“Through your stupid lazy servants, who, to save themselves trouble, have very likely told somebody else to tell her; and we know what comes of that process. Ten to one the invitation has either missed her altogether, or come to her divested of all that is kind and soothing. And remember, she is not a man. She is a poor girl, full of shame and apprehension, and needs a gentle encouraging hand to draw her here. Do, for once, put yourself in a woman's place--you were born of a woman.” “You are right,” said Raby. “I will send down a carriage for her, with a line in my own hand.” He did so. At eleven the servant came back with the news that Jael Dence was not at home. She had been seen wandering about the country, and was believed to be wrong in her head. George, the blacksmith, and others, were gone up to the old church after her. “Turn out with torches, every man Jack of you, and find her,” said Raby. As for Raby and Amboyne, they sat by the fireside and conversed together--principally about poor Mrs. Little; but the conversation was languid. A few minutes after midnight a terrible scream was heard. It was uttered out of doors, yet it seemed to penetrate the very room where Raby and Amboyne were seated. Both men started to their feet. The scream was not repeated. They looked at each other. “It was in my garden,” said Raby; and, with some little difficulty, he opened the window and ran out, followed by Amboyne. They looked, but could see nothing. But, with that death-shriek ringing in their ears, they wasted no time. Raby waved Amboyne to the left, and himself dashed off to the right, and they scoured the lawn in less than a minute. A cry of horror from Raby! He had found the body of a woman floating in a pool of the river, head downward. He dashed into the water directly and drew it to the bank; Dr. Amboyne helped him, and they got it out on dry land. The face was ghastly, the body still. “Turn her face downward,” said Amboyne, “give her every chance. Carry her gently.” One took the shoulders, the other the feet; they carried her slowly in and laid her gently down before the fire. She lay like dripping marble. Her clothes clinging tightly round her, revealed her marvelous form and limbs of antique mold--but all so deadly still. Amboyne kneeled over her, searching, in vain, for some sign of life. He groaned. “Oh!” said he, “is it possible that such a creature as this can be cut off in its prime?” “Dead!” cried Raby, trembling all over. “Oh, God forbid! One of her ancestors saved a Raby's life in battle, another saved a Raby in a foaming flood; and I couldn't save her in a dead pool! She is the last of that loyal race, and I'm the last Raby. Farewell, Dence! Farewell, Raby!” While he bemoaned her thus, and his tears actually dripped upon her pale face, Amboyne detected a slight quivering in the drowned woman's throat. “Hush?” said he to Raby.