“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.
Even unconscious as she was, Jael's brain and body began to show some signs they were not quite impervious to the strange magnetic power which besieged them so closely. When Grace's eyes had been close to hers about a minute, Jael Dence moved her head slightly to the left, as if those eyes scorched her.
But Grace moved her own head to the right, rapid as a snake, and fixed her again directly.