“It was in my garden,” said Raby; and, with some little difficulty, he opened the window and ran out, followed by Amboyne.
They looked, but could see nothing.
But, with that death-shriek ringing in their ears, they wasted no time. Raby waved Amboyne to the left, and himself dashed off to the right, and they scoured the lawn in less than a minute.
A cry of horror from Raby! He had found the body of a woman floating in a pool of the river, head downward.
He dashed into the water directly and drew it to the bank; Dr. Amboyne helped him, and they got it out on dry land. The face was ghastly, the body still.
“Turn her face downward,” said Amboyne, “give her every chance. Carry her gently.”
One took the shoulders, the other the feet; they carried her slowly in and laid her gently down before the fire.
She lay like dripping marble.
Her clothes clinging tightly round her, revealed her marvelous form and limbs of antique mold—but all so deadly still.
Amboyne kneeled over her, searching, in vain, for some sign of life. He groaned.