oked her hair. "It is good to know that," he said, "very, good. I
should have married you." He went on with sudden boldness and a new note
of strength in his voice, "Think of that! You would have been mine--to
protect and work for. We should have gone together to England--where I
could easily have got a curacy--easily."

Hilda looked up. "Would you like to marry me now?" she asked eagerly,
but he shook his head.

"You don't understand," he said. "It is the dear sin God has turned my
back upon."

Then it came to her that he had asked for no caress. He was going
unassoiled to his God, with the divine indifference of the dying. Only
his imagination looked backward and forward. And she thought, "It is
a little light flame that I have lit with my own taper that has gone
out--that has gone out--and presently the grave will extinguish that."
She sat quiet and sombre in the growing darkness, and presently Arnold
slept.

He slept through the bringing of a lamp, the arrival of flowers, subdued
knocks of inquirers who would not be stayed by the bulletin--the
visit of Surgeon-Major Wills, who felt his pulse without wakening him.
"Holding out wonderfully," the doctor said. "Don't rouse him for the
soup. He'll go out in about six hours without any pain. May not wake at
all."

The door opened again to admit the probationer come to relieve Miss
Howe. Hilda beckoned her into the corridor. "You can go back," she said,
"I will take your turn."

"But the Mother Superior--you know how particular about the rules--"

"Say nothing about it. Go to bed. I am not coming."

"Then, Miss Howe, I shall be obliged to report it."

"Report and be--report if you like. There is nothing for you to do
here to-night," and Hilda softly closed the door. There was a whispered
expostulation when Sister Margaret came back, but Miss Howe said, "It
is arranged," and with a little silent nod of appreciation the Sister
settled into her chair, her finger marking a place in the Church
Service. Hilda sat nearer to the bed, her elbow on the table, shading
her eyes from the lamp, and watched.

"Is it not odd," whispered Sister Margaret, as the night wore on, "he
has refused to be confessed before he goes? He will not see the Brother
Superior--or any of them. Strange, is it not?"

Together they watched the quick short breathing. It seemed strangely
impossible to sleep against such odds. They saw the lines of the
face grow sharper and whiter, the dark eye-sock