t follow her with my eyes
wherever she went.

For one more day, she kept me on my back, bullying me and tyrannising
over me, when I felt strong enough to be up and about my business.

Sometimes, when she came near enough, I would lay my hand over hers.
She would permit the caress as if she were indulging a spoiled baby.
Sometimes, I would lie with my eyes closed in the hope that she might
be tempted to kiss me, as she had done before; but Mary Grant saw
through the pretence and declined to become a party to it.

The Rev. Mr. Auld came during the early afternoon of that Sunday. He
examined my bruises and contusions with professional brutality. He
winked, and ordered me up, dressed and into a wicker chair,--for the
lazy, good-for-nothing rascal that I was. And,--God bless his kindly
old heart!--he told Mary I might smoke, in moderation.

He did not remain long, for he said he had been called to attend
another and a very urgent case of a malady similar to mine, at Camp No.
2.

"Why!--that's Joe Clark's Camp," I said.

"I am well aware of the fact," said he. "If you ask any more questions
or venture any more information, I shall order you back to bed and I
shall cancel your smoking permit."

As he was going off, he came over to me and whispered in my ear:--

"Man!--I would give something for the power of your right arm."

All the remainder of that afternoon, Mary read to me, as I browsed
[Transcriber's note: drowsed?] in an easy chair among cushions and
rugs, stretching first one leg and then the other, testing my arms,
trying every joint, every finger and toe, to satisfy myself that I was
still George Bremner, complete in every detail.

Just as Mary was preparing to say good-bye to my little place, late
that same day,--for her vigils over me were no longer necessary,--Rita
Clark ran in, flushed with hurried rowing and labouring under a strong
excitement. She flashed defiance at Mary, then she threw herself at my
feet and sobbed as if her little heart would break.

I put my hand on her head and tried to comfort her, and, when I looked
up again, she and I were alone.

"Rita, Rita!" I admonished.

"Oh!--no one told me," she wailed. "And it was all my fault. I know I
should not have come when Joe was that way about it.

"If he had killed you! Oh! George,--if he had killed you!"

Her eyes were red from weeping and dread still showed in her expressive
face.

"There, there," I comforted. "He did not k