"How do you feel, old man?" asked a familiar voice. A man sat
down beside him on the couch or bed, and a big hand grasped his
own. Still he could not answer.

"Doctor," cried the voice near his head, "you really think it is
not serious?"

"I am quite sure," answered a man's voice from somewhere out in
the light. "It is a bad cut, and he is just recovering from the
effect of the ether. Had the blow not been a glancing one his
skull would have been crushed. He will be perfectly conscious in
a short time. There is no concussion, your Highness."

"I am so happy to hear you say that," said the soft voice.
Lorry's eyes sought hers and thanked her. A lump came into his
throat as he looked up into the tender, anxious blue eyes. A
thrill came over him. Princess or not, he loved her--he loved
her! "You were very brave--oh, so brave!" she whispered in his
ear, her hand touching his hair caressingly. "My American!"

He tried to reach the hand before it faded, but he was too weak.
She glided away, and he closed his eyes again as if in pain.

"Look up, old man; you're all right," said Anguish. "Smell this
handkerchief. It will make you feel better." A moist cloth was
held beneath his nose, and a strong, pungent odor darted through
his nostrils. In a moment he tried to raise himself to his
elbow. The world was clearing up.