"Not for worlds!" cried I, with animation. "I'll be responsible for his life. There," said I, producing the waxen image and hastily withdrawing the two pins still sticking in the arm of the figure, and which in my hurry I had omitted to extract till now. "There, now the mortification in the arm will have stopped. Send directly to the surgeon that the operation will be no longer necessary. Nay, I will go myself."
"What does all this mean?" asked Claribel, astonished beyond measure.
"No matter now," I answered. "I am off at once. If you like you may come with me; but first let me lock up this image in a place where it will not be touched."
So saying, I put on my bonnet and shawl again, and dragging Claribel after me, we ran with all our might and main to the cottage where poor John lay stretched on a pallet, the surgeon with his knife ready sharpened for the operation, standing over him, about to commence. Another second would have been too late.
"Hold your hand, doctor!" I cried, suddenly. "The mortification has ceased, and the operation will be no longer necessary. I will be answerable for this young man's life without his losing his arm."
I spoke with an authority that completely astonished the doctor, for he looked bewilderingly first at me and then at my friend; but at length said, "I understand nothing of all this. I have been called here by this young man's family to give my professional opinion, and I say that unless he submits to lose his arm, his life will be endangered."
"But the mortification has ceased. Would you amputate a limb without necessity for so doing?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, then, look for yourself. Where is the mortification?"
Here the surgeon glanced at the arm, and looked wondrous wise.