.

Nosey looked round to reassure himself that they were not overheard. "I
done a bunk!" he whispered.

Janie gazed at him with dismayed eyes. "Not--not deserted?"

Nosey nodded. "Don't you take on, Janie. 'S only so's I can stay near
you." He pressed her dry hand. "I got a barrer--whelks an' periwinkles.
I've saved a bit o' money. An' now I can stay near you an' come 'ere
visiting days."

Janie was too weak to argue or expostulate. It may have been that she
was conscious of a certain amount of pride in Nosey's voluntary outlawry
for her sake; and she was glad enough to have someone to sit with her on
visiting days and tell her about the outside world she was never to see
again. She even went back in spirit to the proud days when they walked
out together. . . . It brought balm to the cough-racked nights and the
weary passage of the days.

Then the streets echoed with the cries of paper-boys. The nurses
whispered together excitedly in their leisure moments; the doctors seemed
to acquire an added briskness. Once or twice she heard the measured
tramp of feet in the streets below, as a regiment was moved from one
quarters to another.

England was at war with Germany, they told her. But the intelligence did
not interest Janie much at first. That empires should battle for
supremacy concerned her very little--till she remembered Nosey's late
calling.

It was two days before she saw him again, and he still wore his "civvy"
suit. Janie smiled as he approached the bed, and fumbled with the
halfpenny daily paper that somebody had given her to look at.

'"Ere," she whispered, "read that."

Nosey bent over and read the lines indicated by the thin forefinger.

His Majesty the King has been graciously pleased to approve of pardons
being granted to all deserters from the Royal Navy and Marines who
surrender themselves forthwith.

There was silence in the ward for a moment. Far below in the street
outside a transport wagon rumbled by. Janie braced herself for the
supreme act of her life.

"You gotter go," said she.

Nosey stared at her and then back at the newspaper. "Not me!" he
retorted, and took possession of her hand.

"That's the King's pardon," said Janie, touching the halfpenny news-sheet
with transparent fingers. "'Tain't no use you comin' 'ere no more, 'cos
I won't see you. I'll ask 'em at the door not to let you in."

Nosey knew that note of indomitable obstinacy in the weak voice. H