now the great
revelation had come, anguish of body, anguish of soul, and she emerged
from the shadows, sobered and thoughtful.

"What women have to suffer! The thought of it haunts me. I can't get
away from it," she said to Vanna one afternoon as they sat together in
the autumn gloaming, enjoying that quiet _tete-a-tete_ which was the
most intimate moment of the day. "I walk along the streets staring at
the women I meet, and marvel! There they are--thousands of them,
British matrons, plain, ordinary, commonplace creatures with dolmans,
and bonnets far back on their heads, each with a family of--what? four,
six, eight, sometimes _ten_ children! For years and years of their
lives they have been chronic invalids, goaded on by the precepts that it
is `only natural,' and that they have no right to shirk their work on
that account. The courage of them, and the patience, and the humility!
They never seem to consider that they deserve any praise. If they read
in the newspaper of a soldier who saved a life in the rush and
excitement of battle, and was wounded in the act, they rave of him by
the hour together; but if you offered _them_ the Victoria Cross, they
would think you were mad! Yet every life given to the world means
nearly a year of suffering for some poor mother!"

Vanna was silent. It was inevitable that in her position she should see
the other side of the question, and feel that a year would be a light
price to pay for the joy of holding Piers's son in her arms; but Jean
had lost that great recompense which wipes away the remembrance of the
anguish. Her heart was still hungry and sore. Having no words of
comfort to offer, Vanna deftly turned the conversation to a safer
channel.

"Apropos of suffering, Jean, I have been waiting to talk to you about my
own plans. I've been here over four months, dear, and it's time I moved
on. I told you I had a plan in my head which was slowly working itself
out. Well! at last, I think I can see daylight. I have my life to
live, and I can't be content just to fritter it away. I must find
something that is worth doing, and which will justify my existence.
I've thought of many things, but it always comes back to nursing as the
likeliest and most suitable. For the last four years that's been my
work, and I know I did it well. Every doctor I have met told me I was a
born nurse. One Sunday when you were ill I went to Dr Greatman, and
had a long talk. He had asked me t