had been the one to hold the matches--caught
the doctor's arm.

"Not _dead_!" he uttered. "Not dead beyond hope of restoration?"

"She will never be restored in this world," was the reply of Dr. West.
"She is quite dead."

"Measures should be tried, at any rate," said Frederick Massingbird
warmly.

"By all means," acquiesced Dr. West. "It will afford satisfaction,
though it should do nothing else."

They raised her once more, her clothes dripping, and turned with quiet,
measured steps towards Verner's Pride. Of course the whole assemblage
attended. They were eagerly curious, boiling over with excitement; but,
to give them their due, they were earnestly anxious to afford any aid in
their power, and contended who should take turn at bearing that wet
burden. Not one but felt sorely grieved for Rachel. Even Nancy was
subdued to meekness, as she sped on to be one of the busiest in
preparing remedies; and old Roy, though somewhat inclined to regard it
in the light of a judgment upon proud Rachel for slighting his son, felt
some twinges of pitying regret.

"I have knowed cases where people, dead from drownding, have been
restored to life," said Roy, as they walked along.

"That you never have," replied Dr. West. "The _apparently_ dead have
been restored; the dead, never."

Panting, breathless, there came up one as they reached Verner's Pride.
He parted the crowd, and threw himself almost upon Rachel with a wild
cry. He caught up her cold, wet face, and passing his hands over it,
bent down his warm cheek upon it.

"Who has done it?" he sobbed. "What has done it? She couldn't have fell
in alone."

It was Robin Frost. Frederick Massingbird drew him away by the arm.
"Don't hinder, Robin. Every minute may be worth a life."

And Robin, struck with the argument, obeyed docilely like a little
child.

Mr. Verner, leaning on his stick, trembling with weakness and emotion,
stood just without the door of the laundry, which had been hastily
prepared, as the bearers tramped in.

"It is an awful tragedy!" he murmured. "Is it true"--addressing Dr.
West--"that you think there is no hope?"

"I am sure there is none," was the answer. "But every means shall be
tried."

The laundry was cleared of the crowd, and their work began. One of the
next to come up was old Matthew Frost. Mr. Verner took his hand.

"Come in to my own room, Matthew," he said. "I feel for you deeply."

"Nay, sir; I must look upon her."

Mr. Verner poin