"I will come back very soon, and dress the gash," I replied, with a smile, which she returned. "Au revoir."
In about half an hour the scratch was tied up with a little ointment dressing on it.
The bacillus anthracis was abundant in the ointment. I looked in again in the evening, and exchanged the first box of ointment for one that was innocuous, and went away, feeling as safe as possible.
In two days. Lady Michelcombe was very ill, and I had a consultant called in, and a nurse sent for.
The consultant was a man known to be against operating, and has attained his present exalted position, not by the possession of much learning or skill, but by a manner, a presence, and a talent for diplomacy and tact. The nurse—here again, note the unkindness of fate, was, to my surprise, the very girl whom I had met on the river bank some days before. She informed me that she was Lord Michelcombe's half-sister, but her manner was stiff and ungracious.
I discovered that she was nursing not to make a livelihood, but for the love of it.
Lady Michelcombe was operated on, in my opinion, twenty-four hours too late.
