His deft fingers were feeling, pressing, touching with a wonderful instinct, the skull beneath the tumbled masses of blood-clotted hair. Nothing there, scalp wounds merely. Arms, legs--yes, these were uninjured too. The collar-bone was intact under the flesh that cushioned it. The skin of the left wrist was lacerated and bruised--Lothian, of course, had been sitting on the left side of the driver when he fell like a log from the gig--but the bones of the hand and arm were normal. There was not a single symptom of brain concussion. The deep gurgling breathing, the alarming snore-like sound that came from between the curiously pure and clear-cut lips, meant one thing only. Morton Sims stood up. Mary Lothian was waiting. There was an agony of expectation in her eyes. "Not the least reason to be alarmed," said the doctor. "Some nasty cuts in the scalp, that is all." She gave a deep sigh, a momentary shudder, and then her face became calm. "It is so kind of you to come, Doctor," she said.--"Then that deep spasmodic breathing--he has not really hurt his head?" "Not in the least as far as I can say, and I am fairly certain. We must get him up to bed. Then I can cut away the hair and bandage the wounds. I must take his temperature also. It's possible--just possible that the shock may have unpleasant results, though I really don't think it will. I will give him some bromide though, as soon as he wakes up." "Ah!" she said. That was all, but it meant everything. He knew that to this woman, at least, plain-speaking was best. "Yes," he continued, "I am sorry to say that he is under the influence of alcohol. He has obviously been drinking heavily of late. I am a specialist in such matters and I can hardly be mistaken. There is just a possibility that this may bring on delirium tremens--only a possibility. He has never suffered from that?" "Oh, never. Thank God never!" A sob came into her voice. Her face glowed with the love and tenderness within, the blue eyes seemed set in a soul rather than in a face, so beautiful had they become. "He's so good," she said with a wistful smile. "You can't think what a sweet boy he is when he doesn't drink any horrible things." "Madam, I have read his poems. I know what an intellect and force lies drugged upon that sofa there. But we will soon have the flame burning clearly once more. It has been the work of my life to study these cases." "Yes, I know, Doctor. I have heard so much of your work." "Believe then that I am going to save this foolish young man, to give him back to you and to the world. A free man once more!" "Free!" she whispered. "Oh, free from his vice!" "_Vice_, Madam! I thought that all intelligent people understood by this time. For the last ten years I and my colleagues have been trying to make them understand! It is not a _vice_ from which your husband suffers. It is a _disease_!"