This resolution formed, she lived on thorns, awaiting Henry Little’s next visit.

He came next day, but she was out.

She asked the servant if he had said anything.

The servant said, “He seemed a good deal put out at first, miss, but afterward he said, ‘No, it was all for the best.’”

This was another blow.  Grace connected these words of Henry in some mysterious way with the anonymous letter, and spent the night crying:  but in the morning, being a brave, high-spirited girl, she resolved to take a direct course; she would go down to the works, and request an explanation on the premises.  She would see the room where Henry was said to pass so many hours with Jael, and she would show him that the man she loved, and lived for, must place himself above suspicion, or lose her forever.  “And if he quarrels with me for that,” she thought, “why, I can die.”  She actually carried out her resolution, and went early next morning to the works to demand an explanation.  She took the letter with her.  As she went along she discussed in her own mind how she should proceed, and at last she resolved to just hand him the letter and fix her eye on him.  His face would tell her the truth.

She drove up to the great gate; there were a good many people about, talking, in excited groups.

The porter came out to her.  She said she wished to see Mr. Little.

The porter stared:  the people within hearing left off talking, and stared too, at her, and then at one another.

At last the porter found his voice.  “Mr. Little! why, we can’t find him anywhere, dead or alive.”

Just then Ransome came out, and, seeing Miss Carden, gave a start, and looked much concerned.

Grace noticed this look, and her own face began to fill with surprise, and then with alarm.  “Not to be found!” she faltered.

She did not know Mr. Ransome, but he knew her; and he came to the carriage-window and said, in a low voice, “Miss Carden, I am the chief-constable.  I would advise you to return home.  The fact is, there has been an explosion here, and a young woman nearly killed.”

“Poor creature!  But Mr. Little!  Oh, sir!  Oh, sir!”

“We can’t find him,” said Ransome, solemnly:  “and we fear—­we sadly fear—­”

Grace uttered a low cry, and then sat trembling.

Ransome tried to console her; said it was just possible he might have not slept in the works.

The porter shook his head.

Grace sprung from the carriage.  “Show me the place,” said she, hoarsely.

Ransome demurred.  “It is an ugly sight for any one to see.”

“Who has a better right to see it than I?  I shall find him if he is there.  Give me your arm:  I have heard him speak of you.”

Then Ransome yielded reluctantly, and took her to the place.

He showed her Henry’s room, all rent and mutilated.

She shuddered, and, covering her face with her hands, leaned half fainting against her conductor; but soon she shook this off, and became inspired with strange energy, though her face was like marble.