“Are you a demon?” burst from Mr. Sylvester’s lips in uncontrollable horror. “Don’t you see you can save him if you will? Jump down, then, and carry him across, or your father’s curse will follow you to the world beyond.”
“Yes, climb down,” cried the fireman, “you are lighter than I. Don’t waste a minute, a second.”
“It is your own child, Jacqueline, your own child!” came from Holt’s white lips in final desperation. “I have deceived you; your baby did not die; I wanted to get rid of you and I wanted to save him, so I lied to you. The baby did not die; he lived, and that is he you see lying helpless on the bridge beneath you.”
Not the clutch of an advancing flame could have made her shrink more fearfully. “It is false,” she cried; “you are lying now; you want me to save her child, and dare to say it is mine.”
“As God lives!” he swore, lifting his hand and turning his face to the sky.
Her whole attitude seemed to cry, “No, no,”