She looks up into his eyes; there is a set expression to be seen there, but his face is no whiter than before, although it must be a terrible shock to any man to see the imprint of a mad dog's teeth in the flesh of his arm.
"Oh, it has happened, the worst that could come about! What will you do, doctor?"
He is a man of medicine, and he knows full well what such a wound means.
"There is only one thing to be done. Excuse me for a minute or two, Lady Ruth."
He springs away from her side, and, turning with surprise, she sees him dart into the smithy of a worker in iron, just down the road a bit.
"Let us follow him!" says Philander.
"Poor, poor boy!" remarks Aunt Gwen.
"Oh, aunt! do you believe he will go mad?" gasps the younger lady, in a trembling voice.
"I am afraid; I've known of cases that happened like this. One thing's in his favor."
"And that?"