was in Yucatan, and had to slash my face to get out the poisoned
darts of the cactus, I screamed till you could have heard me a mile. And
I had no anaesthetic to soothe me. Your lieutenant never whimpered or
cringed with his mangled foot and he refused morphine when I operated on
it. But I fooled him. I hate to see a brave man suffer. I stuck a needle
just above the wound when he wasn't looking, and I've doped his medicine
ever since."

"Thank you," said Carg; "he's my cousin."

In the small hours of the next morning, while Patsy was on duty in the
hospital section, the young Belgian became wakeful and restless. She
promptly administered a sedative and sat by his bedside. After a little
his pain was eased and he became quiet, but he lay there with wide open
eyes.

"Can I do anything more for you?" she asked.

"If you would be so kind," replied Andrew Denton.

"Well?"

"Please read to me some letters you will find in my pocket. I cannot
read them myself, and--they will comfort me."

Patsy found the packet of letters.

"The top one first," he said eagerly. "Read them all!"

She opened the letter reluctantly. It was addressed in a dainty, female
hand and the girl had the uncomfortable feeling that she was about to
pry into personal relations of a delicate character.

"Your sweetheart?" she asked gently.

"Yes, indeed; my sweetheart and my wife."

"Oh, I see. And have you been married long?" He seemed a mere boy.

"Five months, but for the last two I have not seen her."

The letters were dated at Charleroi and each one began: "My darling
husband." Patsy read the packet through, from first to last, her eyes
filling with tears at times as she noted the rare devotion and
passionate longing of the poor young wife and realized that the boyish
husband was even now dying, a martyr to his country's cause. The
letters were signed "Elizabeth." In one was a small photograph of a
sweet, dark-eyed girl whom she instantly knew to be the bereaved wife.

"And does she still live at Charleroi?" Patsy asked.

"I hope so, mademoiselle; with her mother. The Germans now occupy the
town, but you will notice the last letter states that all citizens are
treated courteously and with much consideration, so I do not fear for
her."

The reading of the letters, in conjunction with the opiate, seemed to
comfort him, for presently he fell asleep. With a heavy heart the girl
left him to attend to her other patients and at three o'clo