Thus he passed along, leaving anger and humiliation behind him, as a steamer leaves a wake of waves beaten into a froth. “Old Sawbones made a mistake with his morning cocktail, and mixed a lot of wormwood with it,” said one of the “convalescents,” in an undertone to those about him. “This awful hot weather's spilin' most everything,” said another, “and the old man's temper never was any too sweet.” Dr. Moxon came up to Rachel, and regarded her for an instant very unpleasantly. “Young woman,” he said in a harsh tone and with a still harsher manner, “the rules of this institution require every attendant to be present at morning roll-call, under pain of punishment. You were not present this morning, but be careful that you are in the future.” Rachel's grief over her own situation had been swallowed up by indignation at the Surgeon's brutality to others. All her higher instincts were on fire at the gratuitous insults to boys, toward whom her womanly sumpathies streamed out. The pugnacious element, large in hers as in all strong natures, asserted itself and invited to the fray. If there was no one else to resist this petty tyrant she would, and mayhap in this she might find such exercise of her heroic qualities that she felt were within her, as would justify herself in her own esteem. She met with a resolute glance his peevish eyes, and said; “When the rules are communicated to me in a proper manner, I shall take care to obey them, if they are just and proper; but I will not be spoken to in that way by any man.” His eyes fell from the encounter with hers, and the dull mottle in his cheek became crimson with a blush at this assertion of outraged womanly dignity. He turned away, saying gruffly: “Just as I expected. The moment a woman comes into the hospital, all discipline is at an end.” He moved off angrily. All the inmates saw and overheard. If Rachel's refreshing beauty had captivated them before, her dauntless spirit completed the conquest. A cheery voice behind her said, “Good morning.” There was something so winning in its tones that the set lines in her indignant face relaxed, and she turned softened eyes to meet the frankly genial ones of Dr. Paul Denslow. “Good morning, Miss---,” he repeated, as she hesitated, a little dazed. “Bond--Rachel Bond's my name. Good morning, sir,” she answered, putting out her hand. As he took it, he said: “I want to make an abject apology. We are ill-prepared to entertain a lady here, and no one knew of your coming. But we certainly intend to mitigate in some degree the desolation of the room to which you were conducted. I left you for the purpose of seeing what the store-room contained that would contribute a trifle toward transforming it into a maiden's bower--” “Cinderella's fairy godmother couldn't have made the transformation with that room,” she said with a little shrug of despair.