At last Grace was irritated, and blamed the doctor for his failure.
She reminded him she had herself magnetized Jael, and had almost made her speak. She resolved to go to the hospital herself. “I'll make her tell me one thing,” said she, “though I tear her heart out, and my own too.”
She dressed plainly, and walked rapidly down toward the hospital. There were two ways to it, but she chose the one that was sure to give her pain. She could not help it; her very feet dragged her to that fatal spot.
When she drew near the fatal bridge, she observed a number of persons collected on it, looking down in the river at some distance.
At the same time people began to hurry past her, making for the bridge.
She asked one of them what it was.
“Summut in the river,” was the reply, but in a tone so full of meaning, that at these simple words she ran forward, though her knees almost gave way under her.
The bridge was not so crowded yet, but that she contrived to push in between two women, and look.
All the people were speaking in low murmurs. The hot weather had dried the river up to a stream in the middle, and, in midstream, about fifty yards from the foot of the bridge, was a pile of broken masonry, which had once been the upper part of Bolt and Little's chimney. It had fallen into water twelve feet deep; but now the water was not above five feet, and a portion of the broken bricks and tiles were visible, some just above, some just under the water.
At one side of this wreck jutted out the object on which all eyes were now fastened. At first sight it looked a crooked log of wood sticking out from among the bricks. Thousands, indeed, had passed the bridge, and noticed nothing particular about it; but one, more observant or less hurried, had peered, and then pointed, and collected the crowd.