"It is past!" said Richard of Woodville; "it is past'. Poor girl! how has this happened? Ha! there is the mark of a grasp upon her throat!" "See there, too!" cried Hal of Hadnock; and he pointed with his hand to where, upon the fine lawn that covered her bosom, was a faint red stain, half washed out by the water of the stream, as if blood had been spilt. No wound, however, was to be discovered; and while the two gentlemen stood and gazed, the old chanter's sister continued, ineffectually, to employ every effort to reawaken the inanimate frame, and the old man himself ran off to the Abbey to procure farther aid. "Go into the other room, sirs--go into the other room," said the good dame, at length; "I will take off her wet clothes. 'Tis that keeps her from coming to." Hal of Hadnock shook his head; for he could not see that pale countenance, those immovable lips, those sightless eyes, without feeling sure--too sure--that life had departed for ever. He would not say anything, however, to discourage the zeal of the poor woman; and he accordingly accompanied Richard of Woodville into the chamber which they had first entered, and stood with him in silent thought before the fire. Neither spoke; for the mind of each was busy with sad and dark inquiries, regarding the event which had just taken place; yet neither could arrive at anything like a conclusion. Was it her own act? was it accident? was it the deed of another? and if so, of whom? Such were the questions which both asked themselves. Both, too, entertained suspicions; but yet they did not like even to admit those suspicions to their own hearts, for how often does the first conclusion of guilt do injustice to the innocent! but while they were still in thought, the voice of the chanter's sister was heard exclaiming-- "Come hither, Master Richard!--come hither! See here!" and as they entered, she pointed to the poor girl's arm, which now lay uncovered on the bed-clothes, adding, "there is the grasp of a hand, clear enough! Look, all the fingers and the thumb!" "Stay," said Hal of Hadnock; "that might be mine, Richard, or yours in raising her out of the stream." "I took her by the other arm," answered Richard of Woodville. "And I do not remember having touched her arm at all," said Hal of Hadnock, after thinking for a moment. "Oh, no, sirs," cried the old woman; "that hand must have grasped her in life, else it would not have brought the blood to the skin. Hark! there are the people coming," and, in another minute, the good old Abbot, and four or five of his monks, ran in breathless and scared. "Alas! alas! Richard, what is this?" cried the Abbot. "A sad and dark affair, father," replied Richard of Woodville, while one of the monks, famed for his skill in leechcraft, advanced to the bed-side, and put his hand upon the heart; "I fear life is extinct."