“Undoubtedly.” Then Fyles turned upon the blind man. “His orders are your law, Mr. Marbolt,” he said. “And you, of course, will be held responsible for any violation of them.”
The blind man nodded in acquiescence.
“Good,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands. “Nothing more for me now. Return to-morrow. Miss Marbolt, admirable nurse. Wish I was patient. He will be about again in two weeks. Artery small. Health good—young. Oh, yes, no fear. Only exhaustion. Hope you catch villains. Good-morning. Might have severed jugular—near shave.”
Doc. Osler bowed to the girl and passed out muttering, “Capital nurse—beautiful.” His departure brought the rancher to his feet, and he groped his way to the door. As he passed his daughter he paused and gently patted her on the back.
“Ah, child,” he said, with a world of tolerant kindness in his voice, “I still think you are wrong. He would have been far better in his own quarters, his familiar surroundings, and amongst his friends. You are quite inexperienced, and these men understand bullet wounds as well as any doctor. However, have your way. I hope you won’t have cause to regret it.”
“All right, father,” Diane replied, without turning her eyes from the contemplation of her sick lover.
And Fyles, standing at the foot of the bed watching the scene, speculated shrewdly as to the relations in which the girl and her patient stood, and the possible parental disapproval of the same. Certainly he had no idea of the matters which had led up to the necessity for his official services to enforce the doctor’s orders.