“His sister was with him--an old lady that didn’t get hurt at all, though her servant did. She said his name was Dawn.” There was a faint, strangled gasp from the bed, and at that moment the physician entered the room. “Oh, doctor, that poor man! did he ever come to?” eagerly inquired one of the women. He answered in his quiet, professional tone: “Yes; he recovered consciousness ten minutes ago; but I almost fear I had as well have let him go without disturbing his peace. He is more than likely fatally injured.” Then he turned his attention to the patient, almost starting in alarm at the preternaturally solemn look of the great, wide open dark eyes. But if he had but known it, his first words had been more potent than medicine in aiding her recovery. “You have received a great shock, and I must immediately quiet your nerves,” he said, as his cool, steady fingers touched her pulse. “Bend lower. I must speak to you,” she murmured, faintly. He stooped down, and she whispered: “Send away all but my maid.” He looked around, and repeated: “It is better for all these kind friends to withdraw now, as my patient will need absolute quiet. Her maid, of course, will remain.” They all stole away very quietly, and he began to prepare a soothing potion for his strangely beautiful patient. He was startled when she murmured: “Doctor, you may give me something to strengthen me, but I will not take an opiate.” “But, my dear lady--” he began, only to be interrupted by a feeble but resolute voice: “No buts, my dear doctor, for my maid here can tell you that no one ever disputes my will. I must be strengthened, I tell you, for in a few minutes I shall go into the next room to visit your fatally injured patient. He is an old--friend--of mine, and I shall get you to send a telegram for me summoning his relations to his death-bed.” “His sister is here,” he replied, pressing to her lips the strengthening draught she demanded. She swallowed it, sighed and replied: “There are others, sir--a daughter for one, and--but, Janetta, bring pencil and paper, and copy what I dictate.” With wonderful strength and self-command for one recovering from such a seizure, she dictated the message that Arthur received the same night. “Doctor, can you have this sent at once?” she inquired. He replied dubiously: “I will do so as soon as possible, but the telegraph line is very busy. There are seven victims.” “Poor souls!--this must go at once at any cost. Do you hear, doctor? Send it at once if it costs a little fortune! They are so far away, his friends--and what if they come--too late!” her proud voice breaking. “I will do my best--and as for you, madame, I advise you to rest quietly in your bed all night, or I will not answer for the consequences to your outraged nerves.” “I tell you, sir, I will get up and go to that dying man at whatever cost to myself.” “What an imperious woman!” he thought, and answered aloud: