volleys of honour, the proud salut of the brave to
the vanished brave, the quivering farewells of the few who turn away
from the fresh-piled earth with their hearts dragging behind--all had
been; and all had gone. Evening descended upon the veld with a golden
radiance which soothed like prayer.

By the open window at the foot of a bed in the Stay Awhile Hospital a
woman gazed into the saffron splendour with an intentness which seemed
to make all her body listen. Both melancholy and purpose marked the
attitude of the figure.

A voice from the bed at the foot of which she stood drew her gaze away
from the sunset sky to meet the bright, troubled eyes.

"What is it, Jigger?" the woman asked gently, and she looked to see
that the framework which kept the bedclothes from a shattered leg was
properly in its place.

"'E done a lot for me," was the reply. "A lot 'e done, and I dunno how
I'll git along now."

There was great hopelessness in the tone.

"He told me you would always have enough to help you get on, Jigger. He
thought of all that."

"'Ere, oh, 'ere it ain't that," the lad said in a sudden passion of
protest, the tears standing in his eyes. "It ain't that! Wot's money,
when your friend wot give it ain't 'ere! I never done nothing for
'im--that's wot I feel. Nothing at all for 'im."

"You are wrong," was the soft reply. "He told me only a few days ago
that you were like a loaf of bread in the cupboard--good for all the
time."

The tears left the wide blue eyes. "Did 'e say that--did 'e?" he asked,
and when she nodded and smiled, he added, "'E's 'appy now, ain't 'e?"
His look questioned her eagerly.

For an instant she turned and gazed at the sunset, and her eyes took on
a strange mystical glow. A colour came to her face, as though from
strong flush of feeling, then she turned to him again, and answered
steadily:

"Yes, he is happy now."

"How do you know?" the lad asked with awe in his face, for he believed
in her utterly. Then, without waiting for her to answer, he added: "Is
it, you hear him say so, as I hear you singin' in my sleep
sometimes--singin', singin', as you did at Glencader, that first time I
ever 'eerd you? Is it the same as me in my sleep?"

"Yes, it is like that--just like that," she answered, taking his hand,
and holding it with a motherly tenderness.

"Ain't you never goin' to sing again?" he added.

She was silent, looking at him almost abstractedly.

"This war'll be over pretty