"Leo Salis," said the doctor impatiently, "if you're not hurt, don't stand dreaming there, but run off to the village for help." Leo stared at him wildly for a moment or two, and then walked hastily away, holding her left wrist in her right hand, as if she were in pain. "Hah! That's better," cried the doctor, as he set one foot against a portion of the iron-work, and pulled with all his might, his effort being followed by a loud cracking noise, and the iron bent. "Now, Mrs Berens, I think we can lift her out." "Yes; let me help," cried the widow energetically, and seeming quite transformed as she assisted in bearing the inanimate girl into the drawing-room. "Quick, Mary, pillows," she cried; and her round-eyed, helpless maid ran upstairs, to return with the pillows, by whose aid Mary Salis was placed in a comfortable position. Without its being suggested. Mrs Berens herself fetched basin, sponge, and towels, with which the blood and dust were removed, the widow colouring once highly as the doctor awarded her a word of praise. "Cut in the temple. Hair will cover it," said the doctor, as he rapidly dressed the insensible girl's injuries. "Nasty contusion there on the cheek--slight abrasion." "Will it disfigure her, doctor?" said Mrs Berens anxiously. "Oh! no--soon disappear." "What a comfort," sighed the widow, who evidently believed that a young lady's face was her fortune. "Is she much hurt, doctor?" "No; I am in hopes that she is only suffering from the concussion. That bleeding has been good for her. She is coming round." "Poor darling!" cried Mrs Berens, tenderly kissing Mary's hand. "You're an uncommonly good, useful woman, Mrs Berens," said the doctor bluntly. "I didn't think you had it in you." "Oh, doctor!" she cried. "Spoilt your dress and lace too. But, never mind, it will bring her round. Ah! that's better; she's coming to." "Is she?" The doctor pointed to the quivering lips, as the next minute there was a weary sigh, and Mary Salis opened her eyes to gaze wildly round, and then made an effort as if to rise, but she only raised her head and let it fall back with a moan. "Are you in pain?" said the doctor, as he took her hand. She looked at him wildly, and a faint colour came into her cheek as she whispered hoarsely: "Yes. Send--for a doctor." "He is here, my poor dove," cried Mrs Berens. "Don't you know him--Dr North?" "Yes; but send--for some one--a doctor." "A little wandering," whispered North, bending over Mary, who tried to shrink from him. "Now," he said gently, "try and tell me where you feel pain. I must see to it at once." "No, no. Don't touch me--a doctor--send for a doctor," answered Mary. "But Mr North is a doctor, my poor dear," cried Mrs Berens.