y to and fro upon the veranda of his
dwelling while waiting for his horse, saw a miserable looking object
coming up the avenue: a man almost covered from head to foot with blood
and mud; a white handkerchief, also both bloody and muddy, knotted around
the right arm, which hung apparently useless at his side. The man reeled
as he walked, either from intoxication or weakness and fatigue.

The doctor judged the latter, and called to a servant, "Nap, go and help
that man into the office." Then hurrying thither himself, got out lint,
bandages, instruments, whatever might be needed for the dressing of a
wound. With the assistance of Nap's strong arm, the man tottered in, then
sank, half fainting, into a chair.

"A glass of wine, Nap, quick!" cried the doctor, sprinkling some water in
his patient's face, and applying ammonia to his nostrils.

He revived sufficiently to swallow with eager avidity the wine Nap held to
his lips.

"Food, for the love of God," he gasped. "I'm starving!"

"Bread, meat, coffee, anything that is on the table, Nap," said his
master; "and don't let the grass grow under your feet."

Then to the stranger, and taking gentle hold of the wounded limb: "But you
need this flow of blood stanched more than anything else. You came to me
for surgical aid, of course. Pistol-shot wound, eh? and a bad one at
that."

"Yes, I----"

"Never mind; I'll hear your story after your arm's dressed and you've had
your breakfast. You haven't strength for talk just now."

Dr. Balis had his own suspicions as he ripped up the coat sleeve, bared
the swollen limb, and carefully dressed the wound; but kept them to
himself. The stranger's clothes, though much soiled and torn in several
places by contact with thorns and briers, were of good material,
fashionable cut, and not old or worn; his manners were gentlemanly, and
his speech was that of an educated man. But all this was no proof that he
was not a villain.

"Is that mortification?" asked the sufferer, looking ruefully at the
black, swollen hand and fore-arm, and wincing under the doctor's touch as
he took up the artery and tied it.

"No, no; only the stagnation of the blood."

"Will the limb ever be good for anything again?"

"Oh yes; neither the bone nor nerve has suffered injury; the ball has
glanced from the bone, passed under the nerve, and cut the humeral artery.
Your tourniquet has saved you from bleeding to death. 'Tis well you knew
enough to apply it. The f