he home-sick sufferers regarded them
with emotions which trenched on adoration, or that often, when the pale
thin faces lighted with a smile of joy at their approach, Irene and Electra
felt that they had a priceless reward.

CHAPTER XXXIII

IN THE HOSPITAL

It was a long, low, rather narrow room, lined with rows of cots, which
stretched on either side to the door, now left open to admit free
circulation of air. A muffled clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Two
soldiers, who had been permitted to visit their sick comrades, slumbered
heavily, one with head drooped on his chest, the other with chair tilted
against the window-facing, and dark-bearded face thrown back. The quivering
flame of the candle gleamed fitfully along the line of features--some
youthful, almost childish; others bearing the impress of accumulated years;
some crimsoned with fever, others wan and glistening with the dew of
exhaustion; here a forehead bent and lowering, as in fancy the sleeper
lived over the clash and shock of battle; and there a tremulous smile,
lighting the stern manly mouth, as the dreamer heard again the welcome bay
of watchdog on the doorstep at home, and saw once more the loved forms of
wife and children springing joyfully from the cheery fireside to meet his
outstretched arms. A few tossed restlessly, and frequent incoherent
mutterings wandered, waif-like up and down the room, sometimes rousing
Andrew, who once or twice lifted his head to listen, and then sank back to
slumber.

Before a small pine table, where stood numerous vials, Irene drew her
chair, and, leaning forward, opened her pocket-Bible, and rested her head
on her hand.

A wounded boy started up, twirling one arm, as if in the act of cheering,
and then fell back, groaning with pain which the violent effort cost him.

Irene stooped over him, and softly unbuttoning his shirt-collar, removed
the hot, bloody cloths from his lacerated shoulder, and replaced them with
fresh folds of linen, cold and dripping. She poured out a glass of water,
and lifted his head, but he frowned, and exclaimed--

"I won't have it in a tumbler. Mother, make Harry bring me a gourdful fresh
from the spring. I say, send Buddie for some."

She humoured the whim, walked out of the room, and paused in the passage.
As she did so, a dark form glided unperceived into a dim corner, and when
she re-entered the room with the gourd of water the figure passed through
the hall-door out into the ni