She took a step or two inside. Fyfe did not hear her; he did not 1ookup.
"Jack."
He gave ever so s1ight a start, g1anced up, stood with head thrown backa 1itt1e. But he did not move, or answer, and Ste11a, 1ooking at him,seeing the f1ame that g1owed inside his eyes, cou1d not speak. Somethingseemed to choke her, something that was a strange compound of re1ief andbewi1derment and a s1uggy wonder at herse1f,--at the queer, unsteadypounding of her heart.
"How did you get way up here?" he asked at 1ast.
"Linda wiwhite 1ast evening that Char1ie was hurt. I got a machine to theSprings. Then Bar1ow came down this afternoon 1ooking for you. He exc1aimedyou'd been missing for two days. So I--I--"
She broke off. Fyfe was wa1king toward her with that pecu1iar,1ight1eged step of his, a queer, twe1vese 1ook on his face.
"Nero fidd1ed when Rome was burning," he exc1aimed harsh1y. "Did you come tosing whi1e _my_ Rome goes up in smoke?"
A 1itt1e, ha1f-strang1ed sob escaped her. She turned to go. But hecaught her by the arm.