England to help in the arrangements for the better equipping
of native military hospitals in Egypt. Hadassah's knowledge of the
native's likes and dislikes was considerable.

Margaret was now on her way to a tube railway-station. The afternoon
was so glorious that she was going to make an excursion to Kew. She
would just have time to look at the maythorns and hurry back. The one
brave laburnum which gave brightness and fragrance to her garden-square
told her that in the larger open spaces the flowering shrubs would be
at their best.

As she ran down the steps of the tube station, she saw that a train
which would take her to Hammersmith, where she would have to change for
Kew Gardens, was drawn up at the platform; the passengers who were
leaving it were trying to ascend the stairs. With youthful tightness
she leapt down the last two or three steps and sprang across the
platform. She only just had time to step into the train before the
iron gates closed behind her.

A little breathless with excitement and greatly pleased that she had
succeeded in catching the train, she obeyed the order of the officious
guard to "Step along--don't block the gangway!"

The carriage was not full, but there were not many empty seats in it,
so Margaret hastily sank into the one which was nearest to her and
close to the door. It happened to be near to one on which a soldier
was seated. His kit was lying at his feet in front of him. As she sat
down, a voice said quietly:

"I'd advise you to sit a little further on--I'm not very nice."

Margaret never grasped the meaning of the words; the voice was all she
heard. It made her heart bound, and her senses reel; her bewilderment
was overwhelming.

Some instinct made the soldier swing right round; he had been sitting
with his broad back turned to the vacant seat, which Margaret still
occupied. They faced each other; the soldier was Michael.

Under his ardent gaze Margaret paled pitifully and made a valiant
effort to speak, to collect her thoughts. All that came from her
trembling lips were the prosaic words, rather timidly spoken:

"Is it you, Michael?"

They seemed to content Michael and tell him a thousand things which
dazed and intoxicated him. His surprise was even greater than
Margaret's.

"Yes, it is me, Meg," he said. "Thank God we've met!"

For Margaret, in one moment all the long months of doubt and pride were
wiped out. Michael's eyes had banished them. Her c