“No such thing,” said Ransome, angrily, and casting a side-look at Grace. “She lay on the second floor, and Mr. Little on the first floor.” “Thou simple body,” said the woman. “What's a stair to a young man when a bonny lass lies awaiting him, and not a soul about? They were a deal too close together all day, to be distant at night.” A murmur of assent burst at once from all the women. Grace's body winced and quivered, but her marble face never stirred, nor did her lips utter a sound. “Come away from their scandalous tongues,” said Ransome, eagerly. “No,” said Grace; and such a “No.” It was like a statue uttering a chip of its own marble. Then she stood quivering a moment; then, leaving Ransome's arm, she darted up to the place where Jael Dence had been found. She stood like a bird on the broken masonry, and opened her beautiful eyes in a strange way, and demanded of all her senses whether the body of him she loved lay beneath her feet. After a minute, during which every eye was riveted on her, she said, “I don't believe it; I don't feel him near me. But I will know.” She took out her purse full of gold, and held it up to the women. “This for you, if you will help me.” Then, kneeling down, she began to tear up the bricks and throw them, one after another, as far as her strength permitted. The effect on the work-women was electrical: they swarmed on the broken masonry, and began to clear it away brick by brick. They worked with sympathetic fury, led by this fair creature, whose white hands were soon soiled and bloody, but never tired. In less than an hour they had cleared away several wagon-loads of debris. The body of Henry Little was not there. Grace gave her purse to the women, and leaned heavily on Mr. Ransome's arm again. He supported her out of the works. As soon as they were alone, she said, “Is Jael Dence alive or dead?” “She was alive half an hour ago.” “Where is she?” “At the hospital.” “Take me to the hospital.” He took her to the hospital, and soon they stood beside a clean little bed, in which lay the white but still comely face of Jael Dence: her luxuriant hair was cut close, and her head bandaged; but for her majestic form, she looked a fair, dying boy. “Stand back,” said Grace, “and let me speak to her.” Then she leaned over Jael, where she lay. Gentle women are not all gentleness. Watch them, especially in contact with their own sex, and you shall see now and then a trait of the wild animal. Grace Carden at this moment was any thing but dove-like; it was more like a falcon the way she clutched the bedclothes, and towered over that prostrate figure, and then, descending slowly nearer and nearer, plunged her eyes into those fixed and staring orbs of Jael Dence. So she remained riveted. Had Jael been conscious, and culpable, nothing could have escaped a scrutiny so penetrating.