* * * *

That was all. Anne, miserable, lonely, broken-hearted, as she was, felt
that she had in one way conquered. She leaned her head against the tree
trunk, and sat for some time with her eyes closed. Then she tore the
letter into fragments, threw them into the river, and watched the slow
current bear them away. When the last one had disappeared, she rose and
went back to the hospital.

"The clean clothes have been brought in, Miss Douglas," said the
surgeon's assistant. "Can you sort them?"

"Yes," she replied. And dull life moved on again.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"O Toil, O Loneliness, O Poverty, doing the right makes ye no
easier."

The next morning the new nurses, long delayed, sent by the Weston Aid
Society, arrived at Number One, and Mary Crane, Mrs. Barstow, and Anne
were relieved from duty, and returned to their Northern home. During the
journey Anne decided that she must not remain in Weston. It was a hard
decision, but it seemed to her inevitable. This man whom she loved knew
that her home was there. He had said that he would not follow her; but
could she depend upon his promise? Even in saying that he would try to
do as well as he could, he had distinctly added that it might "not be
very well." She must leave no temptation in his path, or her own. She
must put it out of his power to find her, out of hers to meet him. She
must go away, leaving no trace behind.

She felt deeply thankful that at the present moment her movements were
not cramped by the wants of the children; for if they had been in
pressing need, she must have staid--have staid and faced the fear and
the danger. Now she could go. But whither? It would be hard to go out
into the broad world again, this time more solitary than before. After
much thought, she decided to go eastward to the half-house,
Jeanne-Armande having given her permission to use it. It would be at
least a shelter over her head, and probably old Nora would be glad to
come and stay with her. With this little home as background, she hoped
to be able to obtain pupils in the city, little girls to whom she could
be day governess, giving lessons in music and French. But the pupils:
how could she obtain them? Whose influence could she hope for? She could
not go to Tante, lest Helen should hear of her presence. At first it
seemed as if there were no one; she went over and over in vain her
meagre list of friends. Suddenly a remembrance of the