y for Barney.
It took the bitterness out of his grief, and much of the pain out of
his loss. The memory of that last evening with Iola, and Lady Ruthven's
story of the purifying of her spirit, during those last few months,
combined to throw about her a radiance such as she had never shed even
in the most radiant moments of her life.

"There is only place for gratitude," he said, one evening, to them. "Why
should I allow any mean or selfish thought to spoil my memory of her or
to hinder the gratitude I ought to feel, that her going was so free from
pain, and her last evening so full of joy?"

It was with these feelings in his heart that he went back to the camps
to his work among the sick and wounded in body and in heart. And as he
went in and out among the men they became conscious of a new spirit in
him. His touch on the knife was as sure as ever, his nerve as steady,
but while the old reserve still held his lips from overflowing, the
words that dropped were kinder, the tone gentler, the touch more tender.
The terrible restlessness, too, was gone out of his blood. A great calm
possessed him. He was always ready for the ultimate demand, prepared to
give of his life to the uttermost. To his former care for the physical
well-being of the men, he added now a concern for their mental and
spiritual good, and hence the system of libraries and clubrooms he had
initiated throughout the camps and towns along the line. It mattered not
to him that he had to meet the open opposition of the saloon element
and the secret hostility of those who depended upon that element for the
success of their political schemes. His love of a fight was as strong as
ever. At first the men could not fathom his motives, but as men do,
they silently and observantly waited for the real motive to emerge. As
"Mexico" said, they "couldn't get onto his game." And none of them was
more completely puzzled than was "Mexico" himself, but none more fully
acknowledged, and more frankly yielded to the fascination of the new
spirit and new manner which the doctor brought to his work. At the same
time, however, "Mexico" could not rid himself of a suspicion, now and
then, that the real game was being kept dark. The day was to come when
"Mexico" would cast away every vestige of suspicion and give himself
up to the full luxury of devotion to a man, worthy to be followed, who
lived not for his own things. But that day was not yet, and "Mexico" was
kept in a state of unc