you to come, Edward!"

They continued to stand, searching each for the other's youth, till she
murmured:

"In spite of your beard, I should have known you anywhere!" But she
thought: 'Poor Edward! He is old, and monk-like!'

And Pierson, in answer, murmured:

"You're very little changed, Leila! We haven't, seen each other since my
youngest girl was born. She's just a little like you." But he thought:
'My Nollie! So much more dewy; poor Leila!'

They walked on, talking of his daughters, till they reached the hospital.

"If you'll wait here a minute, I'll take you over my wards."

She had left him in a bare hall, holding his hat in one hand and touching
his gold cross with the other; but she soon came hack, and a little
warmth crept about his heart. How works of mercy suited women! She
looked so different, so much softer, beneath the white coif, with a white
apron over the bluish frock.

At the change in his face, a little warmth crept about Leila, too, just
where the bib of her apron stopped; and her eyes slid round at him while
they went towards what had once been a billiard-room.

"My men are dears," she said; "they love to be talked to."

Under a skylight six beds jutted out from a green distempered wall,
opposite to six beds jutting out from another green distempered wall, and
from each bed a face was turned towards them young faces, with but little
expression in them. A nurse, at the far end, looked round, and went on
with her work. The sight of the ward was no more new to Pierson than to
anyone else in these days. It was so familiar, indeed, that it had
practically no significance. He stood by the first bed, and Leila stood
alongside. The man smiled up when she spoke, and did not smile when he
spoke, and that again was familiar to him. They passed from bed to bed,
with exactly the same result, till she was called away, and he sat down
by a young soldier with a long, very narrow head and face, and a heavily
bandaged shoulder. Touching the bandage reverently, Pierson said:

"Well, my dear fellow-still bad?"

"Ah!" replied the soldier. "Shrapnel wound: It's cut the flesh
properly."

"But not the spirit, I can see!"

The young soldier gave him a quaint look, as much as to say: "Not 'arf
bad!" and a gramophone close to the last bed began to play: "God bless
Daddy at the war!"

"Are you fond of music?"

"I like it well enough. Passes the time."

"I'm afraid the time hangs heavy in ho