# The Blue Window/Chapter 13

ALL that day Louis Carew shut himself up in his room, admitting no one, not even Meriweather. He came down for dinner, was gloomy, abstracted, and went upstairs again immediately after.
Most of the house guests had departed. There remained only the Hulburts and Winslow and two bridge-mad gentlemen who were to have a final game that night with Mrs. Hulburt and Miss Anne.
Sally was bored. "There's a peach of a picture in town," she said. "Let's go and see it."
Hildegarde was glad when Winslow and Meriweather agreed. The glamour of that wild ride with Merry on the sands had departed. The shadow of the big house once more depressed her; her mind was on her father, shut up alone in his room.
There was moonlight, and Sally sat beside Winslow.
"I shall ride back with Merry," she told him with a touch of defiance.
"As you please," Winslow said, smiling; "at least you are mine for the moment."
So they sped on through the moonlight, with Winslow the only one at ease among them. The other three were restless with the emotions which swayed them, ​none of them happy. But Winslow was playing a game that he loved—with great odds against him, he had no doubt of the outcome.
The moving picture theater was an ambitious affair for the small town on the edge of the Bay. It was filled with a holiday crowd, and the film showed a star of great popularity. He thrilled his audience with acts of incredible heroism. He rescued, single-handed, from a forest fire, the woman he loved, his faithful hound, his faithful horse, his faithful servants, and the villain he had foiled!
Sally, between Meriweather and Winslow, asked Merry daringly, "If there should be a fire, whom would you save, Hildegarde or me?"
"Both of you," promptly.
"You wouldn't. You'd be off with Hildegarde."
She turned away from him and began to talk to Winslow. There was an intermission, and the lights were on. Meriweather was aware of the densely packed condition of the house. He noted the exits. It was as if Sally's words had rung an alarm bell somewhere deep within him. When darkness again hid the audience, his imagination was still at work. It had always been a boyish trick of his to see himself in the center of the stage. It was that which had carried him so successfully through the war and had won for him his honors. He had dramatized himself in the midst of danger, had seen himself doing big things, and had done them. He had only been sorry there was so little chance for the spectacular. He would have liked waving plumes, flashing swords, and coal-black chargers thundering to the fray!
​He smiled at himself in the dark. His sense of humor had always saved him from conceit. Yet he toyed with the idea—to play the hero for Hildegarde!
There is a school of thought which contends that catastrophe is created by anticipation of it. There are, too, the amazing facts of coincidence. However that may be, whichever it was, the thing happened! The moving picture house caught fire that night. Crossed wires were, it was learned afterward, responsible.
Hildegarde was the first to realize that something was wrong. There was a thickening of the atmosphere, a veil-like haze that blurred the screen, the thin, crisp smell of smoke!
Somebody's cigarette? That was it, of course. She settled herself back in her chair. How silly—to be afraid—she was such a coward. . . .
But it was not silly. Fire was there—a spurt of flame in a corner; the strange, loud sound of startled voices; a mass of ominous figures rising in the dark.
And then Meriweather's sharp, "We must get out of this, Hildegarde."
His hand was on her arm. But she wrenched herself away.
"Take Sally. You must. I'll be all right."
Winslow was speaking! "Sit still, all of you; it's the safest."
But she wouldn't sit still. She was desperately afraid. She found herself running along the open aisle. Then a wave of humanity closed about her—everybody was fighting to reach the doors ahead . . . squeezing the breath out of her. She, too, fought ​. . . straining toward the moonlighted world outside . . . the safe, moonlighted world. . . .
Some one fell down in front of her . . . some one else was falling. . . .
She stumbled, was dragged up by a strong arm, and heard a great voice rumbling, "It's Carew's daughter."
After that she fainted.
When she came to herself, she was out under the wide, white sky, and old Christopher was bending over her.
"Are you all right? I was just behind you and saw you fall."
"Where are the others?"
"I'll look for them. But I must get you out of this."
His car was not far away, and he carried her to it.
After he left her, she watched the excited crowd pouring down the street. Engines were coming! Men were shouting! Women screaming. Bedlam . . . !
Christopher returned with news. The fire was out. There had, indeed, been little fire. The panic had been the worst. He had found Hildegarde's friends. Two of them were hurt, Mr. Meriweather and Miss Hulburt. Not badly, but a doctor was looking after them, and they would come on at once to the inn in Mr. Winslow's car.
"You can't do any good," Christopher stated, when Hildegarde insisted she must go to them. "They'll follow us, and I'll get there first and have things ready."
It seemed heavenly to Hildegarde to come into the safe haven of the firelighted inn, with Columbus purring serenely on the hearth.
​Christopher put her in a big chair and bustled off to give directions. "I'll have coffee for them, and the beds made."
Hildegarde was glad of the warmth and quiet. In her mad rush she had left her coat behind her, and Christopher had wrapped her in his own. She took it off and sat in her white evening dress, with her arms bare. Her hands were held out to the blaze. She could see them tremble. She was completely unnerved. She wanted her mother. She wanted. . . .
The front door opened. She turned and faced it. Somebody was calling hoarsely, "Christopher!"
It was her father.
"Daddy!" she cried. "Daddy!" And went swiftly toward him.
He took her in his arms. "I've been mad with fear." His voice was shaken by emotion. "They telephoned that there was a fire. I got the car and went at once, but I couldn't find you. Then I came across Winslow, and he said Christopher had brought you here."
Carew wore no hat. A fur coat was thrown over his evening clothes. His face was white with anxiety. His eyes burned in their deep sockets. He put Hildegarde in the big chair and knelt beside her.
"Promise you won't leave me," he said. "All day long I've been wanting to come to you and beg you not to go. I don't know what I've done. But whatever it is, I won't lose you. You are my child. Bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. I've always wanted you . . . you're mine."
​She touched his bowed head with shaking fingers.
"Promise me you'll stay, Hildegarde."
"But, Daddy."
"Promise—" Then when he had wrung it out of her, he held her close. "I'll make up to you for everything, my darling."
She felt it was wonderful to rest there in his arms—to know that he needed her. It was almost like having her mother back. And her mother had loved them both.
When Winslow's car arrived, it was learned that Meriweather had a broken arm, and Sally a cut shoulder. The doctor ordered Merry upstairs to bed and went with him. Sally, with an emergency bandage half hiding her silver gown, sat smiling by the fire. Her shoulder ached, but her eyes were bright. What did she care for a cut on the shoulder when Merry had saved her from the fire. He had turned to her and not to Hildegarde, and he had fought his way through the crowd with Sally in his arms. If death had come they would have died together. There were shallows in Sally, but there was this to say for her, that the thought of death had held no terrors with Merry by her side.
The doctor, coming down shortly, said, "It will be best to have Mr. Meriweather stay here until I can see him tomorrow. I must put his arm in a plaster cast."
Christopher, bringing in a tray, asked, "Won't you have a sandwich, doctor?"
"If I can eat it standing. There are other cases waiting."
​Sally did not eat. And when the doctor was ready to go, she followed him into the hall.
"May I run up and see Mr. Meriweather for just a moment?"
"He is in great pain. The housekeeper is looking after him. She is a very sensible woman."
The doctor felt that Sally was not sensible. She seemed to him, indeed, a silly little minx in a silver gown. He had rather rigid ideas. In his lexicon there was no such word as "play." He had his work to do, and he was tired.
"You might look in for a moment," he agreed, finally.
He went on, and Sally sped upstairs. The door of Merry's room was open. He lay with his eyes shut. The housekeeper was at the end of the hall getting out blankets. So Sally tip-toed in and dropped on her knees beside the bed. Merry's unhurt hand was on the outside of the counterpane. She laid her cheek against it.
He opened his eyes. "Sally!"
She nodded, tears near the surface. "Oh, Merry, you're such a darling!"
He was puzzled. "Why?"
"To look after me as you did—when Hildegarde was there."
He saw the mistake she had made, started to speak, stopped. Might it not be kinder to Sally if he sailed under false colors rather than tell her the unflattering truth?
So, as she still knelt beside the bed, he touched her bright locks with his finger-tips. "How's the shoulder?"
​"Just a scratch."
"It's more than a scratch. You're a bit of a good sport, Sally."
"No, I'm not." Then, "How am I ever going to thank you, Merry?"
"Don't try."
"I wish there was something I could do."
"That's dear of you. But there isn't, Sally."
He reached for her hand and held it. "Don't think of me as a hero, Sally. I'm not."
"You are!"
She stood looking down at him wistfully, then, suddenly lifted his hand, planted a shy little kiss on it, and was off, leaving him startled, disturbed, half-sorry that he had not faced the situation and shattered her illusion.
But it was Winslow who shattered it. He was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Sally came down.
"The others are in my car. They thought it best to go on at once and send Sampson back to look after Meriweather for the night."
"I went up to see Merry."
"So I judged. You are making a bit of a hero of him, I fancy."
"Why shouldn't I? He saved my life, didn't he?"
"Yes. But it was Hildegarde he tried to save."
Dead silence. Then, "What makes you say that?"
"Because it is true. He started to get her out, and she wouldn't let him."
"How do you know?"
"I heard him speak to her, when I leaned over to tell him to sit still."
​Her voice was tense. "If you are not telling me the truth, I'll never forgive you."
"I am telling it. You ought to know it. You are too wonderful to waste thought on a man who doesn't care for you, Sally."
She swept past him out into the moonlight. He helped her into the car, and she sat silent until they reached Round Hill. Then, as she went up the steps with him, she said, "If I find you were right, I'll say I'm sorry."
An hour later, Hildegarde, propped up on her pillows, was writing a letter, when Sally came into the room, clothed picturesquely in a Japanese robe of clear red sprinkled with small gold flowers. The red of the gown reflected the red of Sally's cheeks.
Hildegarde, surveying her, asked anxiously: "Is your arm hurting? You look feverish."
Sally, at the foot of the bed, was tense. "I came to ask you a question. Did Merry want to get you out of the fire before he got me?"
"Sally. . . ."
"Don't try to save my feelings. I've got to know."
"Well, yes. He did."
Sally's small hands clung to the bed-post. "What a little fool I've been!"
For a moment she stood like a small frozen statue. "Lend me your pen, Hildegarde."
She wrote three words on a sheet of paper, folded it, and gave the pen back to Hildegarde.
"That's that," she said.
"That's what, Sally?"
"I am going," said Sally, "to walk in the wood."
​Hillegarde stared at her. "I don't know what you mean."
But Sally was gone.
A few minutes later, Winslow, in his room, heard a rustling sound and saw pushed beneath his door a folded paper. He picked it up and read the scrawled words:
"I'm sorry,
Sally."
He read the note again, smiling; then put it in his pocket. The game was his! Red Ridinghood had walked in the wood, and the Wolf had caught her!