Just then the chief surgeon came and stood over them. The lady turned her face up to him, and tears sparkled in her eyes. Virginia felt them wet in her own. Her worship was not given to many. Nobility, character, efficiency,-all were written on that face. Nobility spoke in the large features, in the generous mouth, in the calm, gray eyes. Virginia had seen her often before, but not until now was the woman revealed to her.
“Doctor, could this man's life be saved if I took him to my home?”
The surgeon got down beside her and took the man's pulse. The eyes closed. For a while the doctor knelt there, shaking his head. “He has fainted,” he said.
“Do you think he can be saved?” asked the lady again. The surgeon smiled,—such a smile as a good man gives after eighteen hours of amputating, of bandaging, of advising,—work which requires a firm hand, a clear eye and brain, and a good heart.
“My dear Mrs. Brice,” he said, “I shall be glad to get you permission to take him, but we must first make him worth the taking. Another hour would have been too late.” He glanced hurriedly about the busy room, and then added, “We must have one more to help us.”
Just then some one touched Virginia's arm. It was her father.
“I am afraid we must go, dear,” he said, “your aunt is getting impatient.”
“Won't you please go without me, Pa?” she asked. “Perhaps I can be of some use.”
The Colonel cast a wondering glance at the limp uniform, and went away. The surgeon, who knew the Carvel family, gave Virginia a look of astonishment. It was Mrs. Brice's searching gaze that brought the color to the girl's, face.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said simply.