“Jest to see for myself if I ain't cooked done--that's all.” A roar of laughter went up in which even Dr. Denslow, who had just entered the ward, joined. He orderd the blister to be taken off, and the inflamed surfaces properly dressed, which was done to the accompaniment of Jake's agonizing groans. “I think Lieutenant Alspaugh will be content to go back to the field in a few days, if we continue this vigorous treatment,” Dr. Denslow said, a little later, as he came into the reading-room of the hospital where he found Rachel sitting alone. “O, Doctor, how could you be so cruel?” she asked in tones which were meant to be reproachful, but only poorly disguised her mirthful appreciation of the whole matter. “I wasn't cruel; I only did my duty. The fellow's a palpable malingerer, and his being here makes it ever so much worse. He's trying to shirk duty and have a good time here in the hospital. It's my place to make the hospital so unpleasant for him that he will think the field preferable, and I'm going to do it, especially if I find him squeezing your hand again.” There was that in the tone of the last sentence which sobered her instantly. Womanly prescience told her that the Surgeon had discovered what seemed to him a fitting opportunity to say that which he had long desired. Ever since she had been in the hospital he had exerted himself to smooth her path for her, and make her stay there endurable. There was not a day in which she was not indebted to him for some unobtrusive kindness, delicately and thoughtfully rendered. While she knew quite well that these courtesies would have been as conscientiously extended to any other woman--young or old--in her position, yet her instincts did not allow her any doubt that there was about them a flavor personal to herself and redolent of something much warmer than mere kindliness. A knowledge of this had at times tainted the pleasure she felt in accepting welcome little attentions from him. She dreaded what she knew was coming. He took her hand and started to speak with tremulous lips. But almost at the same instant the door was flung open, and a nurse entered in breathless haste. “O, Doctor,” he gasped, “I've been looking for you everywhere. That Lieutenant in the First Ward thinks he's a-dyin'. He's groanin' an' cryin', and a-takin' on at a terrible rate, an' nobody can't do nothin' with him. The Steward wants you to come there right off.” “It's only the castor oil,” muttered the Doctor savagely, as he rose to follow the nurse. This was the letter that the Orderly handed Rachel some days later: