served two years in South Africa, where she had charge of a ward in
one of the largest field hospitals outside of Pretoria; on her return
to England, she had been placed over an important case in one of the
London hospitals--that of a gallant Canadian officer who had been
shipped home convalescent, and who had now sent for her to come to him
in Montreal. The good Sister was one of those unfortunate women who had
been expelled from France under the new law, and who was now on her way
to Quebec, there to take up her life-work again. This had been the
fifth refugee, the officer added, whom the Line had cared for.

When the hour for retiring came, Sister Teresa, with the remark that
she would wait until Miss Jennings was in bed before she sought her own
berth, followed her companion to the stateroom, bade her good-night,
and then, with her hand on the knob, lingered for a moment as if there
was still some further word on her lips.

"What is it?" asked the Nurse, with one of her direct, searching
glances. "Speak out--I'm a woman like yourself, and can understand."

"Well, it's about the Hour of Silence. I must have one hour every day
when I can be alone. It has been the custom of my life and I cannot
omit it. It will be many days before we reach the land, and there is no
other place for me to pray except in here. Would you object if I--"

"Object! Of course not! I will help you to keep it, and I will see,
too, that the Stewardess does not disturb you. Now, is there anything
else? Tell me--I love people who speak right out what they mean."

"No--except that I always rise at dawn, and will be gone when you wake.
Good-night."

The morning after this first night the two lay in their steamer chairs
on the upper deck. The First Officer, noticing them together, paused
for a moment on his way to the bridge:

"You knew, of course, Miss Jennings, that Hobson went back to Cherbourg
on the tender. He left good-by for you."

"Hunting for somebody, as usual, I suppose?" she rejoined.

"Yes"--and he passed on.

"A wretched life, isn't it," said Nurse Jennings, "this hunting for
criminals? This same man, Mr. Hobson, after a hunt of months, found one
in my ward with a bullet through his chest."

"You know him then?" asked Sister Teresa, with a tremor in her voice.

"Yes--he's a Scotland Yard man."

"And you say he was looking for some one on board and didn't find him?"

"No, not yet, but he will find him, he always does; that'