ethingth Regiment. And let us
impress on you, reader, that the band of the somethingth Regiment was
something to be proud of!

This brought numerous friends to the "Officers' House," and great
numbers of soldiers and Jack-tars to the various rooms of the Institute.

In one of these rooms, towards evening, our friend Stevenson was
engaged, at the request of the Superintendent, in relating to a number
of earnest-minded men a brief account of the wonderful experiences that
he and his comrades had recently had in the Soudan, and Jack Molloy sat
near him, emphasising with a nod of his shaggy head, or a "Right you
are, messmate," or a slap on his thigh, all the marine's points,
especially those in which his friend, passing over second causes,
referred all their blessings and deliverances direct to his loving God
and Father. In another room a Bible-reading was going on, accompanied
by prayer and praise. In the larger rooms, tea, coffee, etcetera, were
being consumed to an extent that "no fellow can understand," except
those who did it! Games and newspapers and illustrated magazines,
etcetera, were rife elsewhere, while a continuous roar, rather the
conventional "buzz," of conversation was going on everywhere. But,
apparently, not a single oath in the midst of it all! The moral
atmosphere of the place was so pure that even bad men respected--perhaps
approved--it.

Just before the hour of the concert our friends, the five invalids, sat
grouped round a table near the door. They were drinking tea, and most
of them talking with tremendous animation--for not one of them had been
wounded in the tongue! Indeed it did not appear that any of them had
been very seriously wounded anywhere.

While they were yet in the midst of their talk two lady-workers came
down the long room, followed by two other ladies in deep mourning, the
younger of whom suddenly sprang towards our quintet, and, clasping her
hands, stood speechless before them, staring particularly at Jack
Molloy, who returned the gaze with interest.

"Beg pard'n, Miss Drew," exclaimed the sailor, starting up in confusion,
and pulling his forelock, "but you've hove me all aback!"

"Mr Molloy!" gasped Marion, grasping his hand and looking furtively
round, "is it possible? Have you _all_ escaped? Is--is--"

"Yes, Miss, we've all escaped, thank God, an' we're all here--'cept John
Miles, in coorse, for he's bin invalided home--"

"He's no more invalided home than your