and my profession?"

"Don't be pettish, Morton. I don't wish to interfere; but I am
extremely anxious about poor Bracy."

"Can't be more so than I am, sir."

"Tell me what you feel is wrong."

"Bit of iron, I expect, close up to the vertebrae. The abominable
missile broke up, and part remained behind."

"Then, in the name of all that's sensible, why don't you extract it?"

"Because, in the name of all that's sensible, I don't want to see the
poor fellow die of _tetanus_--lockjaw, as you call it."

"You dare not extract it?"

"That's it, sir. The piece--a mere scrap, I dare say--keeps his nerves
in a horrible state of tension, but it is beyond my reach. Are you
satisfied now?"

"Perfectly; but can nothing be done?"

"Nothing but leave it to Nature. She may do what I can't."

"Danger?"

"Of being a cripple; not of anything fatal."

"Poor fellow!" said the Colonel sadly.

"Yes, poor fellow!" said the Doctor. "I'm doing all I know, and must be
off now, for you keep me very busy."

Roberts had been sitting with the patient that same afternoon, and
towards evening the Major dropped in, glass in eye, and sat talking for
a bit, with Bracy fighting hard to keep down his irritability, for the
Major was a bad visitor in his way.

"You ought to be up and about, Bracy," he said.

"Yes; I long to be."

"Then why don't you try to brace yourself up--be bracy by nature as well
as by name--eh? Ha, ha! Don't you see?"

"Because I am so weak, sir," replied the patient grimly.

"Ah, that's what you think, my dear boy," said the Major, yawning, and
shooting his glass out of his eye. "That's what you think. Now, if you
were to pull yourself together and make up your mind to get well you'd
soon master that weakness."

"Do you think I'm shamming, then, sir?"

"Well, no, my dear boy," said the Major, stretching the string of his
eyeglass as he picked it up, and then giving the latter a polish with
his handkerchief before proceeding to stick it into its place; "I don't
think you are shamming, but that you are in a weak state, and
consequently have become hypochon--what you may call it. If you were
to--"

Flick! and a sudden jump of the Major to his feet, as he turned sharply
to look down at Bracy.

"Confound you, sir! What do you mean by that?"

"Mean by--mean by what?" stammered Bracy, who lay perfectly motionless,
with his arms by his sides.

"Mean by what, sir? Why, by striking at my eyeglass and