And then, looking at him, she saw that down the broad brow and the clean-shaven cheek red blood was streaming.
He put up his hand to wipe the blood from his eyes, and the hand too, she saw, was gashed and bleeding.
He laughed at her look of surprise and horror. "This gentleman had a penknife under his pillow," he explained. "I have taken care that he does not do any more mischief."
He nodded in the direction of the patient, and Sister Marion, glancing that way, saw that the man lying on his back had his hands tied to the iron bed-rail above his head. In the reaction from the late attack he was lying absolutely still, and she saw, to her surprise, that in the eyes fixed on her face there was recognition.
"He is conscious," she whispered. "Come outside and let me attend to you."
He followed her to the ward kitchen, the room used by the nurses for the preparation of the patients' food, but empty now.
The doctor smiled and jested, but the blood flowed, the wound smarted, he was a little pale.
"He meant to hurt you?" she asked, through her set teeth.
"He meant to murder me, the brute!" the doctor said.
"Never mind," she soothed him; "I am accountable for him now. I will see to it he never hurts you again."