Bram held the hand of his dead friend for some minutes, not daring to tell the father that all was over. But Mr. Cornthwaite suddenly became aware of the truth. He started to his feet with a cry, beckoning to the doctor, who had stepped back a few paces, knowing that he could do nothing more. “He has fainted again!” cried Mr. Cornthwaite. But Bram knew that the unhappy man was only trying to deceive himself. The doctor’s look, as he knelt down once more by the body of Christian, made Mr. Cornthwaite turn abruptly away. Bram, who had stepped back in his turn, carried that scene in his eyes for weeks afterwards--the shed where they all stood, the silent machinery making odd shapes in the background. The dead body of Christian on the ground, with his face upturned, the crowd of figures around, all very still, very silent, the only two whose movements broke up the picture being Mr. Cornthwaite and the doctor. A flaring gas jet above their heads showed up the white face of the dead man, the grave and anxious countenances of the rest. Quite suddenly there appeared in the group another figure--that of Claire. They all stared at her in silence. She seemed, Bram thought, to be absolutely unconscious of what had happened until she caught sight of the body of her cousin. Then, with a low cry, like a long sob, she put her hands to her face, covering her eyes, turned quickly, and ran away. Mr. Cornthwaite, however, had seen her, and, his face darkening with terrible anger, he followed her rapidly with an oath. Anxious and alarmed, Bram followed in his turn. The girl had not much of a start, and although she was fleet of foot, Mr. Cornthwaite, with his superior knowledge of the works, gained upon her rapidly, and would have seized her roughly by the arm if Bram had not interposed his own person between them, giving the girl an opportunity of escape, of which she availed herself with great adroitness. “Elshaw!” cried Mr. Cornthwaite in astonishment. A moment later he went on in a transport of anger--“How dare you stop me? You have let her get away, you have helped her, the vile wretch who has killed my son! But don’t think that she shall escape punishment. You can’t save her; nobody shall. She has murdered my son, and----” “Not murdered, sir,” cried Bram quickly. “It was an accident--a ghastly accident. The girl is dazed with what has happened. She hardly knows herself. Pray, don’t speak to her now. It is inhuman--inhuman. She is suffering more than even you can do. Give her a chance to recover herself before you speak to her.” Mr. Cornthwaite freed himself with a jerk from Bram’s restraining hand. But Claire had disappeared. “Well, she’s got away this time, but your interference won’t save her much longer. My son--to be killed--by a jade like that! My God! My God!”