illuminated her face and figure. In their womanly graces there was no
trace of what some people believed to be a masculine character, except
a singularly frank look of critical inquiry and patient attention in her
dark eyes. Her long brown hair was somewhat rigidly twisted into a knot
on the top of her head, as if more for security than ornament. Brown
was also the prevailing tint of her eyebrows, thickly-set eyelashes, and
eyes, and was even suggested in the slight sallowness of her complexion.
But her lips were well-cut and fresh-colored and her hands and feet
small and finely formed. She would have passed for a pretty girl, had
she not suggested something more.

She sat down, and began to examine a pile of papers before her with that
concentration and attention to detail which was characteristic of her
eyes, pausing at times with prettily knit brows, and her penholder
between her lips, in the semblance of a pout that was pleasant enough to
see. Suddenly the rattle of hoofs and wheels struck her with the sense
of something forgotten, and she put down her work quickly and stood up
listening. The sound of rough voices and her father's querulous accents
was broken upon by a cultivated and more familiar utterance: "All right;
I'll speak to her at once. Wait there," and the door opened to the
well-known physician of Burnt Ridge, Dr. Duchesne.

"Look here," he said, with an abruptness that was only saved from being
brusque by a softer intonation and a reassuring smile, "I met Miguel
helping an accident into your buggy. Your orders, eh?"

"Oh, yes," said Josephine, quietly. "A man I saw on the road."

"Well, it's a bad case, and wants prompt attention. And as your house is
the nearest I came with him here."