n saw a jagged cut which
zigzagged along the border of the under lip.

"You will forgive the yashmak," said the Turk. "You know our views
about women in the East."

But the surgeon was not thinking about the yashmak. This was no longer
a woman to him. It was a case. He stooped and examined the wound
carefully.

"There are no signs of irritation," said he. "We might delay the
operation until local symptoms develop."

The husband wrung his hands in uncontrollable agitation.

"Oh! sir, sir," he cried. "Do not trifle. You do not know. It is
deadly. I know, and I give you my assurance that an operation is
absolutely necessary. Only the knife can save her."

"And yet I am inclined to wait," said Douglas Stone.

"That is enough," the Turk cried, angrily. "Every minute is of
importance, and I cannot stand here and see my wife allowed to sink.
It only remains for me to give you my thanks for having come, and to
call in some other surgeon before it is too late."

Douglas Stone hesitated. To refund that hundred pounds was no pleasant
matter. But of course if he left the case he must return the money.
And if the Turk were right and the woman died, his position before a
coroner might be an embarrassing one.

"You have had personal experience of this poison?" he asked.

"I have."

"And you assure me that an operation is needful."

"I swear it by all that I hold sacred."

"The disfigurement will be frightful."

"I can understand that the mouth will not be a pretty one to kiss."

Douglas Stone turned fiercely upon the man. The speech was a brutal
one. But the Turk has his own fashion of talk and of thought, and
there was no time for wrangling. Douglas Stone drew a bistoury from
his case, opened it and felt the keen straight edge with his
forefinger. Then he held the lamp closer to the bed. Two dark eyes
were gazing up at him through the slit in the yashmak. They were all
iris, and the pupil was hardly to be seen.

"You have given her a very heavy dose of opium."

"Yes, she has had a good dose."

He glanced again at the dark eyes which looked straight at his own.
They were dull and lustreless, but, even as he gazed, a little shifting
sparkle came into them, and the lips quivered.

"She is not absolutely unconscious," said he.

"Would it not be well to use the knife while it will be painless?"

The same thought had crossed the surgeon's mind. He grasped the
wounded lip with his forceps, and w