Jasper had broken away from Tom Stook, whose huge fists had sympathetically relaxed their hold. Jasper's eyes were turned, not toward Jeremy Winter and De Rothan, but toward Surgeon Stott, who was bending over Nance.
Stott, glancing round to see how matters stood, saw Jasper's white face and shining eyes.
"Keep back, Mr. Benham, keep back. I don't want any one meddling with me in my business."
He rose and made as though to force Jasper back.
"Look you, sir, you are a man of sense, and I don't want folk hanging round when I have work to do. If I want you I'll call you."
But Stott's professional whims were not to be humoured on this particular occasion. Something stirred and moved close to them. Both men turned to find Nance on her knees, putting her hair back from her forehead and looking at them questioningly.
"Nance!"
"Jasper!"
Stott felt for his snuff-box and stood aside. Here were these two young people kneeling face to face—Jasper holding Nance's hands, and looking at her as a man looks at a love that has been snatched from death.
"Nance, are you hurt?"