"Where is he?" asked the woman in a low voice, speaking for the first time. She was, judging from her appearance, of Spanish extraction, and she spoke English with some hesitation.
"Above there," answered the man who had opened the door, a young physician whom Rondelet recognized as an acquaintance.
"I will go to him," said the woman, moving rapidly to the foot of the ladder leading to the loft.
"Stand back, will you? You can't see him till the doctors say 't will do no harm. Have n't you done him enough mischief already?"
The young man spoke roughly, almost brutally, to her, and pushed her from the ladder with no gentle hand. The woman sank on the floor before the fire without a word, and the young doctor led the way up the ladder after barricading the door firmly. He had taken the only light in the room, and Rondelet stopped for an instant to throw an armful of brush upon the dying fire. The woman thanked him with a mute gesture, and he followed the two men to the upper room. It was as desolate as the one he had just quitted. On a couch in the centre of the attic lay the man. On a table near the bed were surgical appliances, a roll of bandages, an ewer of water, and an empty pistol-case. On the floor, near the
