This was the scene upon which the doctor and Paolo suddenly appeared at the same moment.

As the fresh breeze passed over the face of the rescued patient, his eyes opened wide, and his consciousness returned in almost supernatural lucidity.  Euthymia had sat down upon a bank, and was still supporting him.  His head was resting on her bosom.  Through his awakening senses stole the murmurs of the living cradle which rocked him with the wavelike movements of respiration, the soft susurrus of the air that entered with every breath, the double beat of the heart which throbbed close to his ear.  And every sense, and every instinct, and every reviving pulse told him in language like a revelation from another world that a woman’s arms were around him, and that it was life, and not death, which her embrace had brought him.

She would have disengaged him from her protecting hold, but the doctor made her a peremptory sign, which he followed by a sharp command:—­

“Do not move him a hair’s breadth,” he said.  “Wait until the litter comes.  Any sudden movement might be dangerous.  Has anybody a brandy flask about him?”

One or two members of the local temperance society looked rather awkward, but did not come forward.

The fresh-water fisherman was the first who spoke.

“I han’t got no brandy,” he said, “but there’s a drop or two of old Medford rum in this here that you’re welcome to, if it’ll be of any help.  I alliz kerry a little on ‘t in case o’ gettin’ wet ‘n’ chilled.”

So saying he held forth a flat bottle with the word Sarsaparilla stamped on the green glass, but which contained half a pint or more of the specific on which he relied in those very frequent exposures which happen to persons of his calling.

The doctor motioned back Paolo, who would have rushed at once to the aid of Maurice, and who was not wanted at that moment.  So poor Paolo, in an agony of fear for his master, was kept as quiet as possible, and had to content himself with asking all sorts of questions and repeating all the prayers he could think of to Our Lady and to his holy namesake the Apostle.

The doctor wiped the mouth of the fisherman’s bottle very carefully.  “Take a few drops of this cordial,” he said, as he held it to his patient’s lips.  “Hold him just so, Euthymia, without stirring.  I will watch him, and say when he is ready to be moved.  The litter is near by, waiting.”  Dr. Butts watched Maurice’s pulse and color.  The “Old Medford” knew its business.  It had knocked over its tens of thousands; it had its redeeming virtue, and helped to set up a poor fellow now and then.  It did this for Maurice very effectively.  When he seemed somewhat restored, the doctor had the litter brought to his side, and Euthymia softly resigned her helpless burden, which Paolo and the attendant Robert lifted with the aid of the doctor, who walked by the patient as he was borne to the home where Mrs. Butts had made all ready for his reception.