She turned toward Harrington as she spoke, and the physician at once passed her, bowing, with his lips pursed up, and laying aside the young man’s clothes, looked at the stab. Every eye was fixed upon him, and every heart, save Muriel’s, throbbed painfully in expectancy. In a few moments, he turned away, and came toward them with a silent look on his face, which filled them with cold despair.
“How did this happen, Mrs. Harrington?” he asked, with affable gravity.
“Briefly, doctor, thus,” she replied. “Mr. Harrington interfered to-night in behalf of a poor man, and was wounded by some unknown hand in the contest.”
The doctor made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth.
“What a pity!” he added. “Have you no clue to the perpetrator of this outrage. The police should be set on the track at once.”
“Doctor,” said she, “I will tell you of this hereafter. Let me only say now that I wish this matter to remain unknown if possible. The mischief is done, and it would only be painful to us to have it given to the public. If you can serve me in this way, I will be deeply grateful to you.”
“Oh, certainly, Mrs. Harrington,” he replied. “I can appreciate your feeling under these distressing circumstances. You may depend on me. There is nothing to be done, I am sorry to say. Probably one of the small coronary arteries has been severed. The wound will not bleed, externally. Give him water and a little wine occasionally, and plenty of air. I will come in again in the morning; but I regret to say that I can do nothing, and as I unfortunately cannot, I will not intrude further.”
She bent her head in response to his affable bow, and he backed bowing out of the library, and was gone.
Muriel opened the windows, then glided over to Harrington, and knelt, murmuring inaudibly beside him, while the rest stood in a common stupor of cold, blank sorrow. Presently she arose, and gave him wine; then laying down the glass, she turned to the dejected group:
“Friends,” said she, with calm solemnity, “come here!”