The wounded girl had been carried to her room on that night, and the Justice, very much perturbed--something he seldom was--had come out of his room and sent immediately for the nearest surgeon. The latter, however, lived an hour and a half's ride from the Oberhof; he was, moreover, a sound sleeper, and reluctant to go out at night. Thus, the morning had already dawned when he finally arrived with his meagre outfit of instruments. He removed the cloth from her shoulders, examined the wound, and made a very grave face. Luckily, the young Suabian's charge had merely grazed Lisbeth; only two shot had penetrated her flesh, and these not very deeply. The surgeon extracted them, bandaged the wound, recommended rest and cold water, and went home with the proud feeling that if he had not been summoned so promptly and had not so cheerfully done his duty, even in the night, gangrene would inevitably have resulted from the wound. Lisbeth, while they were waiting for the doctor, had been very calm; she had scarcely uttered a complaint, although her face, which was deathly pale, betrayed the fact that she was suffering pain. Even the operation, which the surgeon's clumsy hand caused to be more painful than was necessary, she had undergone bravely. She asked for the shot and presented them jokingly to the Hunter. They were "sure shot," she said to him--he should keep them, and they would bring him luck. The Hunter accepted the "sure shot," wrapped them in a piece of paper, and gently withdrew his beautiful victim's head from his encircling arms to let her sleep. In these arms Lisbeth had rested with her pain, as up on the "Open Tribunal," ever since entering the room in the Oberhof. With sorrowful eyes he had gazed fixedly into her face, and had now and then met a friendly return-glance, which she directed up to him as if to comfort him.