The surgeon in charge of the division soon arrived, and every effort of modern skill was made in the patient’s behalf.  Bottles of hot water were placed around his chilled and blood-drained form, and spirits were injected hypodermically into his system.  The fair young nurse stood a little in the background, trembling in her intense anxiety, and yet so trained and disciplined that with the precision of a veteran she could obey the slightest sign from the attendant surgeons.  “He never failed me,” she thought; “and if loving care can save his life he shall have it night and day.”

At last Roger knew her, and smiled contentedly; then closed his eyes in almost mortal weariness and weakness.  As far as he was able to think at all, he scarcely cared whether he lived or died, since Mildred was near him.

The physicians, after as thorough examination as was possible, and doing everything in their power, left him with hopeful words.  The most serious features in the case were his loss of blood and consequent great exhaustion.  The division surgeon said that the chief danger lay in renewed hemorrhage, and should it occur he must be sent for at once, and then he left the patient to Mildred’s care, with directions as to stimulants and nourishment.

Mildred would not let Roger speak, and he lay in a dreamy, half-waking condition of entire content.  As she sat beside him holding his hand, she was no longer in doubt.  “My ‘stupid old heart,’ as Belle called it, is awake at last,” she thought.  “Oh, how awful would be my desolation if he should die!  Now I know what he is to me.  I loved Vinton as a girl; I love Roger as a woman.  Oh, how gladly I’d take his place!  What could I not sacrifice for him!  Now I know what he has suffered in his loneliness.  I understand him at last.  I was hoping he would get over it—­as if I could ever get over this!  He said he was losing his zest in life.  Oh, what an intolerable burden would his loss make of life for me!  O God, spare him; surely such love as this cannot be given to two human souls to be poured out like water on the rock of a pitiless fate.”

“Millie,” said Roger faintly, “your hand seems alive, and its pulsations send little thrills direct to my heart.  Were it not for your hand I would think my body already dead.”

“Oh, Roger,” she murmured, pressing her lips on his hand, “would to God I could put my blood into your veins.  Roger, dear beyond all words, don’t fail me, now that I need you as never before.  Don’t speak, don’t move.  Just rest and gain.  Hush, hush.  Oh, be quiet!  I won’t leave you until you are stronger, and I’ll always be within call.”

“I’ll mind, Millie.  I was never more contented in my life.”

Toward morning he seemed better and stronger, and she left him a few moments to attend to some other duties.  When she returned she saw to her horror that hemorrhage had taken place, and that his arm was bleeding rapidly.  She sprang to his side, and with trained skill pressed her fingers on the brachial artery, thus stopping further loss of blood instantly.  Then calling to the orderly, she told him to lose not a second in summoning the surgeon.