Then, with a jerk of his thumb toward his guest, he added, “She can tell you.”
The doctor had not seen her. He looked around, gazed at her a moment in astonishment, and then, with a fine courtesy singularly different from the hearty roughness with which he had greeted the man, he raised his hat.
This diversion had kept the attention of the two from the quiet arrival of the men with the litter. When the young woman saw it, she forgot the presence of all save him lying so quiet where the men had placed him on a bed made by Samson from coats. She ran and knelt beside him; she kissed his cheeks; she chafed his hands; she begged him to speak, to live for her sake.
The strong hand of the doctor lifted her from the unconscious man and gently put her aside. A moment’s astonished gaze into the pallid, upturned face brought this burst from the doctor,—
“Adrian Wilder—dying!” He turned anxiously upon the young woman, and demanded, “Where did you find him? What is the matter here?”
“You mistake,” she firmly said. “He is Dr. Malbone.”
“Dr. Malbone!” he exclaimed. “Why, I am Dr. Malbone. This man is my friend, Adrian Wilder!”
His look was half fierce and full of suspicion.
Too surprised to comprehend at once the full meaning of his declaration, she stood staring at the physician in silence. That gentleman, turning from her, dropped on his knees and made a hurried examination of the unconscious man. “I don’t understand this,” he said to himself. He quickly opened Wilder’s shirt. Upon seeing the emaciation there, and exclaiming in amazement and horror, he turned again upon the young woman as he knelt, and demanded,—
“Explain this to me. Be quick, for every moment is precious. I don’t want to make a mistake, and I must know. He has pneumonia; but there is something behind it. Where and when did you find him?”