Sometimes, when she came near enough, I would lay my hand over hers. She would permit the caress as if she were indulging a spoiled baby. Sometimes, I would lie with my eyes closed in the hope that she might be tempted to kiss me, as she had done before; but Mary Grant saw through the pretence and declined to become a party to it. The Rev. Mr. Auld came during the early afternoon of that Sunday. He examined my bruises and contusions with professional brutality. He winked, and ordered me up, dressed and into a wicker chair,--for the lazy, good-for-nothing rascal that I was. And,--God bless his kindly old heart!--he told Mary I might smoke, in moderation. He did not remain long, for he said he had been called to attend another and a very urgent case of a malady similar to mine, at Camp No. 2. "Why!--that's Joe Clark's Camp," I said. "I am well aware of the fact," said he. "If you ask any more questions or venture any more information, I shall order you back to bed and I shall cancel your smoking permit." As he was going off, he came over to me and whispered in my ear:-- "Man!--I would give something for the power of your right arm." All the remainder of that afternoon, Mary read to me, as I browsed [Transcriber's note: drowsed?] in an easy chair among cushions and rugs, stretching first one leg and then the other, testing my arms, trying every joint, every finger and toe, to satisfy myself that I was still George Bremner, complete in every detail. Just as Mary was preparing to say good-bye to my little place, late that same day,--for her vigils over me were no longer necessary,--Rita Clark ran in, flushed with hurried rowing and labouring under a strong excitement. She flashed defiance at Mary, then she threw herself at my feet and sobbed as if her little heart would break. I put my hand on her head and tried to comfort her, and, when I looked up again, she and I were alone. "Rita, Rita!" I admonished. "Oh!--no one told me," she wailed. "And it was all my fault. I know I should not have come when Joe was that way about it. "If he had killed you! Oh! George,--if he had killed you!" Her eyes were red from weeping and dread still showed in her expressive face. "There, there," I comforted. "He did not kill me, Rita, so why worry? "I shall be back at work in the store to-morrow, same as before. Cheer up, little girl!" "But nobody at the Camp can understand it," she went on with more composure. "They all knew there had been a fight. They were sure you had been killed, for nobody ever stands up against Joe without coming down harder than he does, and they say Joe was pretty nearly done for." "How is he now?" I inquired, inquisitive to know if he were suffering at least some of what I had suffered. "Mr. Auld just came in as I left. Joe's been unconscious for two days." "Good!" I exclaimed, almost in delight. Rita's face expressed a chiding her tongue refused to give.