Never in her life had Helen Yardely worked so hard as she worked in the next two hours. She made two journeys to the lake with their possessions, and on the way back the second time she arranged several resting places in preparation for the hardest task of all—the carrying of her injured companion down to the shore.  
That, as she knew, was bound to be a terribly painful thing for him, but there was no other way, and harsh necessity made her ruthless. She did what she could with an , and helped him to stand on his uninjured leg. The pain he endured was shown in his white face, and in the bitten under lip, which red. She was afraid that he was about to faint, but he recovered himself and three-quarters of a minute later, she was carrying him pick-a-back to the lakeside.
 
Twice she heard a torn from him, but she set her teeth, and on to the first resting place, where, as gently as she could, she set him on the trunk of a fallen tree which, supported by its under branches, lay waist high. Then she turned round and looked at Stane. He was in a state on . Instantly she felt for his service water-bottle which she had filled with brandy and water, and pouring out some of the liquid she held it towards him.
 
"Drink," she said, "all of it."
 
He did so, and when they had rested five minutes, they started again and, after halting twice more, reached the shore, where she set him down on a convenient rock, below which she had piled blankets to support his injured leg. Then for the moment quite , she on the sand, one hand on her jumping heart, the other on her head. It was a little time before either of them could speak, and it was the man who did so first.
 
"Miss Yardely, take a little brandy. I you!"
 
Helen looked up, nodded without speaking, and with shaking hands poured out a little of the spirit for herself. After a time her breath came back, and she rose to her feet.
 
"You are mortal heavy," she said with an attempt at gaiety. "You were like the old man of the sea on my back.... I hope your leg is all right?"
 
"Painful! But that is to be expected, and it can't be helped." A drift of smoke came down in the wind and made him cough, and he looked round to mark the progress of the fire. "We haven't much of a , Miss Yardely."
 
"No," she answered, "I must get busy. Now tell me what to do!"
 
Whilst waiting for her to recover he had numerous sun-dried poles about the beach, and those he pointed to.
 
"Get about seven of those, Miss Yardely, as near equal length as you can. Gather them as close to the water's edge as possible, and then get some saplings for cross pieces. the poles well together with the tent and pack-ropes, and put a little spruce on the top to help us keep dry. We haven't time to build a Noah's Ark, and it will be no end of a job for you to get the thing afloat by yourself."
 
The girl looked round and pointed to a little where the water was very still.
 
"I could build it afloat there. There's a gravelly bottom and it's not deep."
 
"Yes!" he said quickly. "That would be better!"
 
For an hour he sat there watching her work, and marking the swift progress of the fire. The heat grew tremendous, the roar of the flames and of crackling trees filled the air to the of all other sounds, and the smoke made it difficult to breathe. He had begun to think that after all her endeavours had been in vain, when she approached him, sweat running down her flushed face, and well above the knees.
 
"You will have to set your teeth," she said, "I shall have to carry you out to the raft."
 
It was no easy task to get him on to it, but she had pushed the raft well in the reeds so that it could not give, and though it was a painful operation for him, he was presently lying on a pile made of the tent canvas and blankets. Ten minutes later when he opened his eyes, they were afloat, and she was poling the raft into deeper water. She looked at him as his eyes opened.
 
"This raft is not quite so good as a punt—but it might be worse!"
 
"They're always awkward things," he said. "You ought to have had a sweep."
 
"No time," she answered, with a nod towards the shore.
 
"You will have to pole us out, as far as you can, and then we must drift."
 
"It is the only way," she agreed. "Fortunately this lake seems very shallow."
 
Ten minutes later the pole failed to touch bottom, and a current of water setting across the lake began to drift them well from the shore. As he saw that, Stane gave a sigh of relief.
 
"You can sit down and rest now, Miss Yardely. There is nothing further to be done for the present. It is a case of time and tide now, but I think we are safe."
 
Helen glanced towards the shore, and gave an involuntary . The fire was running through the forest like a wild beast. Clouds of smoke, black or leaden-coloured rolled in front, the vanguard of the destroyer, and out of them leaped of sparks, or long tongues of yellow flame, and behind this, the forest under the fan of the wind was a glowing furnace. She looked at the smoke and the rocketing flames and listened to the roar of it all, fascinated.
 
"How terrible," she cried, "and how beautiful."
 
"The !" said Stane. "I've seen it before."
 
"And you wanted me to leave you to that?" she cried.
 
"Pardon me, no! I did not want you to be caught in it, that is all! Listen!"
 
Across the water came what might have been the sound of a fusillade of rifles, and with it another sound as of .
 
"What is it?" asked the girl.
 
"Branches bursting in the heat, trees falling."
 
"How long will it last?"
 
"Don't know. Weeks maybe! The fire might travel a hundred miles."
 
Helen again. "If we had not been near the water——"
 
"Finis!" he said with a little laugh, and they fell silent again watching the awful thing from which they had so narrowly escaped.
 
The raft drifted slowly along, borne by a current towards the northern end of the lake and crossing it , and the girl in her place absorbed in the spectacle the fire afforded. An hour passed, and then glancing at her Stane saw that she had fallen asleep. A little smile came on his face, and was followed by an look of as he continued to stare at her. She was flushed with sleep, and grimy with sweat and smoke and dirt. The grey shirt-sleeves, rolled up above the elbows, showed her scratched forearms, and on one hand, hanging across her knee in the abandon of sleep, with startling gleamed a diamond ring. The beautiful hair had escaped from its fastenings, and hung in tumbled masses, and there were tears here and there in the borrowed raiment. Never, thought Stane to himself, had he seen a lady more dishevelled or more beautiful, and as he watched her sleeping, worn out with her herculean labours, his heart warmed to her in and love.
 
She slept for quite a long time, and when she opened her eyes, she looked round in surprise. The fire still roared on its way through the woods on the distant shore, over which hung a huge of smoke, but the raft was now a long way from the zone of destruction and drifting slowly but surely towards the northern end of the lake. She measured with her eyes the distance they had drifted, and looked towards the shore which they were approaching, then she .
 
"I must have slept for a long time."
 
"Three hours, I should say," answered Stane with a smile.
 
"And you? How is your leg?"
 
"Fairly comfortable," he answered.
 
"I am glad of that, I was terribly afraid that it might have suffered some new injury—how hungry I am!"
 
"Naturally!" ............