ward with violence lay motionless.

The instincts of the physician replaced those of the man as he gently
raised the insensible form and laid it on a grassy bank. But her
antipathy, whatever its cause, seemed more potent than the injury she
had received, for as he touched her she moved uneasily, and opening
her eyes said with difficulty, "Thanks. I am not hurt: I do not need
your assistance."

"I am a physician," returned Maurice gravely. "Your foot has had a
terrible wrench: permit me." He dropped on his knee before, her and
proceeded to make an examination with so much quiet authority that
she ceased to resist. "There is nothing wrong here: do you feel pain
elsewhere?"

She was trembling, for the nervous reaction of the shock had taken
place, but she endeavored to conceal it: "I have an oppression on my
chest, and this arm--I cannot lift it."

"Do not be alarmed: lean against this tree."

She reluctantly submitted as he carefully felt the arm--nothing; the
shoulder, across to the neck--a cry of pain.

"The clavicle is fractured."

"Is that very dreadful?" and now her eyes sought his for the first
time.

"Oh no: it happens every day. It will be tedious perhaps, but can
scarcely be called an accident at all--only a mishap. I think I will
bring you a little brandy before you try to walk."

"Don't speak of it at the house: my father would be troubled. And
hurry back: I do not want to be alone."

"What an inconsistent prescription she is!" thought Maurice as he
went. "However, fright will make the most obstinate woman docile."

If it was fright, it certainly worked marvels. When he returned Fay
obediently followed every direction given by him, even taking his arm
for support as they walked to the hotel. Having seen his patient to
the door of her room, professional delicacy prompted the doctor to
withdraw. As he bade her good-morning she became embarrassed,
hesitated a moment, then abruptly throwing open the door which gave
entrance to a parlor, she said with a suspicious quaver in her voice,
"Won't you come in? I must thank you, and papa must thank you."

"Not at all necessary," he replied lightly. "I will see you again if
you permit me, but I must go now."

"You are offended because I--No matter: it is best. Go, then;" and she
held out her hand, which he took, while her face became grave, almost
sad; or was it but the young man's fancy?

"She is a warm-hearted, impulsive, spoilt child," was Maurice's fin