CHAPTER III.
The young physician walked steadily up to his patient without taking his eye off her, and drew a chair to her side.
Then she took down one hand--the left--and gave it him, averting her face tenderly, and still covering it with her right; "For," said she to herself, "I am such a fright now." This opportune reflection, and her heaving bosom, proved that she at least felt herself something more than his patient.

Her pretty consciousness made his task more difficult; nevertheless, he only allowed himself to press her hand tenderly with both his palms one moment, and then he entered on his functions bravely.
"I am here as your physician." "Very well," said she softly.
He gently detained the hand, and put his finger lightly to her pulse; it was palpitating, and a fallacious test.

Oh, how that beating pulse, by love's electric current, set his own heart throbbing in a moment! He put her hand gently, reluctantly down, and said, "Oblige me by turning this way." She turned, and he winced internally at the change in her; but his face betrayed nothing.

He looked at her full; and, after a pause, put her some questions: one was as to the color of the hemorrhage.

She said it was bright red.
"Not a tinge of purple ?" "No," said she hopefully, mistaking him.
He suppressed a sigh.
Then he listened at her shoulder-blade and at her chest, and made her draw her breath while he was listening.