if their nature were explained.

"She haughtily affirmed her absolute faith in you, avowed her
engagement to marry you, pointed to your splendid military record;
disdainfully exposed the motive for Hallam's action. . . . And she
_convinced_ Miss Dix, who, in turn, convinced the Surgeon General.
And, in consequence, I can now take my little girl away from here
on furlough, thank God!--and thanks to Ailsa Paige, who lied like a
martyr in her behalf. And that's what I came here to tell you."

He drew a long, shuddering breath, his hand relaxed on Berkley's
shoulder, and fell away.

"I don't know to-day what Ailsa Paige believes; but I know what she
did for the sake of a young girl. . . . If, in any way, her faith
in you has been poisoned, remember what was laid before her, proven
in black and white, apparently; remember, more than that, the
terrible and physically demoralising strain she has been under in
the line of duty. No human mind can remain healthy very long under
such circumstances; no reasoning can be normal. The small daily
vexations, the wear and tear of nerve tissue, the insufficient
sleep and nourishment, the close confinement in the hospital
atmosphere, the sights, sounds, odours, the excitement, the
anxiety--all combine to distort reason and undermine one's natural
equipoise.

"Phil, if Ailsa, in her own heart, doubts you as she now doubts
Letty, you must understand why. What she did shows her courage,
her sweetness, her nobility. What she may believe--or think she
believes--is born only of morbid nerves, overworked body, and a
crippled power of reasoning. Her furlough is on the way; I did
myself the honour to solicit it, and to interest Miss Dix in her
behalf. It is high time; the child cannot stand much more. . . .
After a good rest in the North, if she desires to return, there is
nobody to prevent her . . . unless you are wise enough to marry
her. What do you think?"

Berkley made no answer. They remained silent for a long time.
Then the doctor rose and picked up his lantern; and Berkley stood
up, too, taking the doctor's outstretched hand.

"If I were you, Phil, I'd marry her," said Benton. "Good-night.
I'll see Colonel Arran in the morning. Good-night, my boy."

"Good-night," said Berkley in a dull voice.

Midnight found him pacing the dead sod in front of the veranda,
under the stars. One by one the lights in the hospital had been
extinguished; a lantern glimmered at the gua