an a fainting
fit, until Lilian, who had taken her brother's head upon her lap, found
blood upon her hands. Then she turned white to the very lips, and tore
open the blue serge coat and waistcoat. The white flannel shirt beneath
was caked with blood. The two women moaned, but not a finger faltered.
They opened the shirt tenderly, and there, on the right breast, saw a
dull blue stain with a crimson thread in the middle of it. A gunshot
wound looks to unaccustomed eyes altogether too innocent a thing to
account for death or even for serious danger. But the cold pallor of the
face and body, the limp and helpless limbs betokened something terrible.

'Take his poor head, mamma,' cried Lilian; and she darted from the cabin
to the deck, The boatman was lounging quietly in the boat some thirty
yards down stream. She called to him aloud--

'Go for a doctor. My brother is dying here. Be quick, be quick, be
quick!' she almost screamed as the man stared at her. Understanding at
last, the fellow snatched up his sculls and dashed through the water.
Lilian flew back to her brother; and while the two women, not knowing
what to do further, sat supporting the helpless head together; a man
leapt aboard.

'You called for a doctor, madam,' he said quietly, 'I am a surgeon.
Permit me to assist you.'

The women made way for him. He was a youngish man, with a sunburnt
complexion and grey hair, a gentleman beyond denial, and beyond doubt
self-possessed and accustomed to obedience. They trusted him at once. He
raised the recumbent figure to a couch, and then looked at the wound. He
turned over the lappel of the coat and glanced at it. He had a habit of
speaking to himself.

'Pistol shot,' he muttered. 'Close quarters. Coat quite burned. Decimal
three-fifty or thereabouts I fancy from the look of it. Ah, here it is!
Have you a penknife or a pair of scissors, madam? That small knife will
do. Thank you.'

A dexterous touch, and from the little gaping lips carved by the
penknife's point in the muscle of the back rolled out a flattened
piece of lead with jagged edges like a battered shilling, but a trifle
thicker.

'Yes,' said the surgeon, laying it on the table; 'decimal three-fifty.
What's this? Wound on the head. Your handkerchief, please. Cold water.
Thank you.'

His busy and practised hands were at work all the while.

'Now, ladies, wait here for a few moments. I must bring help.'

'Stop one minute!' cried the mother. 'Is he in dang