ible explanation in the
morning--but in the mean time the patient was in the operating-room and
Sheila O'Leary was to report at once for night duty.

As the girl pinned on her cap the superintendent whispered the last
instructions: "You'll find him in Number Three, Surgical. It's one of your
fighting cases, Leerie, and it's Doctor Dempsy's patient. Remember, your
best work this time, girl, for all our sakes!"

And it was a fighting case. Innumerable nights followed, all alike. The
temperature rose and fell a little, only to rise again; the pulse
strengthened and weakened by turns; delirium continued unbroken. As night
after night wore on and no fresh sign of internal injury developed, the
girl found herself forgetting the immediate condition of the patient and
going back to the thing that had brought him here. If she was right and he
was possessed by a fixed idea, the dread of some concrete thing or
experience, his delirium showed no evidence. It seemed more the delirium
of exhaustion than fever, and there was no raving. Consciousness, however,
might reveal what delirium hid, so, as the nights slipped monotonously by,
the girl found herself waiting with a growing eagerness for the man to
come back to himself.

The waiting seemed interminable, but a time came at last when Sheila
slipped through the door of No. 3 and found a pair of deep-set, haunting
eyes turned full upon her.

"It's--it's Leerie." The words came with some difficulty, but there was an
untold relief in Peter's voice.

For a moment the girl was taken aback, but only for a moment. She laughed
him a friendly little laugh while she put her hand down to the hand that
was still too weak to reach out in greeting. "Yes. Oh yes, it's Leerie.
Been getting pretty well acquainted with you these weeks, but rather a
surprise to find it so--so mutual."

"I got acquainted with you--beforehand," announced Peter.

"I see--omnibus, Hennessy, and the swans." She laughed again softly.
"You've been away a long time; hope you're glad to get back."

Peter reflected. "I'm afraid I'm not. But I'll not say it if it sounds too
much like a quitter."

"No, say it and get it out of your system. Getting well always seems a
terrible undertaking; and the stronger you've been the harder it seems."
Sheila turned to her chart and preparations for the night.

Lights out, she sat down by the open window to wait for Peter to sleep. An
hour passed, two hours, and sleep did not come. S