She softly touched his empty left sleeve, pinned over his breast, two tears standing in her eyes.
"At Black Gulch," he said. "I have got over minding it. Don't grieve."
"You left the army?"
"Yes, four years ago. My health gave way. I studied medicine in Indianapolis, was invited here by an old friend to become his assistant, and shortly afterward he died. That is all."
"You never—never——"
"Yes; I married."
The words were an unexpected stab. Margaret gasped, amazed that she should care. Her face suddenly became suffused with color, and she turned it away.
"She only lived a year—Margaret," said the doctor, bending down to study the fair, flushed face, suddenly pain-smitten.
"My ankle!" said Margaret faintly, drawing his attention to the lesser hurt.