wrung out of it."

Justine bent her puzzled brows on him. "I could understand that view of
moral suffering--or even of physical pain moderate enough to leave the
mind clear, and to call forth qualities of endurance and renunciation.
But where the body has been crushed to a pulp, and the mind is no more
than a machine for the registering of sense-impressions of physical
anguish, of what use can such suffering be to its owner--or to the
divine will?"

The young rector looked at her sadly, almost severely. "There, Miss
Brent, we touch on inscrutable things, and human reason must leave the
answer to faith."

Justine pondered. "So that--one may say--Christianity recognizes no
exceptions--?"

"None--none," its authorized exponent pronounced emphatically.

"Then Christianity and science are agreed." She rose, and the young
rector, with visible reluctance, stood up also.

"That, again, is one of the most striking evidences--" he began; and
then, as the necessity of taking leave was forced upon him, he added
appealingly: "I understand your uncertainties, your questionings, and I
wish I could have made my point clearer----"

"Thank you; it is quite clear. The reasons, of course, are different;
but the result is exactly the same."

She held out her hand, smiling sadly on him, and with a sudden return of
youth and self-consciousness, he murmured shyly: "I feel for you"--the
man in him yearning over her loneliness, though the pastor dared not
press his help....

XXVIII

THAT evening, when Justine took her place at the bedside, and the other
two nurses had gone down to supper, Bessy turned her head slightly,
resting her eyes on her friend.

The rose-shaded lamp cast a tint of life on her face, and the dark
circles of pain made her eyes look deeper and brighter. Justine was
almost deceived by the delusive semblance of vitality, and a hope that
was half anguish stirred in her. She sat down by the bed, clasping the
hand on the sheet.

"You feel better tonight?"

"I breathe...better...." The words came brokenly, between long pauses,
but without the hard agonized gasps of the previous night.

"That's a good sign." Justine paused, and then, letting her fingers
glide once or twice over the back of Bessy's hand--"You know, dear, Mr.
Amherst is coming," she leaned down to say.

Bessy's eyes moved again, slowly, inscrutably. She had never asked for
her husband.

"Soon?" she whispered.

"He had started on a long