thought of that long spell of suffering.

"You are in very great pain, I fear," I said, lowering my voice.

"Yes," her white lips answered, and she tried to smile a patient though
a dreary smile, as she looked up into my face, "my arm is broken. Are
you a doctor?"

"I am Dr. Martin Dobrée," I said, passing my hand softly down her arm.
The fracture was above the elbow, and was of a kind to make the setting
of it give her considerable pain. I could see she was scarce fit to bear
any further suffering just then; but what was to be done? She was not
likely to get much rest till the bone was set.

"Have you had much sleep since your fall?" I asked, looking at the
weariness visible in her eyes.

"Not any," she replied; "not one moment's sleep."

"Did you have no sleep all night?" I inquired again.

"No." she said, "I could not fall asleep."

There were two things I could do--give her an opiate, and strengthen her
a little with sleep beforehand, or administer chloroform to her before
the operation. I hesitated between the two. A natural sleep would have
done her a world of good, but there was a gleam in her eyes, and a
feverish throb in her pulse, which gave me no hope of that. Perhaps the
chloroform, if she had no objection to it, would be the best.