turning this way." She turned, and he winced internally at the change in
her; but his face betrayed nothing. He looked at her full; and, after
a pause, put her some questions: one was as to the color of the
hemorrhage. She said it was bright red.

"Not a tinge of purple?"

"No," said she hopefully, mistaking him.

He suppressed a sigh.

Then he listened at her shoulder-blade and at her chest, and made her
draw her breath while he was listening. The acts were simple, and usual
in medicine, but there was a deep, patient, silent intensity about his
way of doing them.

Mr. Lusignan crept nearer, and stood with both hands on a table, and his
old head bowed, awaiting yet dreading the verdict.

Up to this time, Dr. Staines, instead of tapping and squeezing, and
pulling the patient about, had never touched her with his hand, and only
grazed her with his ear; but now he said "Allow me," and put both hands
to her waist, more lightly and reverently than I can describe; "Now draw
a deep breath, if you please."

"There!"

"If you could draw a deeper still," said he, insinuatingly.

"There, then!" said she, a little pettishly.