Miss Gale found Edward Severne deposited on a sofa. Ina was on her knees by his side, sponging his bleeding temple, with looks of gentle pity. Strange to say, the wound was in the same place as his wife's, but more contused, and no large vein was divided. Miss Gale soon stanched that. She asked him where his pain was. He said it was in his head and his back; and he cast a haggard, anxious look on her. “Take my arm,” said she. “Now, stand up.” He tried, but could not, and said his legs were benumbed. Miss Gale looked grave. “Lay him on my bed,” said La Klosking. “That is better than these hard couches.” “You are right,” said Miss Gale. “Ring for the servants. He must be moved gently.” He was carried in, and set upon the edge of the bed, and his coat and waistcoat taken off. Then he was laid gently down on the bed, and covered with a down quilt. Doctress Gale then requested Ina to leave the room, while she questioned the patient. Ina retired. In a moment or two Miss Gale came out to her softly. At sight of her face, La Klosking said, “Oh, dear; it is more serious than we thought.” “Very serious. “Poor Edward!” “Collect all your courage, for I cannot lie, either to patient or friend.” “And you are right,” said La Klosking, trembling. “I see he is in danger.” “Worse than that. Where there's danger there is hope. Here there is none. HE IS A DEAD MAN!” “Oh, no! no!” “He has broken his back, and nothing can save him. His lower limbs have already lost sensation. Death will creep over the rest. Do not disturb your mind with idle hopes. You have two things to thank God for--that you took him into your own house, and that he will die easily. Indeed, were he to suffer, I should stupefy him at once, for nothing can _hurt_ him.” Ina Klosking turned faint and her knees gave way under her. Rhoda ministered to her; and while she was so employed, Dr. Menteith was announced. He was shown in to the patient, and the accident described to him. He questioned the patient, and examined him alone. He then came out, and said he would draw a prescription. He did so. “Doctor,” said La Klosking, “tell me the truth. It cannot be worse than I fear.” “Madam,” said the doctor, “medicine can do nothing for him. The spinal cord is divided. Give him anything he fancies, and my prescription if he suffers pain, not otherwise. Shall I send you a nurse?” “No,” said Mademoiselle Klosking, _“we_ will nurse him night and day.” He retired, and the friends entered on their sad duties. When Severne saw them both by his bedside, with earnest looks of pity, he said, “Do not worry yourselves. I'm booked for the long journey. Ah, well, I shall die where I ought to have lived, and might have, if I had not been a fool.” Ina wept bitterly.