the shoulder. A rifle
bullet has passed through it."

"A rifle bullet?" echoed the girl, in a voice of alarm. "How did that
happen? But--never mind telling me now. The main thing is to attend to
the wound. Let me help you off with your coat."

Stranleigh stood up.

"No exertion, please," commanded the girl. "Bring some warm water and a
sponge," she continued, turning to her mother.

She removed Stranleigh's coat with a dexterity that aroused his
admiration. The elder woman returned with dressings and sponge, which
she placed on a chair. Stranleigh's white shirt was stained with blood,
and to this Miss Armstrong applied the warm water.

"I must sacrifice your linen," she said calmly. "Please sit down again."

In a few moments his shoulder was bare; not the shoulder of an athlete,
but nevertheless of a young man in perfect health. The girl's soft
fingers pressed it gently.

"I shall have to hurt you a little," she said.

Stranleigh smiled.

"It is all for my good, as they say to little boys before whipping
them."

The girl smiled back at him.

"Yes; but I cannot add the complementary fiction that it hurts me more
than it does you. There! Did you feel that?"

"Not more than usual."

"There are no bones broken, which is a good thing. After all, it is a
simple case, Mr. Stranleigh. You must remain quiet for a few days, and
allow me to put this arm in a sling. I ought to send you off to bed, but
if you promise not to exert yourself, you may sit out on the verandah
where it is cool, and where the view may interest you."

"You are very kind, Miss Armstrong, but I cannot stay. I must return to
Bleachers."

"I shall not allow you to go back," she said with decision.

Stranleigh laughed.

"In a long and comparatively useless life I have never contradicted a
lady, but on this occasion I must insist on having my own way."

"I quite understand your reason, Mr. Stranleigh, though it is very
uncomplimentary to me. It is simply an instance of man's distrust of a
woman when it comes to serious work. Like most men, you would be content
to accept me as a nurse, but not as a physician. There are two doctors
in Bleachers, and you are anxious to get under the care of one of them.
No--please don't trouble to deny it. You are not to blame. You are
merely a victim of the universal conceit of man."

"Ah, it is you who are not complimentary now! You must think me a very
commonplace individual."

She had thrown the coat