ut it didn't work where you were concerned. You understood
me as no one else ever could--or will, I believe. You taught me
something about life, and to see that people are much the same all over
the world, if you "take them by the heart."

You took _me_ by the heart, and you held me by it, from the time I was
twelve till the time when you gave your life for your country. Ten
years! When I tell them over now, as a nun tells the beads of her
rosary, I realize what good years they were, and how their
goodness--with such goodness as I had in me to face them--came through
you.

Even after you died, you seemed to be near, with encouragement and
advice. Remembering how pleased you were, when I decided to train as a
nurse, added later to the sense of your nearness, because I felt you
would rejoice when I was able to be of real use. It was only after you
went that my work began to count, but I was sure you knew. I could hear
your voice say, "Good girl! Hurrah for you!" when I got the gold medal
for nursing the contagious cases; your dear old Irish voice, as it used
to say the same words when I brought you my school prizes.

Perhaps I _was_ "a good girl." Anyhow, I was a good nurse. Not that I
deserved much credit! Brian was fighting, and in danger day and night.
You were gone; and I was glad to be a soldier in my way, with never a
minute to think of myself. Besides, somehow I wasn't one bit afraid. I
_loved_ the work. But, _Padre mio_, I am not a good girl now. I'm a
wicked girl, wickeder than you or I ever dreamed it was in me to be, at
my worst. Yet if your spirit should appear as I write, to warn me that
I'm sinning an unpardonable sin, I should go on sinning it.

For one thing, it's for Brian, twin brother of my body, twin brother of
my heart. For another thing, it's too late to turn back. There's a door
that has slammed shut behind me.

* * * * *

Now, I'll begin and tell you everything exactly as it happened. Many a
"confession-letter" I've begun in just these words, but never one like
this. I don't deserve that it should bring me the heartease which used
to come. But the thought of you is my star in darkness. Brian is the
last person to whom I can speak, because above all things I want him to
be happy. On earth there is no one else. Beyond the earth there
is--_you_.

When Brian was wounded, they expected him to die, and he was asking for
me. The telegram came one day when we had all