The slave at the gate had told her that he had not yet been taken; the time to intercede, then, had not yet come.  But she was resolved to do so, to draw the wrath of her relations down on herself, and, if need should be, to relate all she had seen in the course of the night, to save her devoted servant.  It was no less than her duty:  still, before humiliating Orion so deeply she would warn him.  The thought of charging him with so shameful a deed pained her like the need for inflicting an injury on herself.  She hated him, but she would rather have broken the most precious work of art than have branded him—­him whose image still reigned in her heart, supremely glorious and attractive.

Instead of following Mary to breakfast, or offering herself as usual to play draughts with her uncle, she went back to the sick-room.  To meet Neforis or Orion at this moment would have been painful, indeed odious to her.  It was long since she had felt so weary and oppressed.  A conversation with the physician might perhaps prove refreshing; after the various agitations of the last few hours she longed for something, be it what it might, that should revive her spirits and give a fresh turn to her thoughts.

In the Masdakite’s room the Sister coldly asked her what she wanted, and who had given her leave to assist in tending the sufferers.  The leech, who at that moment was moistening the bandage on the wounded man’s head, at this turned to the nun and informed her decidedly that he desired the young girl’s assistance in attending on both his patients.  Then he led the way sitting-room, saying in subdued into the adjoining tones: 

“For the present all is well.  Let us rest here a little while.”

She sat down on a divan, and he on a seat opposite, and Philippus began: 

“You were seeking handsome Orion just now, but you must. . . .”

“What?” she asked gravely.  “And I would have you to know that the son of the house is no more to me than his mother is.  Your phrase ’Handsome Orion’ seems to imply something that I do not again wish to hear.  But I must speak to him, and soon, in reference to an important matter.”

“To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here again?  To confess the truth I did not hope for your return.”

“And why not?”

“Excuse me from answering.  No one likes to hear unpleasant things.  If one of my profession thinks any one is not well. . . .”

“If that is meant for me,” replied the girl, “all I can tell you is that the one thing on which I still can pride myself is my health.  Say what you will—­the very worst for aught I care.  I want something to-day to rouse me from lethargy, even if it should make me angry.”

“Very well then,” replied the leech, “though I am plunging into deep waters!—­As to health, as it is commonly understood, a fish might envy you; but the higher health—­health of mind:  that I fear you cannot boast of.”