"No, it isn't!" replied Dr. Forsyth firmly. "You are making a mistake. You have no pain, at least not much, and you are going to lose it altogether soon. There! That's more comfortable, isn't it?"
He was busy now arranging knives and instruments on a clean towel.
"I've put them in the order I shall want them," he whispered, "and don't be in a hurry--I shall want time. Now I'm going to mesmerise him. You'll see he will pass into a deep sleep and feel no pain--none at all."
It was almost as if he were assuring himself that it would be so. An atmosphere of quiet confidence seemed to emanate from him.
Marrion found herself watching his passes with absolute faith, listening to the quiet monotonous voice with absolute belief.
"Now you are really feeling better--you are inclined to sleep--if you close your eyes you will go to sleep."
On and on went the voice insistently. The breathing grew slower, less convulsive; the eyelids closed, and all the time the doctor's face was as the face of the Angel of Death--kind, but relentless.
"Now we can begin," he said at last, resuming his quick decision. "You won't faint, will you?" he added doubtfully, with a glance at Marrion's pale cheek.
"I don't think so," she replied; "but _that_ seemed to hurt here." She swept her hand across her forehead.
"Umph!" he said, half to himself. "You'll make an excellent _aide_, I expect. So now to business."
It was an awful operation. One impossible while consciousness remained; but possible enough with the absolute stillness and lack of hurry that unconsciousness brings.
"He will sleep for some hours yet," said Dr. Forsyth, as he sorted his implements. "You needn't stay with him all the time. Make yourself useful elsewhere, but look in and bring me word when he wakes."
There was not one word of thanks; only as he left the tent he paused to say--
"The lad was a great favourite of the colonel's. I'm glad we saved him."
All that day Marrion lived in a dream of death; but those words went with her. Yes, she was glad she had helped to save the lad, but how much had she helped?
Three full days passed before she could get an answer to that question. Days of grim determination to keep her head--not to give way as some, even of the men, gave way. It was like living in a shambles. She thought, amazed at the poverty of her own imagination, on the dread with which she had first viewed the heights of Alma. But this--this was inconceivable, unutterably beastly! Vaguely she felt glad that Duke had been spared it, and with the thought of the singing bird that had sung its little heart out in joy as he lay dying, the first tears she had shed for him came to her eyes. And she worked on with a lighter heart, until the first press and rush was over, till the dead had been buried, the less severe cases shipped off, and tents found for the others.