“Well, your left leg was hurt, and we shall have to keep it bandaged and your knee from bending. And there were some bruises on your side, and an injury to the scalp.” “My scalp?” she quickly asked, raising her hand and asking, “Surely you did not shave my head?” “No,” he replied, smiling amusedly; “except a small spot, and you can cover that until the hair grows out.” She was not fully satisfied until she had felt the splendid wealth of hair that lay massed upon the pillow. “May I ask who you are?” This was the question that he had dreaded most of all; but before he could stammer out the truth a light broke over her face, and she astounded him with this exclamation: “Oh, you are the famous Dr. Mal-bone! This is extraordinary! I am very, very fortunate.” Wilder had never conceived a lie so dazzling and happy as this mistake. Between wonder at his stupidity for not having thought of it, and a great delight that she had so naturally erred, he was too bewildered either to affirm or deny. He only realized that she had unwittingly solved the most difficult of his present problems. Had she been looking at him, she might have wondered at the strange expression that lighted up his face, and particularly the crimson temporarily displacing the death-like pallor that she had observed. “Yes,” she resumed, after a pause, “I am fortunate; for I suppose that my injuries are a great deal worse than you have given me to believe, and that such skill as yours is needed.” She turned her glance again full upon him; but he had recovered his address, and now met her look with an approach to steadiness. “But,” she said, “you are a much younger man than I had expected to see; and you don’t look so crabbed as I might have inferred you were from the message you sent me a month ago.” She paused, evidently expecting him to make some explanation; but he was silent, and looked so distressed that she smiled. “You may remember,” she continued, “that a young lady at the lakes sent for you to treat her for bruises sustained in a fall, and that you told her messenger to give her your compliments and say that cold-water applications, an old woman, and God would do as well with such a case as you. I am that young lady.” Wilder liked the young woman’s blunt and forthright manner, although it was novel and embarrassing. “There were doubtless important cases demanding attention,” he explained. “No doubt,” she agreed. “And, after all,” he suggested, “didn’t you follow the advice and get good results?” “Yes,” she answered, again smiling faintly; “that is true.” She closed her eyes. Presently she extended her hand, which Wilder took. She looked earnestly into his face, and asked, “It will be a long siege with me, will it not?” “Much depends upon your temperament,” he answered. “If------” “That is evasion,” she interrupted. “Be candid with me.” There was no demand in this request; it was an appeal from such depths of her as she knew, and it touched him.