“Certainly. Please do just what you think is best, and believe me I am very thankful to have you come so opportunely to our aid,” she returned earnestly. Dr. Winthrop tied a ligature about the bleeding arm, and then Mrs. Rochester was borne to the carriage, the daughter following, while, having given the driver the street and number, the young physician sprang upon the box beside him, telling him to drive with all possible speed to their destination. They had not far to go, and fifteen minutes later the injured woman was lying upon her own bed, and Dr. Winthrop was making a careful examination of the case. He found nothing more serious than the broken bone and the cut, which was an ugly one, although there was also quite a severe bruise upon her shoulder. The broken bone was soon skilfully set, a few stitches taken in the gaping wound, and then the woman was restored to consciousness and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit, after which Dr. Winthrop turned to Miss Rochester and gave certain directions about the treatment to be pursued during the night. These matters settled, he quietly inquired: “Do you know of any skilful surgeon whom you would like to have for Mrs. Rochester?” Miss Rochester looked up at him surprised. “I am sure no one could do better than you. Why should I not leave her in your care?” “Thank you for the confidence you manifest,” he replied, “but I leave Paris to-morrow morning, and would like to place Mrs. Rochester in good hands before I go.” She understood; she knew that he was hurrying away from Paris because he felt that it would be awkward to meet her, and she flushed at the thought. But beautiful Sadie Rochester was an accomplished woman of the world, young as she was. It was her delight to conquer the hearts of men—the more difficult the conquest the greater her pleasure in the victory—and now she felt an uncontrollable desire to bring this man also to her feet. She had been very much prepossessed with Dr. Winthrop when she was first presented to him by her friend; she had rarely met any one who made so strong an impression upon her, and as she had stood before him looking into his fathomless eyes and reading his grand face, she had congratulated herself that he, with his great fortune, was the man who was destined to be her husband. She had therefore been terribly disappointed when, that very morning, she had learned the story of his marriage, of his disinclination to fulfil the conditions of his uncle’s will, and of his intention of leaving Paris without even the courtesy of paying her a call. Now accident had thrown him again in her way. Men did not grieve always over the loss of their wives; they were often consoled by taking another; and why should she not set her wits at work to win him from his sorrow, and thus secure for herself the position and fortune she so much coveted?