e--more awake--for you, to see. But there had to be morphia
this morning. He had a dreadful night. Are you _quite_ sure? Wouldn't
you like to come back this afternoon, and watch him again? Sometimes a
second time--Oh, and what of the hands?--did you notice them?' And
suddenly remembering Dr. Howson's words, the Sister pointed to the
long, bloodless fingers lying on the sheet, and to the marked deformity
in each little finger.

'Yet--but George's hands were not peculiar in any way.' Bridget's voice,
as she spoke, seemed to herself to come from far away; as though it were
that of another person speaking under compulsion.

'I'm sorry--I'm sorry!'--the Sister repeated. 'It's so sad for him to be
dying here--all alone--nobody knowing even who he is--when one thinks
how somebody must be grieving and longing for him.'

'Have you no other enquiries?' said Bridget, abruptly, turning to pick
up some gloves she had laid down.

'Oh yes--we have had other visitors--and I believe there is a gentleman
coming to-morrow. But nothing that sounded so promising as your visit.
You won't come again?'

'It would be no use,' said the even, determined voice. 'I will write to
Dr. Howson from London. And I do hope'--for the first time, the kindly
nurse perceived some agitation in this impressive stranger--'I do hope
that nobody will write to my sister--to Mrs. Sarratt. She is very
delicate. Excitement and disappointment might just kill her. That's why
I came.'

'And that of course is why Dr. Howson wrote to you first. Oh I am sure
he will take every care. He'll be very, very sorry! You'll write to him?
And of course so shall I.'

The news that the lady from England had failed to identify the nameless
patient to whom doctor and nurses had been for weeks giving their most
devoted care spread rapidly, and Bridget before she left the hospital
had to run the gauntlet of a good many enquiries, at the hands of the
various hospital chiefs. She produced on all those who questioned her
the impression of an unattractive, hard, intelligent woman whose
judgment could probably be trusted.

'Glad she isn't my sister-in-law!' thought Vincent as he turned back
from handing her into the motor which was to take her to the port. But
he did not doubt her verdict, and was only sorry for 'old Howson,' who
had been so sure that something would come of her visit.

The motor took Bridget rapidly back to D----, where she would be in good
time for an afternoon bo