resentment. She did not
even take the trouble to attempt to defend Wallace, and Allister seemed
surprised.

"Yes, I thought money was the whole thing," he went on, "and now the
war has made me a poor man. I've got the farm I had when I went West
first, and I've got something more, I've got a pocketful of debts that
will take me years to pay off. But, I guess I'm about as well off in
some ways as I ever was."

Christina would have been very much dismayed at this some months
earlier, but in the face of the stupendous events of her life the loss
of property or even of the chance of wealth seemed trivial. She said
so to Allister and was glad to find that he agreed with her.

"I found that out since I was home last," he declared. "I thought you
lacked ambition because you always gave up your chance in life to this
one and the other one. But you were the wise one. Money, and gettin'
on in the world and all that don't amount to much after all. And if
money is all this fellow of yours has, mind you, that ain't enough. It
might do for some girls, but let me tell you, it won't satisfy you."

As the dark days of the war dragged on, Christina found her talent for
comforting others sadly needed. For her own family were only the
forerunners of many another stricken home.

Burke was the next to fall, and little Mitty was left alone to struggle
with Granny and poverty and grief, and Christina needed all her
strength to bring her through the trial.

And the next was Trooper. He went over the top in a gallant raid of
the Princess Pats, calling on his comrades to follow, and it seemed to
those who had known him, that somewhere he must still be going on, gay
and bright and fearless, always calling on other high hearts to come
after him.

Joanna bore his going like a soldier's wife. She never walked quite so
erect again, and her jet black hair began to turn grey, but she was
even more faithful in her work at the Red Cross meetings, and she and
The Woman grew firmer friends than ever in their common grief.

Christina went about among the stricken ones, easing her own grief in
comforting others. But she had one ever present trouble for which she
could receive no comfort on any side. Every day the falseness of her
attitude towards Wallace Sutherland weighed more heavily upon her
honest heart. And how she was going to tell him of the change in her
she did not know. How was she going to tell him that, though he had
once