of a band of horse thieves in their recesses.  The desperadoes are presumed to have escaped, as the only remains found are those of two wretched tramps, one of whom is said to have been a digger, who supported himself upon roots and herbs, and the other a degraded half-white woman.  It is not unreasonable to suppose that the fire originated through their carelessness, although