He made his way to the gallery and lifted her in his arms. Her head fell helplessly down; her hands drooped. One hand still grasped the paper which had been declared a blank. Not one of those females, most of them ladies of rank and supposed sensibility, offered him the slightest assistance. Their numbers had not yet been drawn, and they would not sacrifice a moment to assist a dying fellow-creature even of their own station in life. Harry exerted all his strength to get Lady Tryon out of the gallery. "Is there no medical man who will assist me?" he cried out. "I will, sir," exclaimed a somewhat foppishly dressed individual, stepping forward. "Stay, beware of him, he is a pickpocket," said a voice near him. Harry declined the services of the stranger. No medical man came forward. A crowd, however, collected round him, and even before his eyes he saw the brooch and chains which his grandmother wore torn off and carried away by nimble fingers, at which he in vain attempted to grasp. "It matters little," he thought, "she will never discover her loss." He hoped to be able to carry her to her carriage, and as the crowd at last made way for him he bore her along the street. Fortunately he soon caught sight of the livery of her coachman. She was placed in her carriage, and Harry took his seat by her side, telling the coachman to stop at the first doctor's shop they came to. The carriage soon stopped in front of a window full of bright-coloured liquids, and before Harry had time even to get out, a gentleman bustled up to the carriage door. "Can I render any professional assistance?" he asked, looking in. "Yes," exclaimed Harry; "what can be done for this lady?" "Will she step out?" asked the medical practitioner. "She is unable, sir," said Harry. "Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse," was the rejoinder. The apothecary made a long face. "Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!" he exclaimed, rather offended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. "I can do nothing for her, sir." "Dead!" exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. "Are you sure that she is dead?" "Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for her executors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only advice I can give you." Harry told the coachman to drive on. "But do I not owe you a fee, sir, for your trouble?" "Oh, no, sir, no; that would be too much," said the apothecary, thinking that he had been too plain-spoken with the young man, who might possibly be a relative of the old lady, though he was somewhat young to be her son. Harry fortunately recollected Lady Tryon's man of business. He sent for him, as he did also for Mr. Kyffin.