"Try and bear it like a man, Salis. It may not be so bad as I fear, but I cannot hide from you the truth." "The truth! Good heavens, man, speak out!" "Hush! She is too weak from the shock to bear it now. Let her learn it by degrees, only thinking at present that she is nerveless and stunned." "But you don't mean--Oh, North!" cried the curate, in agony. "Salis, old friend, it would be cruel to keep back the truth," said the doctor, taking his hand. "It may not be so bad, but I fear there is some terrible injury to the spine." "Good heavens!" cried Salis wildly; "that means paralysis and death." "Let's hope not, old friend." "Hope!" cried the curate wildly. "How has that poor girl sinned that she should suffer this?" At that moment the truth had come home to Mary Salis that her injury was terrible in extent, and she lay there gazing wildly at her handsome sister, but seeing beyond her in the long, weary vista of her own life a helpless cripple, dragging her way slowly onward towards the end. Then there was a low, piteous sigh, and Mrs Berens came quickly to the door. "Doctor," she whispered, "come back. Fainted!" North hurried back into the room, to find Mary Salis lying back, white as if cut in marble, while her sister stood gazing at her in silence, making no movement to be of help. "How I do hate that girl!" he muttered, as he went down on one knee by the couch. CHAPTER NINE. DR NORTH SEES A WHITE MARK. Patient never had more assiduous attention than Mary Salis received from Dr North. He had formed his opinions about her case, but insisted upon having further advice, and Mr Delton--the old _savant_ of the lecture-- was proposed. "I'm afraid he will want a heavy fee, Salis," said North; "but you ought to make a sacrifice at a time like this, and his opinion is the best." "Any sacrifice; every sacrifice," said the curate. "Send for him at once." Mr Delton came down and held a consultation with North. He seated himself afterwards by Mary's couch, where she, poor girl, lay, flushed, and suffering agony mentally and bodily, consequent upon this visit. But when the grey-headed old man took her hand between both his, and sat gazing in her eyes, those eyes brimmed over with tears. The fatherly way won upon her, and she said softly, as she clung to him: "Tell me the worst." He remained silent, gazing at her fixedly for some time, but at last he raised and kissed her hand. "I will speak out," he said gently, "because I can read in your sweet young face resignation and patience. To another, perhaps, I should have preached patience and hope; to you I feel that it would be a mockery, and I only say, bear your misfortune by palliating it with the work your intellect will supply." "Always to be a cripple, doctor--a helpless cripple?" she moaned.