nds.

"Drink this, doctor," whispered one of the gentlemen who had waited upon
him, no servant having been seen.

Chester, who had had eyes only for his patient, turned sharply, and took
a tumbler of Burgundy from the well-bred man who offered it, drank a few
mouthfuls, and set the glass down close by the weapon which had caused
the wound, and which lay near a dish containing a large pine.

Chester raised his brows a little as he now saw the richness of the
table appointments, and at the same time grasped the fact that he was in
some wealthy home. Then this was endorsed as he turned and his eyes lit
upon the lady kneeling on the other side of the couch, pale and
beautiful, for he noted that she had magnificent diamonds in her hair,
about her neck, and clasped upon her soft white wrists.

"Say something, doctor," she whispered pleadingly.

"I cannot, madam, yet."

"But he will live?" she wailed.

"Please God, madam. Gentlemen, the case is serious," he said, turning
to those who were watching him. "I should like someone else called in
for consultation."

"No," said one of the gentlemen, decisively. "If you cannot save him,
no one can."

"Jem," said the other, hoarsely, "it's murder not to--"

"Silence!" said the first speaker, sternly. "Dr Chester will save him
if he is to be saved."

"Oh, Jem, Jem!" moaned the lady.

"Be quiet, Marion. He is in the right hands. No, doctor, we will have
no one else called in."

A low moan from the wounded man took Chester's attention, and he knelt
down again to bathe his face and lips with brandy, while the two
gentlemen went to a door at the other end, passed out, and a low,
hurried dispute arose, all in whispers.

Chester heard a word or two--angry words--and grasped the fact that
there must have been some desperate quarrel, ending in the unfortunate
man before him being shot down. A chair was overturned, and glasses and
decanters upset, as if from a struggle. But the patient was apparently
slipping away, and for hour after hour through that night Chester fought
the grim Spectre, striving to tear the victim from his hands, seeing
nothing, nothing, nothing, forgetting everything--home, Isabel, the
anxious woman at his side. His every nerve was strung to the fight, and
at last he felt that he had won.

His face showed it as he rose, uttering a sigh of relief, and his
fellow-watcher at the other side of the couch sprang from her knees,
caught his hands in hers