Mrs Thornton was surprised to note that there had been no eruptions between stubborn husband and wilful wife. Certainly, she thought Isabel somewhat lacking as a wife; she did not take up responsibility for the house, she made little effort to raise her husband's status within the first families of Milton, and had scarce paid one visit to a genteel lady since becoming the younger Mrs Thornton. She did not know her place - it was entirely unsuitable for her son's wife to spend her days tending to the working poor, and her visits to Princeton to see that blasted union man and his adopted brood! Well! thought Mrs Thornton, I never did take to liking that Miss Hale, and now I must own to like her all the less, for the doctoring is one thing, but the fraternising with the poor in their hovels; I blame that entirely upon the southern do-gooder!

And it was much to Mrs Thornton's chagrin, that her son did not complain. Where once, the proud matriarch had thought her reliable son to be the very man to tame such a wayward creature, she now was loath to admit in her son, some suspected weakness. For although he sometimes gave his wife such a look as to show a vexed displeasure, or spoke a low word of warning, he never ordered her to do or not to do; he did not even say he would be obliged to her, much as he had ever said to Fanny, when coaxing her to his bidding.

So Mrs Thornton sat in her black bombazine, lips pinched in irritation, as Jane entered the drawing room to light the candles - and the afternoon had barely slipped away! Such incautious spending! - and she thought to herself, with a certain foreboding, that peace could not reign uninterrupted; that some cross words must surely come to pass. For her son ceded to his wife's wishes, and wife sought to anticipate his, but they were - to Mrs Thornton - such dissimilar creatures, that she could not see the source of their contentment, in appeasing one another in such a way. Little did she know, that the couple's first test would come upon the morrow, after some seven or so weeks of marriage.

It was a misty morning - as mornings often were, in Milton - but this day, the air - so perpetually thick with a claggy fog of smoke and soot, which billowed from the smokestacks and cloyed to nostrils, which sought out the weave of drapes (in defiance of the housewife!) - had about it, a low-lying dampness. Those clouds of mist which, from time-to-time, saw fit to descend from the skies and lurk about the lanes; amblers damp and blinded by grey, oppressive fogs, which clog up the streets in a haze of dreary dankness. The carriages were forced to slow their pace in caution, and people called out to one another in warning, for one could not see their fellow man approach them, until they stood within three paces. Many a man would fall that day; a collision of bodies, or a stumble on a disguised cobble stone, come loose. But, as Isabel saw to her last patient of the day, a far greater calamity would befall one doomed inhabitant of Milton.

Margaret walked cautiously along the way, wending her path back from Princeton. She held her straw bonnet about her head, and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to focus them through the fog. The tramp of hooves was the only warning she had that a carriage did approach her, but she could not sense in which direction, nor if their paths should meet.

'Look out, Miss!' cried a roughened voice, and Margaret spun about, only to knock shoulders with a gangly mill hand, who grunted in vexation, and pushed her from his side. 'Miss, a carriage!' called the voice again, rising in agitation. Margaret stepped to the side, in search of the voice, but had unwittingly moved the wrong way, for a thick hand reached out and grabbed her through the fog, urging her to safety. Too late! another carriage approached from the opposite direction, and - neither hearing the second set of hooves - Margaret's aide was caught off-guard, and did not know of the carriage's presence, until the horse tramped upon him, reared up with an almighty scream, and sought to charge off in fright. The carriage twisted against the horse's thrashing, and over-turned, crashing to the ground.

'A doctor! Yo' fetch a doctor!' cried out a dozen voices, as the horse whinnied and whimpered in terror, and Margaret's rescuer lay upon the ground; manly cries tearing from his lips. Even through that fog - one's view hazy and disguised - it was a ghastly sight, and Margaret - her heart beating thickly in her breast - knelt down beside the injured man, and bid him courage.

'My leg! My leg!' whimpered the man, with panicked, laboured breaths.

'A stretcher!' called Margaret. 'We are close to Marlborough Mills, are we not? Mr Thornton's wife is a doctor. She will tend to this man.'

'A lass, a doctor!' scoffed a whiskered fellow.

'Ay! An' I'm a fairy,' laughed a sour-faced woman.

'Nay! It's true,' came Higgins' friendly voice, and the gathering crowd silenced their dissension, in deference to the authority of the Union man. 'A stretcher, man! A door, a board! We'll carry 'im up t' Thornton's.'

And so it was that a flurry of bodies entered the mill yard. Voices were raised, and quickly drew Mr Thornton's attention from within his office.

'What's this, Higgins?' frowned he, looking anxiously to the poor, writhing man, whom they carried upon a rotting door.

'Hit by a carriage, Master. Didn't see i' comin' in th' fog. But by all accounts, 'e did Miss Margaret a good turn, seein' 'er outta harm's way.' Mr Thornton stepped closer and looked the man over; he did not belong to Marlborough Mills - Mr Thornton had never seen his face before - and yet the fellow was such a pitiful sight to look at; his leg so gnarly and drenched with blood, that Mr Thornton could only nod in acquiescence.

'Williams!' called Mr Thornton, his firm voicing carrying across the yard and silencing the whispers of the anxious observers, 'your fastest lad - send him off for Dr Donaldson, or Lowe; whomever can come the quickest.' Now turning back to the men carrying the makeshift stretcher, 'follow me.' And he set off behind the sheds, in search of his wife.

There he found Isabel, who was in the process of locking the door to the infirmary, but he stilled her hand with just a look.

'A man needs you, love,' said he, his voice low, so as to be heard by her ears, alone. 'He was hit by a carriage - but saved your Margaret from a collision with it. His leg looks fairly torn apart. It is grim. Shall you see him? I have sent for Donaldson or Lowe, but the fog; no carriage can come quickly if another accident such as this is to be avoided.'

'Yes, yes! Bring him in,' replied she, now opening the door, and moving quickly to wash her hands. Mr Thornton bid the men to bring the patient, but he had an uneasy sense of foreboding, for he had listened to, and asked questions of, Isabel; of her past, and what had brought her to the Kentish Dr Lyndhurst, and he had read her coloured newspaper, and learnt of the horrors she had faced. He could not - for all he loved her - help but fear that his strong wife - for all her bravery and determination - might be undone by such a task. Still, he would not doubt her; that would earn her scorn. And the man was in such agony, that if Isabel could help, Mr Thornton would not prevent her; despite his own, more personal misgivings.

'What is your name?' asked Isabel, as the man was lifted from his dank stretcher and laid upon the table.

'He is Robert Harris, Mistress Isabel,' said Higgins (for the patient was in such a fit of gasping and panting that he was quite beyond words). 'He is young William's father; th' boy who sent off for yo' t' Crampton, when Mrs Boucher was dyin'.'

'Well, then, Robert,' said Isabel, in hushed tones, as she moved close to the man's ear, 'I shall look at your leg. I may have to touch it, and that shall no doubt hurt, but we shall see you right.' And taking up her scissors, she cut away at the coarse cloth of his trousers, and peered down at the maimed leg with a look of deep displeasure. It was - she knew - quite impossible to save; certainly in such a place as Milton. The smallest and most tentative shake of her head, confirmed to Mr Thornton his suspicions, and Higgins - astute as always - gave a weary sigh.

'For the pain,' urged Isabel, now passing an opiate through parted lips. 'I hear you are quite the hero, Robert, and to my friend, Margaret. I must thank you,' said she, smiling down upon his wan face. She bathed that face with a damp cloth, and smoothed back his hair in a motherly way; her eyes glowing warmly at him all the while. A man less confident in his wife's love, may have felt vexed by such tender ministrations, but Mr Thornton saw them for what they were; a woman seeking to calm a man, before the terror that must come.

'Robert,' spoke Isabel, her voice calm and bright, as though what she had to say was nothing but a careless greeting, 'the leg cannot be saved.' His eyes widened with fear, but she stroked his face compassionately, and shook her head gently, as though to deny the justification of his fears. 'The medicine I have given you shall help with the pain. You shall have a stick to bite down on, and my husband's finest whiskey. Now, that is not to be sniffed at, is it?' Robert gave a strangled nod and lay back panting with fear; the strong men about him, white with sympathy for the poor fellow.

'Higgins, Samuels, John,' said Isabel, 'I would have you all wash up. 'Higgins and Samuels; you shall hold him down; one on either side. 'John; you hold his leg for me. The rest of you,' said Isabel, looking back at the concerned faces which crowded the room, 'you must go. Wait outside if you must, but I'll not have you here as I work, and I'd bid you, if you have a weak stomach, be gone a safe distance.'

A tourniquet was placed about his thigh, and a saw (newly purchased, with Mr Bell's endowment) was picked up. Higgins placed the bit in Robert's mouth and bid him good courage. One penetrating look exchanged between husband and wife, and the teeth of the saw cut into skin, shredding through flesh and muscle, and biting into bone. Robert screamed out and arched his back; the knuckles of all the men white, as they fought to keep him still. A grim task, she thought it, and so much blood.

The sound and smell was the worst of it. The man's cries of agony were a veritable torture to Isabel's ears, but oh! the grinding away of bone; the relentless resistance of that limb, as Isabel's arm burnt through exertion, as she sought to cut through it. The air was putrid with the smell of blood, and all three strong and robust men, had about their faces, a pained grimace of disgust, but still she worked; flecks of blood flying with the saw. She blinked to avoid the splatter, and felt the warmth of that repugnant stain upon her skin.

Now she heard the voices; the screams of friends long gone. She caught flashes of their faces in her mind, as she reached the half-way point, but she closed her eyes defiantly, and bid those troublesome thoughts away.

'Izzy, you do well, love,' murmured Mr Thornton, as though he could read her very thoughts. In truth, he watched the strain upon her face - hardly looking at the patient - and he was gratified to see that his tender words pulled her from the gloom of her abyss, and her eyes sharpened. She drew in a deep breath - a mistake! for there she smelt and tasted blood - and renewed her efforts with vigour; keen to see the man's suffering at an end.

On she worked - no one speaking - until a voice from outside the infirmary carried into the room.

'Move back, Miss. Yo'll not want t' go in there!' said a man's clear voice, from beyond the door.

'But that poor man; he quite saved my life, I am sure of it. And I know Mrs John Thornton; I might help her.'

'Margaret,' whispered, Isabel; her face hardening.

'Do no let her in here, man. I want her gone,' called Mr Thornton, with savage impatience. 'I'll not have her linger about the man's cries. Gone from the yard.' He could not spare his wife from such a horror, but he'd surely spare his kind friend's daughter. Margaret's protestations were drowned out by the cacophony of Robert's screams, by the wrenching of the saw and the sound of Samuels' vomiting. 'If you cannot stomach it, man, go at once, but send another. With clean hands, mind!' barked Mr Thornton. But Samuels would not leave the man. He lived only one street along from Francis Street and he supped with him in The Golden Dragon. If a lass could stand the sights and sounds, he determined that he should, too.

'Thank god!' sighed Isabel, at length. 'I thought the poor man should never pass out!' And now she tended to that ghastly stump, and bound it to keep it clean. She had not a clue what to do with the leg, but supposed her husband might know.

She was saved from asking, by the tardy arrival of Dr Donaldson, who in one swift glance assessed the situation, and looking at the young lady smattered in blood, grimaced in apology.

'I'd ask that you take him, Doctor. I'm not set up to care for him, here, and I fear infection if he returns directly home,' said Isabel.

'Yes, yes, I shall take him. You've done quite enough, my dear.'

'And you'll take the leg?' Dr Donaldson frowned in surprise, but supposed he ought to allow her squeamishness, for she was only woman, after all.

Robert Harris was gone, and Mr Thornton bid Higgins to see the men off; to keep the stragglers away from his wife, as she set about the thankless task of mopping up the pools of blood which tainted the room. Higgins quite quickly saw that for all Isabel was fierce, she was - beneath it all - a fragile thing, and he determined - with the protectiveness of any loving father - to push back the crowds and direct the milling bodies elsewhere.

'Tis no spectacle. Th' poor fellow lost 'is leg, an' th' doctor was so late in comin' tha' th' Master's wife 'ad t' see t' 'im. No lass should have t' cut off a man's leg, so move back an' leave 'er be. I'll not be pleased if yo' don't get back t' work or move off home, an' if th' Master catches yo', there'll be Hell t' pay for any man or wench who bothers 'is wife, so off yo' go. Be gone!'

Mr Thornton listened to that proud, defiant voice of authority, and the ensuing tramp of feet, as the spectators moved off in one great body of disappointment, and he smiled to himself, thinking how right Isabel had been, to urge him to take the fellow on. But his smile fell when he turned about and saw the room now clean, but empty. He stepped into the smaller back room, and there, upon the floor, sat Isabel. Her hands trembled as she looked at them - stained red with blood - and her whole body shook as silent sobs racked her body.

'Love!' cried Mr Thornton, now sweeping up her small form and pulling her into his arms.

'My hands! They are covered in blood,' whimpered Isabel.

'Then we shall wash them, Izzy.' And he led her to the basin, and cleaned her hands as well as he might, without the greater luxuries of the mill house.

'They are red with blood, John!' trembled Isabel, holding up her hands to her face. 'There is blood on my hands.'

'No, love. It is gone. I washed it off.' But still she shook, and looked upon her hands, unseeing.

'It won't come off. I cannot see the skin for blood!'

And now she saw before her, the fallen form of her closest friend; his helmet askew as he lay dying on the baked earth. Her small hands frantically trying to stem the flow of blood, were inadequate, and he looked to her with a sad smile, which seemed to say, "give up". Then those warm and friendly eyes drooped, before falling dull and glazed, and he was gone. Her hands lifted from his stomach, and she gaped at them; bright red with blood. She trembled as she looked upon those hands; her friend's blood staining her skin. Dead! she thought, as she look at the evidence marring her skin. He is dead and I could not save him!

'He will die,' whimpered Isabel.

'He might yet, still, love, but he very well might not.'

'I can hear his screams, John!'

'Ay! As can I, Izzy. It was rough on you, but you did well. So well, my Isabel. No man was more proud of his wife, than I am of you.'

'I need to wash my hands, John.' And Mr Thornton sighed, as he felt his wife's body continue to tremble against him, before he stood and lifted her into his arms, and carried her quickly across the yard.

A bath was ordered with a harsh bark, and his mother's confused look and wide-eyed horror at the blood upon both son and wife, was hastily brushed off by Mr Thornton; mindful only of his wife's needs, as he was.

'It is not our blood, Mother. An accident in the street; no trouble at the mill.' And he streaked past her with no further explanation. Nor did he join his mother for dinner that evening, but instead he sat with his wife in their room, and held her close with loving words and tender touches.

'Once Robert leaves Dr Donaldson's care, he will need someone to go to him. I shall go. I fear he will lose his life to infection, John. I must go to him each day to see the wound kept clean.'

'I am sure his wife can see to the cleanliness of his wound,' said Mr Thornton, cautiously, for he did not wish Isabel to go. He thought it not her place, and he feared for her if Robert Harris should go on to die.

'I cannot simply cut off a man's leg and then leave him to die, John!' snapped Isabel, with rising frustration. Mr Thornton sighed, and sat up upon the bed clothes.

'And you did not. You did all that you could, and now Dr Donaldson shall do the same.'

'But do you not care what happens to him beyond this day, or is his life only of concern to you whilst he lies before you screaming; whilst he bleeds upon your property,' asked Isabel, with unjust scorn.

'That is not fair, love!' warned Mr Thornton, for he knew her temper was short - and justifiably so - but he would not give way to her injustice.

'Then we are in accord,' said she, defiantly, 'and I shall call in on Robert Harris each day. It is no hardship; he is Higgins' neighbour, and I might very well visit with Mary and the children, and shall no doubt see more of Margaret, as I do so.'

'But every day? You need not go every day. They may not even wish you to.'

'If they do not wish it, that I shall only call on Mary. At least I shall be but one door down, should they feel a sudden need for me.'

'And how shall you find the time to spare? Will you cease to run the infirmary?'

'I have time to see to both.'

'It is madness, Isabel,' said Mr Thornton, now standing in vexation, and moving to the window. 'You need not be daily off to Princeton. Higgins can call in on his neighbour and keep you informed, and you go only if you are required. That is enough.'

'But they may not know if I am required. What knows an uneducated person of the signs of infection? They only see what is too advanced to undo. No, I must go, and not rely on hearsay.'

'Higgins will call in on them, and you will stop round only if you are needed,' replied Mr Thornton, now glowering at his wife.