tes from those for whom they were intended. Only the
more serious cases reached these wards. The less dangerously hurt
passed by rail or hospital ship to the base hospitals in the South.

All night long the wounded men in the long wards stirred fretfully
under the white counterpanes, each man translating the sounds according
to his own imagination or experience. The night-sisters moved softly
to and fro on the beeswaxed boards, smoothing tumbled pillows,
adjusting a splint or a bandage, calming the bearded children who
fretted because they were hopelessly "out of it."

Towards the dawn the sounds of firing gradually grew fainter, and died
away as the first pale bands of light appeared in the east. The
sparrows under the eaves stirred and commenced a sleepy twittering.
Margaret rose as soon as objects in her room were discernible, bathed
her face and hands in cold water, and stood awhile at the window
watching the day growing over the sea and sombre sky.

The sounds of the battle that passed away to the northward had shaken
her nerves as had nothing else in all her experience. Standing there
by the open window, drinking in the indescribable freshness of the
dawn, she despised herself. She, who had devoted her life to a
Purpose, should be above the petty weakness of her sex. Yet the cold
fear that had been her bedfellow throughout the night, and was
concerned with neither defeat nor victory, haunted her still.

She closed the window, lit a small spirit-lamp on a side table, and,
while the kettle boiled, dressed in riding things. The earliness of
the hour made it improbable that she would meet a soul, and yet she
dressed carefully, coiling her soft hair, with its silver threads, on
the nape of her neck, fastidiously dusting riding boots, and giving a
brisk rub to the single spur before she strapped it on. She was
adjusting her hard-felt hat before the glass when someone knocked at
the door.

She turned questioningly, with hands still raised. "Come in!"

A girl was standing in the doorway; she wore a dressing-gown, and
beneath it her slim ankles peeped out of a pair of the felt slippers
nurses wear at night.

"Betty! What's the matter?"

"Did you hear the firing?"

Margaret nodded. Was the betrayal of her nerves infectious? Had it
communicated itself to the whole staff? For a swift instant she
despised her sex--she who had devoted her life to it. "Yes. Another
big engagement. We shall be busy. I