Not understanding how or why this should be, he waited perfectly still, trying to gather his thoughts. A great peace was in his heart--a peace and content so sweet he did not wish to move. Lingering beneath this content, he held a dim memory of a great anger--a horror of anger, when he saw red, and hungered for blood. Vaguely it seemed to him now that all was as he wished it to be with Cassandra near. He liked to feel her hand beneath his head and her other hand upon his own, and her heavy bronze hair so close, and he closed his eyes once more to shut out all else, for the room was strange to him--this raftered place all whitewashed from ceiling to floor. He had forgotten what had happened, but Cassandra was there, and he was content. Something had touched his lips and brought him back, he was sure of that, and his weakly beating heart stirred to more vigorous action. He turned his head a little, a very little, toward her, and his fingers closed about her hand to hold it there. She lifted her head then, and they looked into each other's eyes, a long, deep look. Later, when Azalea entered, she found them both sleeping, Cassandra's hand still beneath his head, his face pressed to her soft hair and his free arm flung about her. Azalea stole away and hurried with the news to old Sally, who also crept in and looked on them and stole away. "Yas, she sure have saved his life," said Sally. "Heap o' times they nevah do come out en that thar kin' o' sleep. I done seed sech before." "Ef he have come to hisself, you reckon I bettah wake 'em up and give her a leetle hot milk? She hain't eat nothin' sence yestiday." "Naw, leave 'em be. No body nevah hain't starved in his sleep yit, I reckon." "He hain't eat nothin', neithah. He sure have been bad hurted." The two women sat in the large room and talked in low tones, while at intervals Azalea crept to the door and looked in on them. At last the baby wailed out with lusty cry, which sounded through the stillness of the house and roused Cassandra, but as she lifted her head, David clung to her and drew her cheek to his lips. "Are you hurt?" he murmured. In some strange way he had confused matters, and thought it was she who had been shot. "It's not me that's hurt," she said tenderly. Azalea hurried away and returned with the warm milk she had prepared for Cassandra, who took it and held it to David's lips. "Drink it, Doctah. She won't touch anything till you do." Then he obeyed, slowly drinking it all, his eyes fixed on Cassandra's as a child looks up to his mother. As she rose, he held her with his free hand. "What is it? How long--" His voice sounded thin and weak. "Strange--I can't lift this arm at all. Tell me--" "Seems like I can't. When you are strong again, I will." Feebly he tried to raise himself. "Don't, oh, don't, Doctah Thryng. If you bleed again, you'll die," she wailed. "Sit near me."