k a little? I am not on duty, you know; and I've had
enough sleep. There's such a pretty lane along the creek behind
the chapel. . . . What are you doing here, anyway? I suppose you
are acting orderly to poor Colonel Arran? How splendidly the
Lancers have behaved! . . . And those darling Zouaves!--oh, we are
just bursting with pride over our Zou-zous----"

They had turned away together, walking slowly through the grove
toward a little cart road deep in golden seeded grass which wound
down a hollow all moist with ferns and brambles and young trees in
heavy leaf.

Her hand, unconsciously, had sought his nestling into it with a
confidence that touched him; her pale, happy face turned
continually to meet his as she chatted innocently of the things
which went to make up the days of life for her, never conscious of
herself, or that the artless chatter disclosed anything admirable
in her own character. She prattled on at random, sometimes naive,
sometimes wistful, sometimes faintly humourous--a brave, clean
spirit that was content to take the consequence of duty done--a
tender, gentle soul, undeformed amid the sordid horrors that
hardened or crippled souls less innocent.

Calm, resourceful, patient, undismayed amid conditions that
sickened mature experience to the verge of despair, she went about
her business day after day, meeting all requisitions upon her
slender endurance without faltering, without even supposing there
was anything unusual or praiseworthy in what she did.

She was only one of many women who did full duty through the
darkest days the nation ever knew--saints in homespun, martyrs
uncanonised save in the hearts of the stricken.

There was a small wooden foot-bridge spanning the brook, with a
rough seat nailed against the rail.

"One of my convalescents made it for me," she said proudly. "He
could use only one arm, and he had such a hard time sawing and
hammering! and the foolish boy wouldn't let anybody help him."

She seated herself in the cool shade of a water oak, retaining his
hand in hers and making room for him beside her.

"I wonder," she said, "if you know how good you have been to me.
You changed all my life. Do you realise it?"

"You changed it yourself, Letty."

She sighed, leaned back, dreamy eyed, watching the sun spots glow
and wane on the weather-beaten footbridge.

"In war time--here in the wards--men seem gentler to
women--kinder--than in times of peace. I have stood