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.

It needed but a second look to show that this was not a log of wood but the sleeve of a man’s coat.  A closer inspection revealed that the sleeve was not empty.

There was an arm inside that sleeve, and a little more under the water one could see distinctly a hand white and sodden by the water.

The dark stream just rippled over this hand, half veiling it at times, though never hiding it.

“The body will be jammed among the bricks,” said a by-stander; and all assented with awe.

“Eh! to think of its sticking out an arm like that!” said a young girl.

“Dead folk have done more than that, sooner than want Christian burial,” replied an old woman.

“I warrant ye they have.  I can’t look at it.”

“Is it cloth, or what?” inquired another.

“It’s a kind of tweed, I think.”

“What’s that glittering on its finger?”

“It’s a ring—­a gold ring.”

At this last revelation there was a fearful scream, and Grace Carden fell senseless on the pavement.

A gentleman who had been hanging about and listening to the comments now darted forward, with a face almost as white as her own, and raised her up, and implored the people to get her a carriage.

It was Mr. Coventry.  Little had he counted on this meeting. 
Horror-stricken, he conveyed the insensible girl to her father’s house.

He handed her over to the women, and fled, and the women brought her round; but she had scarcely recovered her senses, when she uttered another piercing scream, and swooned again.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Coventry passed a night of agony and remorse.  He got up broken and despondent, and went straight to Woodbine Villa to do a good action.

He inquired for Miss Carden.  They told him she was very ill.  He expressed an earnest wish to see her.  The servants told him that was impossible.  Nobody was allowed to see her but Dr. Amboyne.  He went next day to Dr. Amboyne, and the doctor told him that Miss Carden was dangerously ill.  Brain fever appeared inevitable.