healthy mind in a sound body. If such a promise could be given at all, it
must not come from such as she; if it was to bear faith, it must be spoken
by one who had gone through the crucible as they had gone through--and
come out even as they had come.

She looked at Jamie. If Jamie had only had eyes to catch the meaning of
the thing she was trying to say! If he who had sung courage into their
hearts in the old days could sing it once again! A message from Jamie
would bring it home.

But there was nothing in that blank, white face Sheila could reach. He
seemed as he had seemed from the beginning, a soul apart, so wrapped in
its own despair that no human cry of need could shake it free. In
desperation she looked at Larry. His eyes were closed; his face had gone
almost as white as Jamie's. Patsy was gazing at the ceiling; the veins on
his arms stood out as they had on that first day when he had fainted twice
from the pain of his dressing. Down the line of cots the nurse's eyes
traveled, and back again. Every lad was past speaking for another; each
lay transfixed with his own personal fear.

The minutes seemed intolerable. The silence grew heavy with so much
muffling of despair. Sheila found herself praying that the men would
groan, cry out, curse, anything to break the ghastly hush. Then suddenly
"Bertha" propped himself as best he could on an elbow and croaked: "For
the love of Mary, miss, can't ye cram us with morphine the night? 'Twould
save the British Empire a few shillin's' expense and them at home a deal
o' misery."

And the color-sergeant choked out, "Aye, in God's mercy send us west,
along wi' them lucky seven that has gone already!"

Without knowing why she did it, Sheila reached over and gripped one of
Jamie's hands. "Help, can't you?" she whispered. The late afternoon sun
was shining through the window back of him. The glory of it was full on
his face, so that every lad in the ward saw plainly the smile that crept
into the lips, a tender, whimsical smile that belonged to the Jamie of
old. And the deep, vibrating voice was the voice of the Jamie of fighting
days.

"Patsy, ye rascal! I'm thinking it was like yourself to come breaking into
the first song I've had on my lips in a month. You've nearly ruined it for
me, lad."

Amazement, incredulity, thanksgiving swept over the faces like puffs of
wind over young wheat. Unnoticed, Sheila turned to the window and wept a
scattering of tears that could no longer