rner on the run. A moment more
and the two stood in presence of the sufferer and of his nurse. She
smiled kindly upon the new-comers. "I sent for you, doctor, because I
knew you had not been informed of Brannan's state. His pulse----" and
here she lowered her voice so that only Burroughs and Davies could
hear,--"is so thin and wiry as to be almost gone. My father would say he
needed stimulant at once, and treatment later. See for yourself."

And the daughter of the well-known and beloved old army surgeon knew her
ground and never faltered. Burroughs made brief examination and no
remonstrance. In another minute the steward was administering brandy and
water in a tablespoon while, anxious to re-establish himself, the young
doctor was explaining. "I had no previous knowledge of the case," he
stammered. "Captain Devers told me of the man's arrival and downfall,
and I ordered him into hospital at his request, and,--yes,--I did say no
stimulants of any kind. The captain so urged, and of course that would
be the customary mode of treatment in most cases, but in a case like
this, of course, had I been aware----"

"Oh, certainly," she interposed, with the same gracious smile and
manner. "It was because I knew you hadn't been made aware. Now we'll
soon be able to make him comfortable, and then when he's on his feet
again he can tell us how it all happened." Again her white hand was laid
upon the haggard forehead. "Courage, Brannan. Don't worry. We'll get you
to sleep presently. Now, doctor, I want to send some medicine and a note
to Mrs. Cranston. With your permission I mean to stay here a while."

"I will be your messenger, Miss Loomis," said Davies, "as the attendant
doesn't seem to have returned, and then I can let Mrs. Davies know that
I shall come here again, myself."

As he sped along the row, note and medicine phial in hand, Davies was
surprised to see his captain's storm-door wide open and a light shining
through the transom within. A light was moving through the parlor, too,
but Davies paid no further heed, left the note and medicine in Mrs.
Cranston's hands with brief explanatory word, then hurried back to
Boynton's quarters. He had turned down the light when he went out for
his walk and had left his wife in the darkness of her room, trying,
presumably, to go to sleep. He found the lights turned on again, and
Almira, a heavy shawl bundled about her shoulders, sitting with white,
scared face, trembling and twitching,