hought nor a care beyond her religious duties and her
nursing, in which she was now growing proficient, she would sometimes
sit and think over her brief married life, and become filled by wonder.

Where was her husband? Where, too, was the low-born thief who had taken
her part and prevented the blow upon that never-to-be-forgotten night?

Sometimes when she reflected upon it all she sat horrified. And when she
recollected how shamefully she had been deceived by the man she so
implicitly trusted and so dearly loved, tears would well in her great,
big eyes. Sister Gertrude, one of the nurses, a tall, fair woman, who
was her most intimate friend, often noticed the redness of her eyes, and
guessed the truth.

Seldom, if ever, Jean went out farther than across Barnes Common or into
Richmond Park for exercise, and always accompanied by Sister Gertrude,
the latter wearing the black habit of the Sisterhood, while Jean herself
was in a distinctive garb as a nurse of the Order of Saint Agnes.

Never once in all those months had she been in London. All she saw of it
was the red glare upon the night sky. But she was happy enough. London,
and especially the neighbourhood of Regent Street, would remind her too
vividly of Ralph and of her dear father.

One spring afternoon, while seated at the open window finishing some
needlework destined for a poor family living in a back street off the
Hammersmith Broadway, she was chatting merrily with Sister Gertrude.
Over their needlework the rules allowed them to chatter, and in that
barely-furnished little room she and Sister Gertrude enjoyed many a
pleasant gossip.

Outside, the garden was gay with daffodils and hyacinths, and the trees
were just bursting into bud, the fresh green rendered the brighter by
the warm sunshine.

Jean concluded her work at last, placed her needle in the cushion, and
removed her thimble.

"At last!" she sighed. "I've been over this a whole week," she added.

"Yes; you've been most patient," declared her friend. "Soon you will
abandon needlework and be sent out nursing. I heard the Mother Superior
talking about it with Sister Lilian after vespers last night. Now that
Sister Hannah has gone back to Paris we are one nurse short, and you are
to take her place."

"Am I?" cried Jean, with delight, for she had studied long and
diligently in the hope that soon outside work would be given her. She
was devoted to nursing, and had made herself proficient in most of