“Take me to Bellevue,” he said decisively.

The hospital was not far away, and yet before an ambulance could reach him he felt very faint.

Mildred sat in her little room that was partitioned off from the ward.  Her eyes were wide and earnest, but that which she saw was not present to their vision.

Suddenly there were four sharp strokes of the bell from the hospital gate, and she started slightly out of her revery, for the imperative summons indicated a surgical case which might come under her care.  There was something so absorbing in the character of her thoughts, however, that she scarcely heeded the fact that an ambulance dashed in, and that the form of a man was lifted out and carried into the central office.  She saw all this obscurely from her window, but such scenes had become too familiar to check a deep current of thought.  When, a few moments later, the male orderly connected with the ward entered and said, “Miss Jocelyn, I’ve been down and seen the books, and accordin’ to my reckonin’ we’ll have that case,” she sprang up with alacrity, and began assuring herself that every appliance that might be needed was in readiness.  “I’m glad I must be busy,” she murmured, “for I’m so bewildered by my thoughts and impulses in Roger’s behalf, that it’s well I must banish them until I can grow calm and learn what is right.”

The orderly was right, and the “case” just brought in was speedily carried up on the elevator and borne toward the ward under her charge.  With the celerity of well-trained hands she had prepared everything and directed that her new charge should be placed on a cot near her room.  She then advanced to learn the condition of the injured man.  After a single glance she sprang forward, crying,

“Oh, merciful Heaven! it’s Roger!”

“You are acquainted with him then?” asked the surgeon who had accompanied the ambulance, with much interest.

“He’s my brother—­he’s the best friend I have in the world.  Oh, be quick—­here.  Gently now.  O God, grant his life!  Oh, oh, he’s unconscious; his coat is soaked with blood—­but his heart is beating.  He will, oh, he will live; will he not?”

“Oh, yes, I think so, but the case was so serious that I followed.  You had better summon the surgeon in charge of this division, while I and the orderly restore him to consciousness and prepare him for treatment.”

Before he ceased speaking Mildred was far on her way to seek the additional aid.

When she returned Roger’s sleeve had been removed, revealing an ugly wound in the lower part of his left arm, cut by the cork of a horseshoe, made long and sharp because of the iciness of the streets.  A tourniquet had been applied to the upper part of the arm to prevent further hemorrhage, and under the administration of stimulants he was giving signs of returning consciousness.