"Oh, doctor! can't you save him?" she pleaded.

"You must save him," cried Zell, her eyes flashing through her tears,
"I would be ashamed, if I were a physician, to stand over a strong
man, and say helplessly, 'I can do nothing.' Is this all your boasted
skill amounts to? Either do something at once or let us get some one
who will."

"Your feelings to-night, Miss Zell," said the doctor quietly, "will
excuse anything you say, however wild and irrational. I am doing
all--"

"I am not wild or unreasonable," cried Zell. "I only demand that my
father's life be saved." Then starting up she threw off a shawl and
stood before Dr. Mark in the dress she had worn in the evening, that
seemed a sad mockery in that room of death. Her neck and arms were
bare, and even the cool, experienced physician was startled by her
wonderful beauty and strange manner. Her white throat was convulsed,
her bosom heaved tumultuously, and on her face was the expression that
might have rested on the face of a maiden like herself centuries
before, when shown the rack and dungeon, and told to choose between
her faith and her life.

But after a moment she extended her white rounded arm toward him and
said steadily:

"I have read that if the blood of a young, vigorous person is infused
into another who is feeble and old, it will give renewed strength and
health. Open a vein in my arm. Save his life if you take mine."