ave given
worlds to deny all thought of an engagement to Trevanion, but she
couldn't--neither could she bring herself to tell him the story; the
words she wanted to speak seemed to seal her lips. A long and awkward
silence fell between them--a silence that was painful; both had so much
to say, and yet neither could say anything.

"Has any one told you I'm engaged to Captain Trevanion?" and her voice
was indistinct and hoarse.

"Yes," he replied, "Proctor told me. He was at Clifton with me, you
know, and Trevanion told him."

"Did Mr. Proctor say that?"

"I think so--yes; and then, as soon as mother heard I was here, she
wrote to me and told me about it. I suppose your father is very
pleased?"

"How he must hate me!" she thought. "It is only a few weeks ago since
I promised to be his wife, and then only a week or two later I insulted
him, and now he thinks I am engaged to Captain Trevanion. How mean,
how contemptible he must think me! He must look upon me as a common
flirt; he must believe that my promises to him were just a mockery; it
is no wonder he speaks to me like that, and I--oh, I wish I could tell
him!"

A French soldier hobbled across the open space. "If you please,
mademoiselle, you're wanted," he said; "another train load of wounded
men has just arrived, and all the nurses are needed." He saluted Bob,
who wore his lieutenant's uniform, and then he hobbled away again.

"This war is a terrible business, isn't it?" he queried, and there was
a plaintive smile on his lips.

"It has upset everything, just everything; I hate it!" she cried--"I
hate it! Oh, Bob, don't you feel how I hate it?"

She wanted him to understand more than her words conveyed; wanted him
to feel that it was not the horrors of the war that moved her so
greatly, but the fact that it had separated them.

"Yes, I know what you feel," said Bob; "but you must go through with
it, Nancy. I'm sure you will be brave. When it is over, your reward
will come. There--go back, and don't mind me."

"I won't go back!" she cried. "Bob, you can't forgive me, because I
was so mean, so contemptible; I called you a coward; I insulted you;
I--I . . . and now you can't forgive me--and I don't wonder."

"That was nothing," said Bob. "Of course, I did seem like a coward, I
suppose, and I don't wonder at your doing what you did; but that's
nothing. You'll be happy when it's all over; and really, he's a fine
soldier, Nancy; and a fine fell