"Naomi! Quick! Here!" she cried. "Kneel down, and take my place." "Yes; warmth is life," panted the doctor, who was hoarse now and faint. "Poor woman! she's fagged," he thought; "but still she is his wife." There was a feeling of annoyance in his breast as he thought this--a sensation of anger against Kate Scarlett, who ought to have died at her post, he felt, sooner than give it up to another. Put the next moment he gave a sigh of satisfaction and relief, as he saw her rise and stop lightly to where Prayle was fumbling with the oar. "Sit down!" she said in a quick, imperious manner; and, slipping the oar over the stern, she cleverly sculled with it, as her husband had taught her in happier times, so that she sent the gig nearer and nearer to the shore. But in spite of her efforts, they would have been swept beyond, had not the old gardener, waiting their return, waded in to get hold of the bows of the gig and haul it to the side. As it grated against the landing-stage, the doctor summoned all the strength that he had left, to bend down, lift his friend over his shoulder, and then stagger to the house. Volume 1, Chapter XII. A HARD NIGHT'S WORK. "Yes," said Scales excitedly, as he bent over his patient, whom he had placed upon the floor of the study, after ordering fresh medical help to be fetched at once--"yes--there is hope." As he spoke, Kate Scarlett uttered a low wail, and Aunt Sophia caught her in her arms; but the stricken wife struggled to get free. "No, no; I shall not give way," she panted; "I will be brave, and help." For, as the doctor slowly continued his efforts to restore the circulation, there came at last a faint gasp; and soon after, the medical man from the village came in, cool and calm, to take in the situation at a glance. By this time, Scarlett was breathing with some approach to the normal strength, and Scales turned to the new-comer. "Will you"--he began. He could say no more, from utter exhaustion and excitement, but sank over sidewise, fainting dead away, leaving the new-comer to complete his task. It was not a long one now, for almost together James Scarlett and his friend opened their eyes and gazed about wildly. The doctor was the first to recover himself, and he drank eagerly of the spirit and water held to his lips, and then rose and walked to the open window. "I'm better now," he said, returning to where his fellow professional was leaning over Scarlett, to whose wandering eyes the light of reason had not yet returned. "How is he now?" "Coming round fast," said the other. "He's dying?" moaned Lady Scarlett, as she saw her husband's eyes slowly close once more. "No, no," said Scales quietly. "It is exhaustion and sleep. He'll go off soundly now for many hours, and wake up nearly well." "Are you saying this to deceive me?" cried Lady Scarlett. "Indeed, no; ask our friend here."