d has ever
produced.

I took up my new duties at once, trying not to act as if the moon were
my footstool. All the rest of the day and far into the night Eagle lay
as if asleep, with occasional fits of restlessness which, somehow, I
could always soothe; and this state, though it seemed alarming to me,
was approved by the doctor. It was better, he said, that after
concussion the brain should have for a while repose in unconsciousness.
The symptom was not good when the patient talked rationally too soon.
But if monsieur should waken and show signs of wishing to ask questions,
he must be answered clearly and quietly, if possible by the Demoiselle
Irlandaise who would best be able to understand and satisfy him.

The Demoiselle Irlandaise was advised by the matron to take her repose
early in the night, in order to be ready for such an emergency as
monsieur the doctor suggested. But the demoiselle felt no need of
repose. Sleep seemed some strange and foreign thing. She sat through the
night watching the hero of Liege; and though guns boomed and were
answered, and the nurses occasionally discussed beneath their breath
what would happen to us all when the Germans came, never in her life had
that Demoiselle Irlandaise felt so happy and so useful.

She had the reward of her vigil toward dawn, four-and-twenty hours
almost to the minute after the Zeppelin and its crew had been brought
down. Suddenly Eagle opened his eyes and fixed them on the nurse. At
first he stared as if dazed by what he saw; then came a flash of
recognition which changed to incredulity.

"I'm--_dreaming_ you!" he whispered huskily.

I bent over him with an invalid's cup of liquid food prepared for this
emergency, kept hot in a vacuum flask. "No you're not dreaming me," I
cheerfully replied as I made him drink. "It's Peggy, taking care of you.
Now go to sleep again. I'll still be here when you wake up next time."

"But----" he went on, staring round the room; "where am I? The horse
kicked me, I remember; only that seems so long ago! I thought--a lot of
things had happened since then. I hoped--but I suppose it's all a dream
about--about----"

"Being in Belgium?" I prompted him, seeing his sharp anxiety. "That's
not a dream, but true. You're Monsieur Mars, the hero of Liege, because
you brought down the Zeppelin and the men who came to drop bombs on us.
We're all grateful to you, and praying that you may get well soon."

"Thank God that it _is_ true!" he