into the theatre, where a crew of noisy students were joking and
indulging in the frolics which, from time immemorial, have been
the privilege of their order. As soon, however, as they caught
sight of the child every voice was hushed, and quietness
prevailed, for not a few already knew something of her winsomeness
and beauty. As she was placed on the operating-table the sunlight
fell through the lanthorn, and lighted up the golden clusters of
her hair, the welcome rays calling forth from her now pale
features a responsive smile. In another minute she lay peaceful
and motionless under the anæsthetic--a statue, immobile, yet
expressionful, as though carved by some master hand.

A burly-looking surgeon, with the sleeves of his operating coat
neatly turned up, approached the table on which Milly was
stretched, and in a business-like manner set about his task.
Carefully handling one of his cold and glittering instruments, he
paused; then bending himself over the patient, appeared as though
about to make the first incision, yet hesitated.

'What is the matter with old Rogers?' asked the students, under
their breath; and one or two of the doctors looked knowingly at
each other.

There was nothing the matter, however, with old Rogers for long.
He merely muttered something about it being a shame to cut into
such flesh as Milly's, and proceeded to go calmly through his
work, like the old hand that he was.

The operation was successful, and yet Milly seemed to make no
satisfactory progress. The old flow of life returned not, and a