The smoke was not so thick in the room, but
its fumes were heavy enough. In a crib in one corner lay a child of about
two years of age. Its rose-leaf of a face was wrinkled up in its efforts
to make its terrified little voice heard.
Peggy darted upon it and hugged it close to her. Then, with renewed
courage, she started to make her way back again. But more smoke than ever
was rolling along the passage, and it was a hard task.
"I must do it--I must," Peggy kept saying to herself, clinging the while
to the terrified child.
But at the head of the staircase the conditions appalled her. The smoke
was thick as a blanket there. Yet plunge through it, Peggy knew she must.
Still holding the child tightly, she bravely entered the dense smother,
stooping as low as she dared.
But before she had taken more than two steps in the obscurity, a dreadful
feeling, as if a hand was at her throat and choking her, overcame the
girl. She tried to call out, but she could not. Her head was reeling, her
eyes blinded. All at once something in her head seemed to snap with a loud
report. Still clutching her little burden tightly, Peggy plunged forward
dizzily--and knew no more.
CHAPTER VI.
FARMER GALLOWAY'S "SAFE DEPOSIT."
When she came to herself again, it was in a confusion of voices and sounds
of hurrying footsteps.
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