as playing on the piano old
songs of Lorraine and Alsace. He tried to sing, too, but his
voice broke, whether from emotion or hoarseness they could not
tell. A moment or two later a dripping infantry band marched out
to the conservatory and began to play. The dismal trombone
vibrated like a fog-horn, the wet drums buzzed and clattered, the
trumpets wailed with the rising wind in the chimneys. They
played for an hour, then stopped abruptly in the middle of
"Partons pour la Syrie," and Jack and Lorraine heard them
trampling away--slop, slop--across the gravel drive.

The fire in the room made the air heavy, and he raised one window
a little way, but the wet wind was rank with the odour of
disinfectants and ether from the stable hospital, and he closed
the window after a moment.

"I spent all the morning with the wounded," said Lorraine, from
the depths of her chair. The child-like light in her eyes had
gone; nothing but woman's sorrow remained in their gray-blue
depths.

Jack rose, picked up a big soft towel, and, deliberately lifting
one of her feet from the water, rubbed it until it turned rosy.
Then he rubbed the other, wrapped the bath-robe tightly about
her, lifted her in his arms, threw back the bed-covers, and laid
her there snug and warm.

"Sleep," he said.

She held up both arms with a divine smile.

"Stay with me until I sleep," she murmured drowsily. Her eyes
closed; one hand sought his.

After a while she fell asleep.

XXIV

LORRAINE AWAKES

When Lorraine had been asleep for an hour, Jack stole from the
room and sought the old general who was in command of the park.
He found him on the terrace, smoking and watching the woods
through his field-glasses.

"Monsieur," said Jack, "my ward, Mademoiselle de Nesville, is
asleep in her chamber. I must go to the forest yonder and try to
find her father's body. I dare not leave her alone unless I may
confide her to you."

"My son," said the old man, "I accept the charge. Can you give me
the next room?"

"The next room is where our little Sister of Mercy died."

"I have journeyed far with death--I am at home in death's
chamber," said the old general. He followed Jack to the
death-room, accompanied by his aide-de-camp.

"It will do," he said. Then, turning to an aid, "Place a sentry
at the next door. When the lady awakes, call me."

"Thank you," said Jack. He lingered a moment and then continued:
"If I am shot in the woods--if I don't retu