But the great arrow had pierced right through her shoulder, and stood out a handbreadth upon the other side.

We had sent for a surgeon; but we dreaded to think of the pain she must suffer; must be suffering even now.

Her face was white; her brow was furrowed.
But suddenly, as we stood looking at her in dismay, she sat up, took firm hold of the cruel barb with her own hands, and drew it steadily from the wound.
Was ever courage like hers?
As the blood came gushing forth, staining her white armour red, she uttered a little cry and her lips grew pale.

Yet I think the cry was less from pain than to see the marring of her shining breastplate; and the tears started to her eyes.

Never before had this suffered hurt; the sight of the envious rent hurt her, I trow, as much as did the smart of her wound.
The surgeon came hurrying up, and dressed the wound with a pledget of linen steeped in oil; and the Maid lay very white and still, almost like one dying or dead, so that we all held our breath in fear.