rwood a very sad thing indeed that the eyes
which shone with such eager longing when he spoke of the fields and
gardens, or of the hills and valleys that he had seen in his wanderings,
should open day after day upon a scene so dreary.

What a strange, sad picture of life it seemed to him. There were old
faces and young--faces on which years of sin and sorrow had set their
seal, young faces that looked old, and faces old and worn and weary, yet
growing slowly back into the look they must have had as little children,
as the end drew near.

There were a few bright faces even there. A young servant-girl occupied
the bed next to Christie on one side. She had been burned severely, but
not dangerously, in saving a child committed to her care from a serious
accident. She suffered much at first, but quite patiently, and in a day
or two was cheerful, even merry, at the thought of getting away to the
country, where her home was. She went away soon, and so did others--
some joyfully, with recovered health and hope, others to be seen no more
among the living.

"Do you like this better than to be quite alone?" asked Mr Sherwood one
day, as he sat by Christie's bed, watching the strange, painful scenes
around him. She did not answer for a moment, and her face saddened as
her eye went down the long ward, thinking of the peculiar sorrow of each
of the suffering inmates.

"For some things I like it better. It is less trouble to the nurse, and
the time does not seem so long. It is very sad, though," she added.
"Even when I am free from pain myself, there is sure to be some one
suffering near me. But I am getting used to it. Folk get used to
anything in time, you know."

Almost always he left her cheerful, and though her recovery seemed day
by day no nearer, she never seemed to doubt that she would soon be well,
at least she never expressed any doubt to her kind friend till one day
after he had been many times to see her.

September had come in more sultry and warm than August had been; even
out in the open streets, towards the mountain, the motionless air was
hot and stifling. It was a trying day in the narrow alleys and in the
low parts of the city, where many an invalid lay moaning and wishing for
the night to come.

In the ward where Christie lay the windows were darkened, and coming out
of the glare of the sun, for a moment Mr Sherwood thought it cool and
pleasant there. It was close and unwholesome, however, as it