“No, no, I can not bear it. You hurt me horribly.”
“I can not help it. Drink!”
He pressed the glass to her lips, and she drank the vile ammoniacal mixture.
“Now, lie still. I will not hurt you more than I can help, but I must see if the bone is broken, and set it.”
“No, no, not yet Pierce,” she sobbed; “I could not bear it while I am in this state. Let me tell you—let me explain to you first.”
“Be silent!” he cried, angrily. “I do not want to hear a word I must see to your ankle before it swells up and the work is impossible.”
“Never mind that, dear. I must tell you,” she cried, piteously.
“I know all I want to know,” he said, bitterly; “that the sister I have trusted and believed in has been cruelly deceiving me—that one I trusted to be sweet and true and innocent has been acting a part that would disgrace one of the village wenches, for to be seen even talking to that young scoundrel under such circumstances would rob her of her character. And this is my sister! Now, lie still. I must bandage this hurt.”
“Oh, Pierce, dear Pierce! You are hurting me more than I can bear,” she sobbed; for he had gone down on one knee as he spoke, and began manipulating the injured joint.
“I can not help it; you must bear it. I shall not be long.”