Dr Lefevre was thus passing round his female ward, with a train of
attentive students at his heels, when the door was swung open and two
attendants entered, bearing a stretcher between them, and accompanied by
the house-physician and a policeman.
"What is this?" asked Lefevre, with a touch of severity; for it was
irregular to intrude a fresh case into a ward while the physician was
going his round.
"I thought, sir," said the house-physician, "you would like to see her
at once: it seems to me a case similar to that of the man found in the
Brighton train."
"Where was this lady found?" asked Lefevre of the policeman. He used the
word "lady" advisedly, for though the dress was that of a hospital nurse
or probationer, the unconscious face was that of an educated
gentlewoman. "Why, bless my soul!" he cried, upon more particular
scrutiny of her features--"it seems to me I know her! Surely I do! Where
did you say she was found?"
The policeman explained that he was on his beat outside St James's Park,
when a park-keeper called him in and showed him, in one of the shady
walks, the lady set on a bench as if she had fainted.
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