Vicarious Atonement

In happy ignorance of the fact that the order had been given merely to
get her outside, Smiles stumbled to the door with blind thankfulness,
and, as soon as she had closed it behind her, crumpled up in an
unconscious heap on the snow.

Within doors, the nurse was saying, "I think she's fainted, doctor. I
heard her fall."

"Probably," was the callous response. "Don't worry about her, the cold
will bring her around. We've got to get these sutures in. But, say,
hasn't she been a brick?"

Donald's prophecy was correct. Rose came to her senses a moment later,
and, trembling and sobbing uncontrolledly, stumbled through the darkness
to the woodpile, and sat down on it. For a time she was powerless to
move, but when, at length, she did re-enter the cabin, with an armful of
wood, although her face was drawn and white, her self-control was fully
restored.

Already the surgeon and nurse were bathing off the sewn wound with
antiseptic fluid, and it was not long before the little injured head was
wrapped in the swathing bandages which covered it completely, down to
the deathlike, sunken cheeks.

The period of coming out from under the merciful anæsthesia ended, the
drooping flower was restored to its freshly made bed, the evidences of
what had occurred removed, and then Smiles turned to her beloved friend
with a pleading, unspoken question in her eyes.