The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the

fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub

alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to

the bed's head, said, with more kindness than might have been

'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'

'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily

depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of

which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.