“That’s right,” he said.  “I think I may venture to try you.”

“But won’t you please tell me just how much you think he is hurt?” she pleaded, clinging to his hand, and looking up beseechingly into his face.

“My dear little cousin,” he said in a tenderly sympathizing tone, “I wish to do all in my power to relieve your anxiety, but am as yet in some doubt myself as to the extent of his injuries.  He is a good deal shaken and bruised; but, as I have said before, there are no broken bones; and, unless there should be some internal injury which I have not yet discovered, he is likely to recover entirely in a few days or weeks.”

“But you are not sure?  Oh! how could I ever bear it if he should”—­she broke off with a burst of violent weeping.

He led her to a seat, for she seemed hardly able to stand:  her whole frame was shaking with emotion.

“Try not to meet trouble half way, little cousin,” he said gently.  “‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ and ’As thy days, so shall thy strength be.’  It is God’s promise to all who put their trust in him, and cannot fail; all his promises are yea and amen in Christ Jesus.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, making a strong effort to control herself.  “And you do hope Ned will soon be well?”

“I certainly do,” he responded in cheerful accents.  “And now, if you will wipe away your tears, and promise to be very good and quiet, I will take you to him.  He was asking for you when I left the room.”

She gave the desired promise, and he led her to the bedside.

“I have brought you your wife, Ned,” he said in a quiet tone, “and mean to leave her with you for a while; but you are to be a good boy, and not indulge in much chatter with her.”

“We’ll be good:  I’ll answer for her, and myself too,” Edward returned, with a tenderly affectionate smile up into Zoe’s face, as she bent over him, and touched her lips to his forehead.

She dared not trust herself to speak, but silently put her hand in his, dropped on her knees by the bedside, and laid her pretty head on the pillow on which his rested.

“My own darling!” he murmured, softly pressing the hand he held:  “my own precious little wife!”

Once more Arthur enjoined quiet, then went out, and left them alone together.

He paid a professional visit to Miss Deane, satisfied her curiosity in regard to Edward’s injuries, and learned with pleasure that she was quite resolved to go home the next morning.

“Of course Mrs. Travilla should give all her attention to her husband now,” she remarked; “and I shall be only in the way.  One disabled person is quite enough to have in a house at one time.  So if you, doctor, will be so kind as to have the ambulance sent out for me directly after breakfast, I’ll be much obliged.”

“I will do so,” he said.  “The journey will do you no harm, and you will probably be better cared for and happier in your own home than here, under the circumstances.”