"Now you are really feeling better--you are inclined to sleep--if you close your eyes you will go to sleep."
On and on went the voice insistently. The breathing grew slower, less convulsive; the eyelids closed, and all the time the doctor's face was as the face of the Angel of Death--kind, but relentless.
"Now we can begin," he said at last, resuming his quick decision. "You won't faint, will you?" he added doubtfully, with a glance at Marrion's pale cheek.
"I don't think so," she replied; "but that seemed to hurt here." She swept her hand across her forehead.
He scanned her narrowly.
"Umph!" he said, half to himself. "You'll make an excellent aide, I expect. So now to business."
It was an awful operation. One impossible while consciousness remained; but possible enough with the absolute stillness and lack of hurry that unconsciousness brings.
And so far it was successful.
"He will sleep for some hours yet," said Dr. Forsyth, as he sorted his implements. "You needn't stay with him all the time. Make yourself useful elsewhere, but look in and bring me word when he wakes."
There was not one word of thanks; only as he left the tent he paused to say--