"
"I am a physician," returned Maurice gravely. "Your foot has had a
terrible wrench: permit me." He dropped on his knee before, her and
proceeded to make an examination with so much quiet authority that
she ceased to resist. "There is nothing wrong here: do you feel pain
elsewhere?"
She was trembling, for the nervous reaction of the shock had taken
place, but she endeavored to conceal it: "I have an oppression on my
chest, and this arm--I cannot lift it."
"Do not be alarmed: lean against this tree."
She reluctantly submitted as he carefully felt the arm--nothing; the
shoulder, across to the neck--a cry of pain.
"The clavicle is fractured."
"Is that very dreadful?" and now her eyes sought his for the first
time.
"Oh no: it happens every day. It will be tedious perhaps, but can
scarcely be called an accident at all--only a mishap. I think I will
bring you a little brandy before you try to walk."
"Don't speak of it at the house: my father would be troubled. And
hurry back: I do not want to be alone."
"What an inconsistent prescription she is!" thought Maurice as he
went.
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