“Very; I fear the worst,” he replied, with a heavy sigh. Sister Angela seemed to be thinking deeply for a moment; then telling him briefly to wait, she went down the ward and talked earnestly with the other nun for a few minutes. Presently she returned and said: “I know something of sickness and if _monsieur le docteur_ will trust me, I will do the best I can.” “Will you? Can you leave your other duties?” he eagerly cried. “My duties are those that lie nearest at hand and are the most urgent,” she quietly answered, but the low, sweet tones were like music to him, for there was hope in them. “Thank you,” the physician gratefully returned, “you have taken a great load from my heart. When can you come?” “_Monsieur le docteur_ may take me to his friend at once—the need is great; I delay not for anything.” “You are very good,” her companion returned in a tone that trembled, for he was deeply moved. Then turning abruptly, he simply bade her “Come.” She followed him to a room at the further end of the ward, where he opened a door and then stood aside to allow her to pass in. The apartment was very comfortable, cool, and well ventilated, and the windows had been darkened, for the glare of the sun was hot and painful. Sister Angela passed noiselessly in, glancing toward the patient as she did so. She quietly removed her close gray bonnet, but Dr. Winthrop, though he tried to do so, could not get even a glimpse of her face, for the plaiting of black silk tissue which was fastened to her cap, still fell close about it. She went directly to the bedside and looked more closely at the patient. “He is very low, monsieur,” she said to Dr. Winthrop, who was gazing sadly at his friend, while he felt his pulse. “He is, indeed,” he whispered with emotion. “Has he hot water at his feet and warm flannel about his body?” was the next query. “Ah!” without waiting for a reply, and deftly slipping her hand under the bedclothes to the patient’s feet, “the bottle is cold, it must be renewed.” She drew it forth, glided swiftly yet noiselessly from the room, but was back again before he could have thought it possible, and replaced the replenished bottle at the sick man’s feet. She then heated a blanket, which she spread over his body and limbs, after which she turned her attention to his nourishment. “Ah, this is very badly made,” she murmured, as she stirred the arrow-root gruel that stood cold upon the table, and found it full of lumps. She set about preparing some fresh, and not long after was deftly feeding the almost dying man with a smooth, well-cooked porridge, to which she had added a little brandy. Dr. Winthrop was greatly relieved as he noticed how efficient she was, and though he did not have much hope that his friend would live, he felt that at least he would henceforth have everything needful done for him.