er, and them meeting
theere after all!'

Hester laid the story of Philip's bravery to her heart--she fully
believed in it. Sylvia pondered it more deeply still; the causes for
her disbelief, or, at any rate, for her wonder, were unknown to
Hester! Many a time she sank to sleep with the picture of the event
narrated by Mrs. Kinraid as present to her mind as her imagination or
experience could make it: first one figure prominent, then another.
Many a morning she wakened up, her heart beating wildly, why, she
knew not, till she shuddered at the remembrance of the scenes that
had passed in her dreams: scenes that might be acted in reality that
very day; for Philip might come back, and then?

And where was Philip all this time, these many weeks, these heavily
passing months?

CHAPTER XLI

THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE

Philip lay long ill on board the hospital ship. If his heart had
been light, he might have rallied sooner; but he was so depressed he
did not care to live. His shattered jaw-bone, his burnt and
blackened face, his many injuries of body, were torture to both his
physical frame, and his sick, weary heart. No more chance for him,
if indeed there ever had been any, of returning gay and gallant, and
thus regaining his wife's love. This had been his poor, foolish
vision in the first hour of his enlistment; and the vain dream had
recurred more than once in the feverish stage of excitement which
the new scenes into which he had been hurried as a recruit had
called forth. But that was all over now. He knew that it was the
most unlikely thing in the world to have come to pass; and yet those
were happy days when he could think of it as barely possible. Now
all he could look forward to was disfigurement, feebleness, and the
bare pittance that keeps pensioners from absolute want.

Those around him were kind enough to him in their fashion, and
attended to his bodily requirements; but they had no notion of
listening to any revelations of unhappiness, if Philip had been the
man to make confidences of that kind. As it was, he lay very still
in his berth, seldom asking for anything, and always saying he was
better, when the ship-surgeon came round with his daily inquiries.
But he did not care to rally, and was rather sorry to find that his
case was considered so interesting in a surgical point of view, that
he was likely to receive a good deal more than the average amount of
attention. Perhaps it was owing to th