"'But when to the altar a victim I go, Aunt Tabitha'll tell me _she_ never did so.'" And she swept off from the little stage, in a parting storm of cheers. In the mean time, Louise had heard nothing from Dr. Brownlee; and she was beginning to grow uneasy, for the time for his reading was at hand, and the play was to follow it almost immediately. She was just resolving to give up all hope, and bring the entertainment to a hasty close, when she saw the doctor come hurrying in at the side door. She turned to Charlie MacGregor, who chanced to be standing near her. "Will you help me out, Charlie?" she asked. "Go on again, and play--anything, I don't care what, just to give Dr. Brownlee time to get his breath." "But strikes me they've had about all of me they can stand," demurred Charlie. "Never mind if they have," said Louise. "There isn't anybody else that can appear, at a minute's warning. Go, please." The next moment the doctor was by her side. "Miss Everett, have you any powder?" he asked, laughing a little, as he pointed to a great purplish bruise on the side of his forehead. "Dr. Brownlee!" she exclaimed in alarm. "What is it? Are you hurt?" "Hush!" he said, in a low voice, though he was conscious of a quick sense of pleasure at the anxiety of her tone. "It's only a bump; but it doesn't look well, and I don't want it to show. Can't you cover it up somehow, before I go on?" "Come this way," she said hastily. "I'm not much used to powder, but I'll see what I can do. Tell me," she begged, as the doctor dropped into a chair; "what has happened? It's a bad bruise, and your cheek is cut; what was it?" "I was helping them get the man out of the car, and one of the beams fell against me; that's all. I found the new doctor, Dr. Hofer, in charge; so I just helped him lift the man out, and then came back here," he answered as lightly as he could, and without adding a word about the moments that he himself had lain there stunned from the force of the blow on his head. Louise looked down at him anxiously. His face was white, and his hands were a little unsteady. "Please don't try to read, Dr. Brownlee," she urged. "I'm sure you don't feel able." "I'm all right," he said, rousing himself with a forced laugh; "if you can cover up the spot so it won't show. I don't want them to think I've been fighting." He resigned himself into her hands, while she hunted among the properties for the powder-puff and the comb, and then did her best to conceal the great bruise on his temple, which had quickly swollen and turned dark. But, even as she did so, she felt a sudden impulse to drop the puff and run away, rather than meet the earnest gaze of the gray eyes looking so steadily up into her own, and listen to the quiet "Thank you," which greeted the end of the toilet, as the doctor rose and stepped forward to take his place on the stage.