With a smothered groan Faith sprang swiftly to the floor.

“It is Mary—­my friend,” she cried out in agony.  “No, Miss Fairbanks, you shall not stop me!  I will go to Miss Jennings!”

CHAPTER XI.

A death in the cloak-room.

When Faith reached the cloak-room she found a scene of the wildest confusion.  A number of clerks and cash girls were surrounding Miss Jennings, who lay on the floor upon a pile of wraps which they had hurriedly thrown down for her.  Mr. Gibson, the manager, was bending over her with a glass of water in his hand, and was giving orders right and left in an excited manner.

“Go for a doctor, some one!” he cried.  “No, get an ambulance—­that will be better!  The officer on the corner will call one for you.  It will never do to have her die here!  The newspapers would all get it, and goodness only knows what they would say about us.”

He raised his head as he spoke and found himself face to face with the new packer in the ribbon department.  She was as white as chalk and her eyes were flaming with anger.

“How dare you send her to a hospital when she is so ill?” she whispered, sharply.  “Get a physician here at once, sir, and a glass of wine instead of water.”

She pushed her way through the group of frightened girls and looked upon her friend, whom she saw at once was unconscious from weakness.

“Stand back a little, girls, and give her air,” she cried, firmly.  “There is none too much ventilation in this place, Mr. Gibson; quick—­lower the windows if you can, sir.”

Without dreaming of disobeying, Mr. Gibson sprang to the window.  There was something so commanding in her manner that she fairly over-awed him.  The next moment he had dispatched cash girls for a doctor and some wine, even taking the money out of his own pocket to pay for the cordial.

Faith had succeeded in clearing a circle about the fainting girl, and was just looking for something with which to fan her, when two people—­a man and a woman—­entered the door of the cloak-room, and stopped short when they saw the unusual spectacle.

“It is just as I thought—­she is dying,” said the woman, softly.

Faith recognized the voice at once.  It was the lady whom she had just left talking to Miss Fairbanks at the ribbon counter.

“You see, Mr. Denton, my words have come true!  You are killing these young women by overwork and bad air, yet you dare to resent any interference in the matter.”

Faith was kneeling by Miss Jennings now and had raised her head to her lap.  There was a quiver of the girl’s eyelids.  When the wine came at last she was able to swallow it.

“This is dreadful!” said Mr. Denton, in a tone of genuine distress.  “Here, Mr. Gibson, do all you possibly can for that young woman, and for Heaven’s sake, try to keep this out of the newspapers.”