"How do you feel, my dear boy?" said De Banyan, bending over his charge. But Somers was past answering. He had fainted from loss of blood and the agony of his wound. The resolute captain did not wait for Dr. Scoville in this emergency; but, taking a bottle of cologne from the mantel, he applied himself with skill and vigor to the restoration of his patient. While he was thus engaged, the doctor made his appearance. He was a man of fifty, of forbidding aspect and rough exterior. "Who are you, sir?" demanded he in brusk tones, placing himself in front of the captain, and without bestowing more than a glance at the patient on the sofa. "Captain Sheffield," replied De Banyan as sharply as the question had been put. "Are you, indeed? Then you have altered a great deal since I saw you yesterday," added Dr. Scoville, with an expression of malignant triumph on his face. This reply was a damper on any little scheme which the over-confident De Banyan had proposed to carry out; but the captain was a profound student in the mysteries of human nature, and at once correctly read the character of the gentleman who stood before him. "You didn't see me yesterday, and you know you didn't," he replied in tones hardly less savage than those of his involuntary host. "That's very true; I did not," said the doctor. "This point settled, I'll thank you to turn to the next one, which is the patient before you." "You are a plain-spoken man," added Dr. Scoville, still gazing intently into the face of the captain; who, however, returned the look as resolutely and as earnestly as it was given. "I am; I don't waste words when my friend is dying, for aught I know. Will you attend to this man?" "Who is he?" "He is a man shot through the arm, and needing instant surgical attendance," answered De Banyan impatiently. "It isn't necessary to know any more before you examine him." "Good!" exclaimed the doctor with a smile such as that in which a hyena might be supposed to indulge when pleased, if hyenas ever are pleased. He turned to Somers, and proceeded to examine into his condition. The coat of the patient was removed from his insensible form, and he was carefully disposed on the sofa, according to the directions of the doctor; the captain and the negro women assisting in the work. Though the surgeon was as rough as a bear in his tone and manner, he was as tender as a loving mother in his treatment of the sufferer, and handled him as carefully as though he had been a new-born babe. The blood was stanched, and the wound dressed as skilfully as human hands and human knowledge could perform the operation. "What do you think of him?" asked De Banyan, full of anxiety for his suffering companion. "He won't die just yet; but he may lose his arm." "Good heavens! do you think so?" exclaimed the captain. "No; I don't think so." "What did you say so for, then?" "I didn't say so." "Didn't you say he would lose his arm?" demanded De Banyan savagely. "I didn't say so."