by surprise. There was inquiry in them, also a
defence. Chance, looking back, saw an invincible silent readiness, and
a pallor which might be that of any woman. But the doctor was also
looking, so she said, "That is very sad," and moved near enough to the
wall to put her hand against it. She was not faint, but the wall was a
fact on which one could, for the moment, rely.

"They've got the man--one of those Cabuli money-lenders. The police had
no trouble with him. He said it was the order of Allah--the brute! Stray
case of fanaticism, I suppose. It seems Arnold was walking along as
usual, without a notion, and the fellow sprang on him, and in two
seconds the thing was done. Hadn't a chance, poor beggar."

"Where is it?"

"Root of the left lung. About five inches deep. The artery pretty well
cut through, I fancy."

"Then--"

"Oh no--we can't do anything. The haemorrhage must be tremendous. But he
may live through the night. Are you going to Sister Margaret?"

His nod took it for granted, and he went on. Hilda walked slowly
forward, her head bent, with absorbed uncertain steps. A bar of evening
sunlight came before her, she looked up and stepped outside the open
door. She was handling this thing that had happened, taking possession
of it. It lay in her mind in the midst of a suddenly stricken and
tenderly saddened consciousness. It lay there passively; it did not rise
and grapple with her, it was a thing that had happened--in Burra Bazar.
The pity of it assailed her. Tears came into her eyes, and an infinite
grieved solicitude gathered about her heart. "So?" she said to herself,
thinking that he was young and loved his work, and that now his hand
would be stayed from the use it had found. One of the ugly outrages of
life, leaving nothing on the mouth but that brief acceptance. It came
to hers with a note of the profound and of the supreme. She turned
resolutely from searching her heart for any wild despair. She would
not for an instant consider what she ought to feel. "So," she said,
and pressed her lips till they stopped trembling, and went into the
hospital.

She asked a question or two, in search of Sister Margaret and the new
case. It was "located," an assistant surgeon told her, in Private Ward
Number Two. She went more and more slowly toward Private Ward Number
Two.

The door was open; she stood in it for an instant with eyes nerved to
receive the tragedy. The room seemed curiously empty of any such thing,