cleaned the
wound thoroughly, and with a frank brutality drenched it with
turpentine, as he would have done with a horse or a dog; for this
burning liquid was the only thing at hand to aid him. His own eyes
grew moist as he saw the twitching of the burned tissues under this
infliction, but his hand was none the less steady. The edge of the
great table was splintered where Dunwody's hands had grasped it.
The flesh on the inside of his fingers was broken loose under his
grip. Blood dripped also from his hands.

"I'm only a backwoods doctor, Dunwody," said Jamieson at length, as
he began rebandaging the limb. "I reckon there's a heap of good
surgeons up North that could make a finer job of this. God knows,
I wish they'd had it, and not me. But with what's at hand, I've
done the best I could. My experience is, it's pretty hard to kill
a man.

"Wait now until I get some splints--hold still, can't you! If we
have to cut your leg off after a while, I can do a better job than
this, maybe. But now we have all done the best we could. Young
lady, your arm again, if you please. God bless you!"

The face of Josephine St. Auban was wholly colorless as once more
she assisted the doctor with his patient. They got him upon his
own bed at last. To Dunwody's imagination, although he could never
settle it clearly in his mind, it seemed that a hand had pushed the
hair back from his brow; that some one perhaps had arranged a
pillow for him.

Jamieson left the room and dropped into a chair in the hall, his
face between his hands. "Sally," he whispered after a time,
"whisky--quick!" And when she got the decanter he drank half a
tumblerful without a gasp.

"Fiddle string in his leg!" he grinned to himself at last. "Maybe
it won't make him dance, but I'll bet a thousand dollars he'd never
have danced again without it!"

When at last Josephine found her own room she discovered her maid
Jeanne, waiting for her, fright still in her face.

"Madame!" exclaimed Jeanne, "it is terrible! What horrors there
are in this place. What has been done--is it true that Monsieur
has lost both his legs? But one, perhaps? For the man with one
leg, it is to be said that he is more docile, which is to be
desired. But both legs--"

"It is not true, Jeanne. There has been surgery, but perhaps Mr.
Dunwody will not even be a cripple. He may get well--it is still
doubtful."

"How then was it possible, Madame, for you to endure such si