sweet voice from beside him rises clear and firm:--

"I have come down to be with you also, and to help my husband. I shall
take charge of the nursing and tending of your sick, and I hope I shall
be of some real use to you. My husband and I are so sorry for you in
your trouble. I know you will be brave and patient. We will all do our
best, and be hopeful."

He turns, half expecting to see only the empty air and to wonder at the
delirium in his brain. She puts her hand in his, and their eyes meet;
and in that moment, for the first time in their lives, these two see one
another.

They speak no word. There is no opportunity for words. There is work to
be done, and done quickly, and Anne grasps it with the greed of a woman
long hungry for the joy of doing. As John watches her moving swiftly and
quietly through the bewildered throng, questioning, comforting, gently
compelling, the thought comes to him, Ought he to allow her to be here,
risking her life for his people? followed by the thought, How is he going
to prevent it? For in this hour the knowledge is born within him that
Anne is not his property; that he and she are fellow hands taking their
orders from the same Master; that though it be well for them to work
together and help each other, they must not hinder one another.

As yet John does not understand all this. The idea is new and strange to
him. He feels as the child in a fairy story on suddenly discovering that
the trees and flowers has he passed by carelessly a thousand times can
think and talk. Once he whispers to her of the labour and the danger,
but she answers simply, "They are my people too, John: it is my work";
and he lets her have her way.

Anne has a true woman's instinct for nursing, and her strong sense stands
her in stead of experience. A glance into one or two of the squalid dens
where these people live tells her that if her patients are to be saved
they must be nursed away from their own homes; and she determines to
convert the large counting-house--a long, lofty room at the opposite end
of the wharf to the refinery--into a temporary hospital. Selecting some
seven or eight of the most reliable women to assist her, she proceeds to
prepare it for its purpose. Ledgers might be volumes of poetry, bills of
lading mere street ballads, for all the respect that is shown to them.
The older clerks stand staring aghast, feeling that the end of all things
is surely at hand, and that the univ