Gervase went out with him to the door and they stood on the great stone steps together. Then the surgeon laid his two broad hands on Gervase´s shoulders and looked at him steadily. “Look ye here,” he said, “I learnt the practice of medicine in the University of Glasgow, but there´s ane thing I learnt since. I´m no sure I´ve got to the bottom of this devildum, but I´m sure o´ this, that if yon chiel dies, the lassie will even break her bonnie heart and the same small sword will have killed them both. Swartz says the deed was yours, but he´s a fause loon to look at, and I ken now it´s a lee. I ken you love her too well--I´ve learnt that too--to do her scaith, and I leave him in your hands till the morning. When a woman´s in love she´s no´ to be trusted. I´ll send you a draught and ye´ll see to it that he gets it.” He left Gervase hardly understanding the speech he had heard. Then its full meaning dawned on him. Till now it had not occurred to him that Dorothy had cared for De Laprade, but the mere suggestion awoke a thousand trivial recollections that lent colour to the thought. He had believed that her great distress was only due to the fact that her guest and kinsman had fallen by her brother´s hand. But if it was otherwise--if she loved De Laprade and looked on himself only as a friend--it took the strength out of his heart to think of it. This great passion, the first that he had known, had transformed his life and inspired him in the midst of all the dangers and privations he was passing through. And now it seemed to him that his hopes had fallen like a house of cards. He was a fool to think that she should care for him--and yet who could tell? So with hope that was not altogether dead, and doubt, and a touch of jealousy, as has been since love came first into the world, he went back to help his stricken rival. CHAPTER XV. OF HOW THE VICOMTE WAS BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE. For several days De Laprade hovered between life and death, apparently conscious and that was all. Dorothy hardly left his bedside night or day, attending upon him with sedulous care and devotion. Seeing that she was about to give way under the strain, Saunderson took affairs into his own hands and forbade her the room altogether. While she had been in the sick chamber De Laprade had used to follow her with his eyes--eyes in which there was little sign of intelligence--but now that she came no more, he sank into a deep and deathlike lethargy from which he seldom awakened. Whether for Dorothy´s sake or from the nature of the case, Saunderson gave up much of his time to the wounded Viscount, and invariably reported his patient´s progress to the anxious girl who was awaiting his departure from the sick chamber. So far from adopting the physician´s usual diplomacy, he had endeavoured to keep up her spirits from the beginning, assuring her that with skill and care, ill as he seemed, he would yet dance at her wedding.