She saw a bare arm lifted from the press of huddled forms, saw that a physician had pressed a black bulb to it. The hand--the inevitable configuration of that arm which she had never seen bare--and she knew him. Bertram lay on his side. His eyes were closed, his whole figure huddled; yet something more than the quiver of his body at the prick of the syringe told her that he was alive. His color had changed but little; hovering death showed mainly by a sharpening of all the lines of his face. Yet it did not seem to be Bertram, but rather some statue, some ghastly replica of him. The physician stood up and stretched his back. She came close. "Will he live?" He turned impatiently, but he caught her eyes. "He has a chance. He's young and strong--Is he--yours?" "Yes--yes! What shall I do for him?" "Are you sure you're strong enough--you won't faint nor carry on?" "No--no! I'm sure of that. What may I do?" Judge Tiffany was beside her now. He looked, understood, and said nothing. "Thank God for you, then! With all the crowd we haven't sane people enough to nurse one baby! Everything's the matter with him--broken arm, broken collar-bone, shock, and maybe he's injured internally. We can't be sure about that yet. I'm trying to make him comfortable, but"--here the agitated man broke through the calm physician for a moment--"No braces, no slings, no anything! We're going to town as soon as this company will let us. And he must be held. It's the only way to keep him comfortable. Come!" Judge Tiffany touched the doctor's arm, but he spoke to Eleanor. "Nell--you'd better let a man do that." "No. You may help. How shall I hold him?" All her will concentrated on obedience to direction, she followed the doctor while he drew Bertram's bare arm over her shoulder, set a cushion at his back, showed her how she must support his neck with her right hand. "Hold him as long as you can, then have your friend relieve you. But change no more often than you find necessary. He'll get jostled enough before we reach town." The Judge seated himself calmly. She was alone with the care of her dying. The necessity for comforting and reassuring him came into her mind. "It's all right, Bertram; it's all right!" she whispered. He returned no answer, even of a flickering eyelash. He lay still, inert, a great bulk that tugged at the muscles of her arms. After a time, her frame adjusted itself to the position. Her perceptions, still keenly alive, told her that her doctor was working over a woman in the corner. Just as the train started, she saw him rise, wipe his hands on his handkerchief, and motion calmly to two of the men. They lifted the woman. Eleanor realized all at once what the motion signified. They had taken her to join the dead in the baggage car.