Jael Dence's bosom gave a heave.
“Where—is—Henry Little?” said Grace, still holding her tight by the eye, and speaking very slowly, and in such a tone, low, but solemn and commanding; a tone that compelled reply.
“Where—is—Henry Little?”
When this was so repeated, Jael moved a little, and her lips began to quiver.
“Where—is—Henry Little?”
Jael's lips opened feebly, and some inarticulate sounds issued from them.
“Where—is—Henry Little?”
Jael Dence, though unconscious, writhed and moaned so that the head nurse interfered, and said she could not have the patient tormented.
Ransome waved her aside, but taking Grace Carden's hand drew her gently away.
She made no positive resistance; but, while her body yielded and retired, her eye remained riveted on Jael Dence, and her hand clutched the air like a hawk's talons, unwilling to lose her prey, and then she turned so weak, Ransome had to support her to her carriage.