An extraordinary thing happened. An abnormal silence fell. The owners
of such faces as on stretched necks caught sight of her seemed in a
flash to communicate with others in the crowd.

"Jinny Montaubyn!" someone whispered. And "Jinny Montaubyn" was passed
along, leaving an awed stirring in its wake. Those whom the pressure
outside had crushed against the wall near the window in a passionate
hurry, breathed on and rubbed the panes that they might lay their faces
to them. One tore out the rags stuffed in a broken place and listened
breathlessly.

Jinny Montaubyn was kneeling down and laying her small old hand on the
muddied forehead. She held it there a second or so and spoke in a voice
whose low clearness brought back at once to Dart the voice in which she
had spoken to the Something upstairs.

"Bet," she said, "Bet." And then more soft still and yet more clear,
"Bet, my dear."

It seemed incredible, but it was a fact. Slowly the lids of the woman's
eyes lifted and the pupils fixed themselves on Jinny Montaubyn, who
leaned still closer and spoke again.

"'T ain't true," she said. "Not this. 'T ain't TRUE. There IS NO
DEATH," slow and soft, but passionately distinct. "THERE--IS--NO--
DEATH."

The muscles of the woman's face twisted it into a rueful smile. The
three words she dragged out were so faint that perhaps none but Dart's
strained ears heard them.