, was conveyed to Brussels. There it was tenderly
laid down in hospital; and there it lay, week after week, through the
long bright summer days, until the harvest, spared by war, had ripened
and was gathered in.

Over and over again the sun rose and set upon the crowded city; over and
over again the moonlight nights were quiet on the plains of Waterloo: and
all that time was a blank to what had been Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.
Rejoicing troops marched into Brussels, and marched out; brothers and
fathers, sisters, mothers, and wives, came thronging thither, drew their
lots of joy or agony, and departed; so many times a day the bells rang;
so many times the shadows of the great buildings changed; so many lights
sprang up at dusk; so many feet passed here and there upon the pavements;
so many hours of sleep and cooler air of night succeeded: indifferent to
all, a marble face lay on a bed, like the face of a recumbent statue on
the tomb of Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.

Slowly labouring, at last, through a long heavy dream of confused time
and place, presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, and
of faces that had been familiar to his youth,--dearest and kindest among
them, Mary Marshall's, with a solicitude upon it more like reality than
anything he could discern,--Lieutenant Richard Doubledick came back to
life. To the beautiful life of a calm autumn evening sunset, to the
peaceful life of a fresh quiet room with a large window standing open; a
balcony beyond, in which were moving leaves and sweet-smelling flowers;
beyond, again, the clear sky, with the sun full in his sight, pouring its
golden radiance on his bed.

It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had passed into
another world. And he said in a faint voice, "Taunton, are you near me?"

A face bent over him. Not his, his mother's.

"I came to nurse you. We have nursed you many weeks. You were moved
here long ago. Do you remember nothing?"

"Nothing."

The lady kissed his cheek, and held his hand, soothing him.

"Where is the regiment? What has happened? Let me call you mother. What
has happened, mother?"

"A great victory, dear. The war is over, and the regiment was the
bravest in the field."

His eyes kindled, his lips trembled, he sobbed, and the tears ran down
his face. He was very weak, too weak to move his hand.

"Was it dark just now?" he asked presently.

"No."

"It was only dark to me? Something pas