As we rode up, the doctor came out.
"Well, what do you think?" asked The Duke.
"Can't say yet," replied the old doctor, gruff with long army practice, "bad enough. Good night."
But The Duke's hand fell upon his shoulder with a grip that must have got to the bone, and in a husky voice he asked:
"Will she live?"
The doctor squirmed, but could not shake off that crushing grip.
"Here, you young tiger, let go! What do think I am made of?" he cried, angrily. "I didn't suppose I was coming to a bear's den, or should have brought a gun."
It was only by the most complete apology that The Duke could mollify the old doctor sufficiently to get his opinion.
"No, she will not die! Great bit of stuff! Better she should die, perhaps! But can't say for two weeks. Now remember," he added sharply, looking into The Duke's woe-stricken face, "her spirits must be kept up. I have lied most fully and cheerfully to them inside; you must do the same," and the doctor strode away, calling out:
