"Miss Barnard, we have no time now for grief. He is not dead."
She was on her feet in an instant.
"Not dead! Then he must not die!"
A red flush mounted to her cheek, a new light leaped to her eye. She waited to ask or give no explanation, but turned once more and laid her hand upon the blood-ensanguined garments.
"Ah, we must waste no more time. Can you cut away this clothing?"
I nodded and she sprang from the room. I heard a clicking of steel and the sound of opening drawers, then she was back with a pair of sharp scissors in her hand.
"Use these," she said, taking command as a matter of course, and flitting out again, leaving me to do my work, and as I worked, I marveled at and admired her wonderful presence of mind—her splendid self-control.
In a moment I knew, by the crack of a parlor match and a responsive flash of steady light, that she had found a lamp and lighted it.
There were the sounds of another search, and then she was back again with restoratives and some pieces of linen.