without fracture," said
the surgeon. "Lend me a hand, will you? Hold his body firmly--here and
here--with all your might, while I pull the joint into place. If his
head or spine are not injured the pain may bring him to consciousness.
That will be a good thing. Now, ready--one, two, three, pull!"

The two men gave a vigorous jerk, and to Gianbattista's surprise the arm
fell back in a natural position; but the injured priest's features
expressed no pain. He was evidently quite unconscious. A further
examination led the surgeon to believe that the harm was more serious.
There was a bad bruise on one side of the head, and more than one upon
other parts of the body.

"Will he live?" asked Gianbattista faintly, as he sank back into his
chair.

"Oh yes--probably. He is likely to have a brain fever; One cannot tell.
How old is he?"

He asked one or two other questions, arranging the patient's position
with skilful hands while he talked Then he asked for paper and wrote a
prescription.

"Nothing more can be done for the present," he said. "You should put
some ice on his head, and if he recovers consciousness, so as to speak
before I come back, observe what he says. He may be in a delirium, or he
may talk quite rationally. One cannot tell Send for this medicine and
give it to him if he is conscious. Otherwise, only keep his head cool. I
will come back early in the evening. You are not hurt yourself?" he
inquired, looking at Gianbattista curiously.

"No; I am badly shaken, and my hands are a little cut--that is all,"
answered the young man.

"What a beautiful thing youth is!" observed the surgeon philosophically,
as he went away.

Gianbattista remained alone in the sick-room, seated upon his chair by
the head of the bed. With anxious interest and attention he watched the
expressionless face as the heavy breath came and went between the parted
lips. In the distance he could hear the sobbing and incoherent talk of
the two women, as the doctor explained to them Paolo's condition, but he
was now too much dazed to give any thought to them. It seemed to him
that Don Paolo had sacrificed his life for him, and that he had no other
duty than to sit beside the bed and watch his friend. All the
impressions of the afternoon were very much confused, and the shock of
the fall had told upon his nerves far more severely than he had at first
realised. His limbs ached and his hands pained him; at the same time he
felt dizzy, and the out