"I have my boat," said Fritz, "and if this gentleman" (he pointed to Benedict) "will give me a helping hand we will be in Frankfort in three hours."
"It remains to be seen," said the surgeon, "considering his great loss of blood, whether he will live three hours."
"My God, my God!" cried Helen.
"I don't dare to ask you to look, madam, but the earth is soaked with his blood!"
Helen gave a cry of dismay, and put her hand before her eyes.
While talking, while reassuring, while frightening Helen with the terrible cold-bloodedness of a man used to death, the surgeon was binding up the wound in Karl's chest.
"You say you fear that he has lost too much blood? How much blood can one lose without dying?" asked Helen.
"It depends, madam."
"What have I to fear or hope for?" asked Helen.
"You have to hope that he will live to reach Frankfort, that he has not lost as much blood as I fear he has, and that a clever surgeon will tie up the artery. You have to fear that he will have a second hæmorrhage to-day, or in eight or ten days, when the wound is healed."