But, with few words, Gemmell got his patient back to the chairs, and proceeded to undo the bandages that were round his ankle.  Grizel stood by, assisting silently.  She had often assisted the doctors, but never before with that scornful curl of her lip.  So the bandages were removed and the ankle laid bare.  It was very much swollen and discoloured, and when Grizel saw this she gave a little cry, and the ointment she was holding slipped from her hand.  For the first time since he came to Thrums, she had failed Gemmell at a patient’s side.

“I had not expected it to be—­like this,” she said in a quivering voice, when he looked at her in surprise.

“It will look much worse to-morrow,” he assured them, grimly.  “I can’t understand, Miss Sandys, how this came about.”

“Miss Sandys was not in the room,” said Grizel, abjectly, “but I was, and I—­”

Tommy’s face was begging her to stop.  He was still faint and in pain, but all thought of himself left him in his desire to screen her.  “I owe you an apology, doctor,” he said quickly, “for disregarding your instructions.  It was entirely my own fault; I would try to walk.”

“Every step must have been agony,” the doctor rapped out; and Grizel shuddered.

“Not nearly so bad as that,” Tommy said, for her sake.

“Agony,” insisted the doctor, as if, for once, he enjoyed the word.  “It was a mad thing to do, as surely you could guess, Grizel.  Why did you not prevent him?”

“She certainly did her best to stop me,” Tommy said hastily; “but I suppose I had some insane fit on me, for do it I would.  I am very sorry, doctor.”

His face was wincing with pain, and he spoke jerkily; but the doctor was still angry.  He felt that there was something between these two which he did not understand, and it was strange to him, and unpleasant, to find Grizel unable to speak for herself.  I think he doubted Tommy from that hour.  All he said in reply, however, was:  “It is unnecessary to apologize to me; you yourself are the only sufferer.”

But was Tommy the only sufferer?  Gemmell left, and Elspeth followed him to listen to those precious words which doctors drop, as from a vial, on the other side of a patient’s door; and then Grizel, who had been standing at the window with head averted, turned slowly round and looked at the man she had wronged.  Her arms, which had been hanging rigid, the fists closed, went out to him to implore forgiveness.  I don’t know how she held herself up and remained dry-eyed, her whole being wanted so much to sink by the side of his poor, tortured foot, and bathe it in her tears.

So, you see, he had won; nothing to do now but forgive her beautifully.  Go on, Tommy; you are good at it.