‘Which arm, sir? left, I hope?’ he asked, beginning to roll up the shirt-sleeve off his left arm. ‘Left,’ said Sebastian shortly; ‘now lie down and we’ll be as quick as may be. Gad! a fine arm it is, and a fine hand—well, say farewell to it, my man, for ’twill not be fair again, I fear.’ He ran his fingers down Phil’s strong young arm as he spoke. Carrie, who stood beside him, heard him mutter something under his breath. ‘_Flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone_,’ he said, and Carrie with the self-importance of youth, concluded that her father spoke of her oneness with Philip; she thought of the wedding service: ‘He should have said, “they twain shall be one flesh,”’ she thought. ‘Go on,’ said Phil; and Sebastian cut sharply into the white flesh. Carrie whitened and shuddered as she saw the first drop of blood—the price of a life—redden her father’s lancet. Then she went over to Phil’s side, and took his right hand in hers and held it fast. Every moment she felt it thrill and twitch, but Phil gave no other sign of what he suffered. Sebastian and Munro, intent on their work, bent over him with a word now and then to each other—it was something in these days to have live tissue to operate on: and poor Philip, between them, suffering the torments of Hades, lay there wondering how long he could hold out, for every second seemed an eternity of pain. At first mere strength supported him, then strength of will, then strength of love, then, when all these resources had failed him, Philip groaned aloud, and fell into blissful forgetfulness. ‘Poor fellow!’ muttered Sebastian. He glanced across at Carrie; she did not stir a muscle. ‘We will not be long now, madam,’ said Munro, with pity for her white face. ‘There—he hath paid dearly for—for life,’ said Sebastian a few minutes later; ‘and I doubt, Munro, my Lady Y——’s courage will not bear her through the same!’ And both the men laughed. Phil came to himself slowly; and lay white and trembling, his face drawn with pain. ‘When you feel able, Philip,’ said Sebastian, in a voice as kind as a mother’s, bending down to speak to him, ‘I shall take you back to my house—you and Carrie; ’twill be home for you now.’ Philip just smiled and closed his eyes, and wondered vaguely how Dr. Shepley ever got his voice to sound so soft; but Carrie, crossing over to where her father stood, buried her face on his breast and wept her long restrained tears. CHAPTER XXXVI