lued at its worth.

A new Order has been born into the world; the Order of Suffering. Not
that it is new, either; it has been with us since the first mother went
into the shadow for her first child; but always suffering has been
incidental; a matter of the individual; a thing to be escaped if
possible. But now it is universal, a thing not to be escaped, but to
be accepted, readily, bravely, even gladly. And all who so accept it
enter into the new Order, and wear its insignia, which is unselfishness
and sympathy and service. And in that Order you shall not be least,
measured by either your sacrifice or the spirit in which you accept it.

But you are yearning for his last word; for some voice that will seem
to you now almost a voice out of the grave, and I am happy to be able
to bring you that word. It was something more than chance that guided
me that night, as it is every night.

We were well behind the line of actual fighting, but still in the
danger zone of artillery fire. Night had settled in; all was darkness
save for occasional distant flares. I had become detached from my
party in moving to another station; lost, if you like, yet not lost;
never have I gone so directly to so great a destination. While trying
to get my location I became aware of a presence; it will sound strange
to you, but I became intensely aware of _your_ presence. Of course I
knew it could not be you, in the flesh, but you it seemed to be,
nevertheless. I moved as though led by an invisible hand, and
presently I found a bit of shattered wall. In the gloom I could just
discern the form of a man lying in the shelter of the wall--if you
could call it shelter--it rose scarce a foot above the ground.

I knelt beside him and turned my torch on to his face. It was pale
even through the brown skin; the eyes were closed; the hair was wet and
plastered on the forehead; there were smears of blood in it and on his
cheeks. As my light fell on his lips they framed a smile.

"Reenie," he said. "It was good of you to come. I knew you would
come."

"I am here, Dave," I answered, and I think you will forgive me the
impersonation. "Now let me find out where you are hurt, and we'll fix
you up, and get you moved presently."

He opened his eyes and looked at me with the strange look of a man
whose thread of consciousness is half unravelled. "Oh, it's you,
Edith," he said, when he had taken me in. "Funny, I thought it was
Irene. I must have